Ruined by the Seal(7)

You're eating dinner with the enemy. She looked at her plate as they  settled at one of the tables. If this was a movie, she'd make him prove  it wasn't poisoned. But this wasn't an over-the-top adventure flick. It  wasn't even a laugh-a-minute comedy. It was her real life, and she  hadn't asked for any of this. Hadn't asked to have to defend this estate  against a claim of ownership by a big, hulking, good-with-food and  even-better-without-a-shirt Adonis.

No, this wasn't exciting.

It was confusing and strange.

She didn't like it at all.

"What's wrong?"

She jerked her head up. "What?"         

     



 

"You aren't eating."

"Maybe you poisoned it," she blurted out.

He laughed and popped a big forkful into his mouth. "Maybe," he mumbled.  His eyes danced as he chewed and swallowed. Then he pressed his lips  together and raised one eyebrow expectantly.

"Murder suicide," she said under her breath, but picked up her fork. The  first taste wiped away any grumpiness she'd been feeling. This was  good. It hit the spot after a weekend of non-stop stress. She hadn't  eaten a real meal since Friday night's dinner with Daphne and Arielle.

"This is delicious," she admitted when she'd finally eaten enough to take the hard edge off her hunger.

"You're welcome."

She laughed. "I didn't say thank you yet."

He winked. "I figured that was as close as you were going to get. And  you don't actually need to thank me. It's the least I could do, given  the way I've turned your life upside down. It's not your fault that  someone messed up."

"I'm not sure my board will see it that way." She straightened her back.  "If. If. There's a problem. I don't believe there is. At least not for  me. You've come a long way for nothing, of course."

He gave her a sympathetic look that said he knew there was a problem.

She scowled at him.

He laughed.

Her scowl deepened.

He glanced away, looking out in the dark. The path to his quarters  disappeared into inky black nothing. From the distance came the crashing  of waves. "It's a beautiful place."

"One that was long abandoned by your friend's family."

"His family, maybe. Not him. He didn't even know it existed."

"And why isn't he here?"

Mick's mouth tightened into a straight line. "He's required elsewhere."

She had enough hints now that she could guess that meant he was deployed  or on active duty somewhere. But she wouldn't be doing her job if she  just rolled over. "Then maybe he doesn't want this badly enough."

"He won't be tied up forever. And when he's done, he'll need something. A purpose."

Were they talking about Mick's friend? Or was she getting a glimpse  behind the mask, finally? He didn't look easygoing now. He was  practically vibrating with tension.

It wasn't her place to pick at that scab, though. That would be going too far.

She returned to her meal, finishing every last crumb on her plate. He  ate, too, but his gaze kept slipping to the darkness around them.





FIVE





WHEN CARA FINISHED EATING, SHE CLEARED HER THROAT. "Do you like the jungle?"

"I like the ocean," he answered readily. Too readily. And it wasn't really an answer to her question.

Interesting. But she couldn't quite bring herself to file that away in  the "he's the enemy" file. Her heart beat a little faster as she tucked  it away in the "boy, this man might just be human" file instead. Then  she stamped it top-secret, because nobody needed their weaknesses used  against them like that.

"Well, I should get to bed," she said, pushing up from the table. They  carried their dishes back inside and Mick set the kettle back on the  stove to heat for dishwater.

They jostled for position in front of the sink as Mick plugged it up and  Cara poured in an inch of water from the jug labeled For Washing. He  dumped in the boiling water once it was ready, and she reached for the  tea towel, ready to dry, but his elbow bumped it from her hand. She  laughed as she knelt to pick it up, but the small sound died in her  mouth as her gaze collided with his knee.

The scar ran down the side of his leg, long and straight. Surgical. Thick and still pink, although it was turning white.

Oh.

She'd thought that lazy, purposeful walk of his was arrogance. And maybe  that was part of it, because no man like Mick would be comfortable with  a limp.

She gripped the tea towel and told herself to set that thought from her head.

It didn't matter if he'd been wounded. He was fine. He was in front of  her, washing dishes. He was on her estate, planning a new business.

"And when he's done, he'll need something. A purpose."

Cara stood between Mick and his future purpose.

At the moment, she knelt at his feet. A wobbly, hysterical laugh ripped  out of her mouth as she pushed herself back up to stand on shaky legs.

"You okay?" he asked, sliding his hand, wet from the dishwater, around the back of her elbow.

"Fine."

His fingers tightened against her skin and she tried not to shiver, but  it was impossible. His nearness overwhelmed her, his size and his voice  and his strange, unreadable gaze all making a most confusing package  that affected her on a dangerous level.         

     



 

A primitive, emotional level.

"It's been a long weekend," she added quietly as she took the first  plate, then the second, drying them carefully. Every extra second she  stretched the task out was a second she'd spend side-by-side with Mick.  Tingles still skittered up and down her arm from where he'd touched her.

"Right. You said you wanted to get to bed."

Heat bloomed low in her belly at Mick saying the word bed, then whooshed  through the rest of her as her brain pictured what that would be like.  He was so much bigger than her. He didn't give much away. Would he be  vocal? Or the strong, silent, commanding type?

What did she want him to be?

Stop it, she hissed in her mind. She couldn't want him to be anything  related to sex. She couldn't want him at all. She needed him to be gone.

The swirl of water down the drain jerked her out of her thoughts. She  stepped back from the sink and nodded inanely at his shoulder. "Yes.  Okay. Good night."

And she stood there.

She told herself to walk backwards. But nope, she just stood there, waiting.

Because tomorrow they'd wake up and they'd both call the law offices in  New York. Tomorrow, one way or another, they'd get to the bottom of  this.

Tomorrow they'd be enemies once again, on the opposite side of a fight,  and in the balance would hang her job and his future. Only one of them  could be happy tomorrow.

But tonight, she couldn't stop thinking about the wet glide of his  fingers against her skin and the hooded, tight expression on his face as  he stared into the darkness. Tonight, she didn't want to say goodnight  to this man that she'd just seen for the first time, really.

She wanted him to turn around and look at her, maybe see her, too. Her made her want to be reckless and do something stupid.

But when he turned around, he just gave her a slow half-smile and dipped his head. "Okay, then. Good night."

She rocked from side to side on the balls of her feet. "Tomorrow … "

He lifted his head. He frowned for a split second, then rolled his lower  lip between his teeth, slightly off-centre. "Let's worry about that  tomorrow."

"Thanks for dinner."

"My pleasure."

No, it had been hers, in a strange, unexpected way. She gave him a  tentative smile, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she let  herself-just for a second-savour the moment.

When she opened her eyes again, he was closer.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest.

He lifted his hand and, light as a feather, brushed his third finger  over her cheek. "You've got an eyelash there," he said gruffly.

"Should I make a wish?" she whispered, shifting closer. His own  eyelashes were thick and straight, golden brown in the dim light, and  she wished she had an excuse to touch his face.

His face was all hard angles and carved lines, but up close, his mouth  was lush. A hidden softness in the tough guy exterior, and when he  parted his lips, she caught a glimpse of straight white teeth.

Would he sink those into her skin if he got carried away? Mark her, then soothe that spot with his tongue?

"I think you already are," he rumbled, and she blinked up at him. "Making a wish."

She gasped. Was she that transparent? Her hand flew to her burning cheek. "I … "

"It's okay." He grinned as he loomed closer still. Her head swam with the delicious scent of his skin. "I won't tell anyone."

Her pulse thudded slow and heavy, like lust had turned her blood to  sludge and it was hard to move through her body. She definitely wasn't  thinking clearly. As soon as they were done kissing, she'd make that  point very clear.

Wait, what?

No. There could be no kissing.

And after at least three panicky seconds of internal back and forth, she took a very small, very difficult step back.