Commanding Her Seal (Plus Bonus Novella)(37)

Of course, the scenery was a huge draw.

The next morning, Fitz left his stuff in the stowaway compartment on the boat and followed Jack from the resort dock where they’d secured the rental. He’d slept like a rock, as he always did when he wasn’t deployed, about to be deployed or just off the plane from being deployed. Which meant he slept like crap most of the time.

Jack had questioned his sanity when Fitz said he’d rather sleep on the boat than the couch in Hyland’s living room. The lull of the boat on the water had been nice. Serene.

He’d need all his energy today. Apparently. The beach lining the front of the resort teemed with people, most wearing numbers pinned to their shirts. “I’m guessing we have to register somewhere?”

Jack nodded, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “Yeah, let me find the girls. Teams have to register together.”

He followed Jack to what must have been a predesignated spot. Lilah and Thora waited patiently, talking to each other instead of being head down in their phones, a quality he distinctly appreciated. There was nothing worse than meeting an interesting woman who immediately exhibited near obsessive-compulsive disorder by constantly checking her phone.

Fitz liked real conversations. The more attention you paid to a woman, the easier you could figure out what turned her on, a prerequisite for a hot encounter between the sheets. Which was why he found Lilah such a rush—he could not gauge where she’d veer next in the conversation, and it was fun to let her take him along for the ride while he soaked up little tidbits of information about her.

“Still on for this?” Fitz murmured to Lilah, taking the opportunity to lean in close so she could hear him over the squawk of a loudspeaker and the crowd’s dull roar.

Very nice. She smelled like green apples and a light, clean floral number that he’d definitely not mind smelling on his own shirt later, as would inevitably happen if he got his arms around her.

“Yep. All ready to go,” she said. Except she was twisting a braided silver band around her middle finger. Again and again. Her anxiety level was high, despite the small smile on her face. Because of him?

Back off, moron. “Let me get your bag.”

Good. Occupy his hands. Smart.

They reached for it at the same time and their arms bumped, which naturally made him glance up. Bad plan. Her lips were scarcely four inches from his and she wasn’t moving away.

So he did. Giant steps back. Which pulled the bag taut between them until she dropped the strap as if it had scalded her.

Okay, then. Off to an auspicious start. He should have pressed the advantage yesterday when he’d almost gotten her to flirt with him. Or he should focus on winning the game. Probably that.

He let Jack lead, then followed the women to the registration desk where he endured all kinds of innocent groping as Lilah pinned his number to his shirt. That unschooled blush springing into her cheeks as she fingered his pecs gave him a boner, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she missed closing the pin for the third time. “Clumsy. Thanks for holding still.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he informed her truthfully. More blushing. So cute.

Jack and Thora accepted a sealed envelope from the hunt official and ripped it open, pulling out pages and pages of rules and regs that immediately made Fitz want a nap and a beer.

“How ’bout you guys comb through that crap and meet me and Lilah on the boat?” Fitz suggested lightly and shouldered Lilah’s bag.

Lilah was the only one who heard him. Yin and Yang were doing that thing where no one else existed as Jack pretended Thora had something in her eye and he was the only person who could possibly get it out. Since it appeared they were yet again extraneous, Fitz raised his brows at Lilah in invitation and jerked his head toward the dock.

“Come on, I’ll show you to the boat. Get you acclimated.”

She nodded, her dark hair swinging and followed him meekly. That wasn’t going to work. He slowed down until they walked side by side on the sand.

“You’ll like the boat,” he told her conversationally in hopes of drawing her out like he had yesterday. “It’s nice. Twenty-five-foot Chris Craft. A little on the ancient side but serviceable.”

“You know boats?” she asked politely.

Something had changed overnight. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was like she’d given herself a stern lecture on the evils of saying what was on her mind, and he wasn’t a fan of the stiff version of Lilah Houston.

“Occupational hazard. Navy,” he reminded her, and then it occurred to him that they actually knew less than nothing about each other. “Or didn’t you know that was my gig?”