Claiming Her SEAL(6)

Sometimes he wished for a mythical woman who could not only accept his  proficiency at killing but also empathize with the horrific catch-22 of  being a good warrior. Dex loved the freedom he'd fought for but hated  that it was built on the graves of men he'd shot. A kindred spirit would  get that.

Emma of the white bikini was not it. Fragility flitted under her skin,  whether she wanted to admit it or not. Someone of his breed would  destroy her.

Subject change STAT.

"Oh, no. You're not distracting me so easily. Talk to me about the Hokey  Pokey from earlier." Guilt flitted through her expression, and he  latched onto it like a drowning man. Lucky guess. "Ah, so you were  flirting with me to avoid talking about whatever had you going in  circles."

"No," she protested hotly. "I'm flirting with you because I like you."         

     



 

A smile formed on his lips but he bit it back. The feeling is mutual. He didn't say it.

"Lay it on me." He circled a finger in a get-on-with-it motion. "You  lost something in the water? Left your towel at the resort and wanted to  go back for it?"

She crossed her arms over her midsection and glanced away. "I'm not a fan of the ocean, okay?"

Lots of people didn't like ocean water. Too much salt, the theme from  Jaws on repeat in their mind as they waded out, or too rough. He didn't  buy any of those as her reasons though. "So? Don't go in it. Problem  solved."

"It's more …  complicated than that."

Something told him this was tied to her shadows, and a perverse need to  draw it out of her dug in and wouldn't let go. "I'm not going anywhere."

"The ocean scares me," she admitted. "Rachel, my friend, wants to do  some vacation stuff, and I've been dragging her down. I'm trying to get  over it so she isn't stuck in the room."

Her confession settled into his chest, filling it in a way he hadn't  expected-with tenderness. Anyone who could admit to fear in the same  breath as a plan to fix it deserved a friendly ear. "What kind of stuff  does she want to do?"

"Snorkeling." Emma shot him the side-eye. "I swear I didn't know you did  that. I'm not making that up just to get in your pants."

The genuine laugh burst from his throat before he could check it. "Thank  God. I wouldn't want to feel all violated and taken advantage of and  stuff."

She whacked him on the arm, which didn't decrease his amusement in the slightest.

"You know what I mean. We've got a weird thing going on here where I'm  trying to get you naked and you're pretending like you don't notice that  I'm mentally undressing you."

"You are?" He processed that as his lower half got in on that action in a  big way. In about two seconds, his board shorts would have enough  clearance to camp under. "Did I get a gold star when you finished  imagining my clothes hitting the sand?"

What was so arousing about the fact that she was thinking about him  naked? He spent 90 percent of his day half-dressed and in the presence  of a lot of women, some of them smoking hot. It was no stretch to assume  she wasn't the first to wonder what he looked like under his clothes.  But she was definitely the first to say it to his face.

She snorted. "I didn't think you were allowed to flirt with me. And who  says I finished undressing you in my fantasies? Maybe I wanted to wait  to see the real thing before I had something fixed in my mind."

There was no scenario where this conversation was going to end well. But  he couldn't seem to help himself. "I'll make you a deal. You go in the  water, and I'll strip for you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me." He wiggled his fingers at the crashing surf. "Go on.  Wade out to chest deep, and I'll be the star of your private show."

Seemed like a sucker bet based on her Hokey Pokey routine thus far.  Except he'd vastly underestimated the chemistry factor. Heat gathered in  the crackling space between them as she glanced down at his shorts.

"And then what?"

That snap in his brain could only be the sound of his will being broken  in two as he internalized what could conceivably come next. What would  inevitably come next when two people who were hot for each other found  themselves in a secluded area and one of them started removing clothes.

But that was so not the thing that should come next. And besides, he'd  never expected her to bite. "What do you mean, and then what? I'll be  naked, and you'll get an ending for your fantasy. What more do you  want?"

Without blinking, she shot back, "That's enough. How long do I have to be in the water?"

Not only was she seriously contemplating this offer he'd been smugly  certain she'd reject out of hand, now she wanted parameters. Since he'd  stupidly throw it out there …  "Five minutes."

"Do I have to stick my head under the water?"

"Yes," he insisted instinctively, guessing that was the exact thing she  didn't want to do, and sure enough, something flitted through her blue  eyes, darkening them. He had her in the palm of his hand. It wasn't the  water itself that scared her, but the act of diving below the surface  that had her freaked.

He had her right where he wanted her.

"I'll do it," she said decisively.

The upper hand slid away along with a good bit of his composure. What  the hell had just happened? Had he just signed on the dotted line to do a  striptease in exchange for helping her over her fear of the ocean?         

     



 

Her lashes dropped for a beat, and when she glanced up, the darkness had  been replaced by something altogether crafty. "But you have to go  first."

"What? No way. That wasn't the deal."

Emma wouldn't even look at him, which had double cross written all over  it. She wasn't going to do it and was scouting for an out. And now he  was disappointed. Worse, he was disappointed because she'd chickened out  of doing something that clearly meant a lot to her. Even the lure of  seeing him prance around like a Playgirl centerfold wasn't enough of a  carrot to get her over her fears.

Maybe she didn't actually trust him, which sat funny in his craw. She  shouldn't trust him. He had no business caring either way. But he'd have  held up his end of the bargain no matter what, because he'd said he  would.

"Come on," she purred and took a tiny step backward toward the water.  "I'll wade out into the water and you lemme see what you're hiding under  those shorts. I can tell your little guy wants to come out and play.  He's been waving hello since I got here."

"Little guy?" His disappointment melted away to be replaced by  indignation. "Sweetheart, you don't have a clue what you're talking  about."

"Oh?" She blinked those baby blues, so full of fresh, corruptible  innocence that it hooked him right in the heart. "That was a lot of  protesting. Sure you don't have some kind of complex about it?"

Waltzing closer, lashes lowered, she barged into his space without  warning, white bikini making the acquaintance of his steel hard shaft  with little teasing sways of her hips. Her milky white shoulders called  to him, and he ached to put his hands there to haul her up against the  planes of his body.

"How about a preview then?" she murmured provocatively, peering up at  him. "Just so I have the proper dimensions in mind when I speak of your  ‘guy.'"

He inhaled her scent. The sultry perfume she wore melded with the salty  tang of the ocean and warm breeze of paradise, and his mouth burned to  taste hers from the inside out.

"You're good," he croaked. A lock of her honey-blond hair blew across  her lips, and lazily he slid a fingertip along her cheekbone, angling  downward to hook the strands while memorizing the feel of her. "I'm  almost distracted enough to forget that we're supposed to be dealing  with your fear of the ocean. What happened to you that putting your head  under the water is worse than playing chicken with a man who's already  told you he's not good for you?"

She froze, going so completely still that he worried for a second that  he'd misjudged the situation. But then her lower lip quaked once, and he  opened his mouth to let her off the hook.

"I almost drowned," she whispered before he could say a word, and the  shock of both the content of her answer and the fact that she'd offered  one at all nearly knocked his already weak knees out from under him.

He should be running away from Emma faster than a bullet. Women who  shared pieces of themselves expected reciprocation. Yearned for it. That  was one deal he could never agree to, and therein lay the reason he  could never take what she'd so clearly offered.

But he couldn't physically tear his gaze from hers. Anguish bled from  her pores as if he might read it like braille by running his fingertips  over her skin. As her gorgeous body lay within touching distance, he  might very well learn all of her secrets by simply reaching out. One  finger flexed, but he didn't move for fear of spooking her.