Ruined by the Seal(4)

He gave her a lazy grin. "I was wearing clothes."

She glowered at him.

"Okay, I was wearing boxers. It's the weekend, and I was making myself  some breakfast. I wasn't naked, and even if I was, that's nobody's  business but mine." His smile got even cockier, if that was possible.  "And yours, if you want it to be."

"I don't."

"Then stop staring at my chest."

She jerked her eyes up to his face-she could have sworn she was just  looking at him. She'd seen him grin. And then … maybe there'd been some  gaze drifting. Not her fault. "You're taking up a lot of valuable real  estate right in front of me."         

     



 

"Uh huh." This time his smile was crooked, his eyes hooded. He looked  like he was about to ask her a question he already knew she'd say no to.  "You got a bathing suit on, by any chance? I'm heading down to the  beach."

He wanted to go swimming together? The only thing she wanted to do with  him was bid each other a polite farewell as he carried his ridiculously  oversized, over-muscled, over-everythinged body off the estate and out  of her life.

"No, I do not," she lied. "And stop calling it a beach."

"Oceanfront property, lady. In my world, that's a beach."

He was insufferable. "Well, go enjoy cracking your head open on the rocks, then. I have work to do."

"On a Saturday?" He frowned. "I thought you'd said you'd be back on Monday."

That was before you started waging a guerrilla war based on some  misguided sense of possession being nine-tenths of the law. "Change of  plans."

He gave her a long, scrutinizing look. She held her ground. She wouldn't be intimidated.

Finally, he canted his head to the side and nodded. "Well, if you're  hungry, there are sausages and grilled tomatoes in the fridge."

"The fridge isn't … " She trailed off. It hadn't been connected to power.  But as she glanced over his shoulder, she realized he'd moved it back  against the wall and plugged it in. So cereal and shelf-stable milk were  his backup pantry staples. Crappity crap.

Two could play at that game. "Thank you for the offer, but I had my breakfast a few hours ago."

He smirked at her. "Early riser, are you?"

"You should try it some time."

That shouldn't amuse him, but it clearly did. "I'll take that under advisement."

She stiffened. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me … "

"Just what work are you doing on the weekend? Suddenly?"

She gave him a bland look. "Why?"

He gave her a slow perusal. Up and down his gaze crawled, and it should  haven't felt good. It didn't feel good, she lied to herself. They were  on opposite sides of what could turn into a serious legal battle.

This man was the enemy, no matter how tall or how handsome he was. No matter how warm his gaze.

The. Enemy.

"Because I think you're going to be a problem for me, Ms. Levasseur."  Okay, so he was on the same enemy-page. That was … good. She swallowed as  his gaze hardened. "Does that start today?"

Did the fact that she'd brought all the camping supplies she owned and  quietly set up shop in the ballroom constitute the beginning of an  all-out-war? "You tell me. Does it?"

He laughed quietly. "Answering a question with a question. I'm guessing  yes." He took a few steps back, slow and sure, his eyes never blinking  as he held her gaze. "I'm going swimming."

"And I'm going to work."

"See you later."

"Definitely. You can count on it." She really didn't need to say both of  those things. She pressed her lips together to keep any more empty,  threatening promises from spilling out.

"Ms. Levasseur?" She jerked her chin up in response to his slow drawl of  her name. He smirked as he pointed to the jug of filtered water that  she used for tea. He hadn't used any of it, she saw. "In case you were  looking for some running water. I got the bathroom hooked up in the  servants' quarters."

What? She gapped at him. "When?" The question stuttered out of her.

He grinned. "You're not the only one who had breakfast hours ago. I've been busy."





THREE





MICK LOOKED DOWN AT THE FROTHING SURF SWIRLING AROUND HIS ANKLES.

He shouldn't take as much glee in throwing Cara off-kilter as he did.  But there it was-the first bit of fun he'd had in a long while.

And for all her bluster, for all the hard, angry looks she threw his way, he felt an odd familiarity with her.

So he secretly liked the woman he'd spend the next few days around, at least as much as he liked anyone, and he was having fun.

This was all good.

The ocean was fun, too. The surf had been pretty vicious first thing this morning-exactly how he liked to greet the day.

But not even the crashing waves felt as good as poking the sexy, fiery,  defensive woman currently plotting his demise up at the main house.  Every time they clashed, she lit up like a Chinese lantern. It hadn't  taken much for him to realize that his slow and steady "not going  anywhere" attitude was an easily lit match, and he used it at will  because …

Well, because it was fun.         

     



 

He laughed. He hadn't used that word as many times in the last ten years as he had in the last ten minutes inside his head.

And he'd wanted to hang on to that life, desperately? What was wrong with him?

Although it probably wasn't healthy that he got a charge out of clashing  with Cara and invading her space. Until the question of ownership was  resolved, he had to recognize that it was her space, at least in her  head.

He wasn't going to do anything with it, really. Other than a bit of basic plumbing.

Buying a used moped … well, a guy needs transportation.

And stocking the kitchen just meant he had snacks at the ready between swims and naps.

He grinned again as he surged away from shore, over the rocks he'd now  memorized. Cara hadn't been kidding about the rough water access, but  that wasn't a problem for him. If anything it ensured his privacy, which  he needed, because there wasn't anything impressive about how slowly he  moved on the unsteady footing.

His smile fell away. One wrong twist and he'd be rendered useless,  flopping like a fish in the water. His hollow victory over fixing some  damn pipes was just that-empty. Meaningless.

Unimpressive.

He dove into the surf, a shallow glide that did nothing to restore his  faith in his ability. He'd hoped this trip would give him a new purpose  in life. Instead, he'd realized that he'd been served a pile of shit to  deal with, not of his own making, but now it was his only hope for the  immediate future. He didn't have any other career options. Didn't want  to go into private security like so many of his buddies did. And he  didn't have any other transferrable skills.

He couldn't even do something fluffy like bartending, because he was  downright rusty on the interacting with other human beings thing. Cara's  pretty face swirled in his mind. Fuck. What he wanted to do was stalk  back up to the house and kiss the scowl right off her dusky pink lips.

Wanted to tell her he wasn't the bad guy here, he wasn't the enemy she  needed to guard against. He was just a messenger and he didn't really  care.

Except a part of him did.

He dove deeper, exhaling effortlessly. The stream of bubbles against his  face felt good. Little pops of reality bursting through his denial.

He didn't want to be done with life at thirty-five.

He wanted a new career, a second chance.

That was why he was pushing back at her. Not because he was just Will's errand boy.

He wanted Villa Sucre.

Pretty, pouting mouths be damned.

A mistake had been made, but it wasn't his mistake, and he wouldn't pay  for it. He'd lean on Will to lean on the lawyers, and he wouldn't let up  until they'd broken the news to Ms. Levasseur.

She was no longer Cara of the curly hair and endless legs. Her full name was the safest way for Mick to think about her now.

His unfortunate enemy.

Not of his choosing, but when were they ever?

In the past, he'd been fighting for the greater good.

Now he was fighting for himself and his own future. He'd give it all he  had. It might not be everything he'd once have brought to a battle, but  it was still formidable.

He almost pitied the Historical Society director and her big, luminous eyes.

Almost.

Then he thought of the way she cagily refused to answer his questions  and he girded himself against sentiment. She would show him no mercy.  He'd give her the same right back.

Fun time was over.











CARA FILLED HER BUCKET FROM THE PUMP IN THE FRONT GARDEN and hauled it  back into the ballroom. She'd swept the room twice, but there was still  dust everywhere. For her plan to work, she needed to stake a claim right  in the heart of the estate.

As the cold water splashed over her hand, she tried hard not to think of  Mick. He'd sauntered off in the direction of the beach. Was he slicing  through the waves right now? Or climbing back out, droplets rolling down  that impressive chest?

Clinging to each defined ridge for a moment before tumbling to the next …   She closed her eyes as she pictured it. He was a mountain of a man,  complete with his own built-in waterfall system.