The stress of the real estate business here in Annapolis was obviously killing her. Or maybe she was breathing in too much formaldehyde at all these funerals.
Or it was the lack of sex. That’s what Maeve would tell her. Hell, that’s what every cell in her body was screaming right now.
Suddenly, she was laughing again, nearly hysterically at the memory of herself falling flat on the floor in the middle of a funeral home. She didn’t know if she should feel humiliated, angry, or—remembering the final thirty seconds in the parking lot—turned on.
Yep, she was definitely turned on.
That, she decided, is exactly the type of man she had to avoid until this newest career of hers takes shape. Just a little time off from distractions, she had convinced herself. With a string of pathetic dates still fresh in her memory at the time, a temporary hiatus from men hadn’t seemed like much of a sacrifice.
Of course, she hadn’t been counting on meeting a guy who looked like…that. The man radiated sex from his pores.
No, no, no. Letting out a breath that would have made her yoga instructor proud, she attempted to mentally purge his delectably yummy image. She was not going to spend her thirties the same way she had killed time in her twenties—dabbling in dead-end jobs, distracted by whatever or whomever crossed her path.
Just once, she wanted a business card with a boast-worthy tagline:
Lacey Owens: Ranked #1 in Real Estate Sales in Annapolis.
And finally, she had come up with a foolproof plan for making it reality. It was a plan even worthy of Vi. She just had to stay focused.
With a sigh, she pulled an obituary from a file she had stashed in her back seat, and punched another funeral home address into her GPS. She might just be able to make it.
CHAPTER TWO
Lieutenant Commander Mick Riley played those minutes in the parking lot with that leggy brunette over in his mind as he stood in front of his bed, pinning medals to his uniform with precision that bordered on OCD.
He gave himself a slight nod. Each one was perfectly straight, perfectly aligned with the next, in exactly the spot dictated to him by Navy Uniform Regulations.
Something about putting on his khakis made him feel more in control. It defined him. It gave him direction. If he’d had his uniform on, he never would have been distracted by some cute real estate agent in her prim little suit and too-high stilettos.
Getting rejected was not a pleasant experience, especially when the woman was hot enough to get him half-chubbed at a funeral. But with hair the color of cinnamon sticks and legs as silky as a pint of Haagen Daz vanilla as she lay prone on the floor, Mick was instantly aroused. Not the most appropriate reaction, especially with Doc’s dead body lying peacefully only twenty feet away.
Women like her shouldn’t be allowed around men fresh from deployment.
Narrowing his eyes at his reflection, Mick adjusted the warfare insignia pinned above the coveted Navy Cross awarded to him just before he shipped off to Annapolis. He couldn’t help the scowl that passed over his face. He wasn’t in the mood to remember that day in the mountains outside Kandahar, hauling his near-dead teammate three miles under heavy fire.
He cursed the quiet around him. He was a SEAL, not an instructor. He should be heavily armed with an HK416 assault rifle right now, leaping from a helicopter into enemy territory.
Instead, the Navy expected him to stand in front of a room of green midshipmen droning on about the basics of leadership and ethics.
Ethics. What an irony, considering the unethical backstab dealt by his Commanding Officer that had landed Mick here.
At least he was here for Mrs. B when Doc died so suddenly. Don and Edith Baker had been his sponsors during his plebe year at the Academy more than a decade ago. They were like parents to him over the years. When Doc died, Mick feared he’d never see Mrs. B smile again.
Then along comes that woman at the funeral and some story about stargazer lilies, and Mick saw the light return to Mrs. B’s eyes.
That must be why he was so attracted to her. It was simply gratitude he felt for her.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he gave a slight nod to his reflection in the mirror. “Gratitude and a nice ass,” he said to himself as he put on his cap and headed out the door.
Stepping from his historic townhome on the Academy campus, the “Yard” as midshipmen called it, he glanced warily around him out of habit, still not used to being able to walk around on a work day without his SIG Sauer pistol at his side and the weight of body armor on his back.
It was a beautiful campus, and a hell of a lot prettier than his surroundings during his constant deployments. Being a naval history buff, he might enjoy a little time here in Annapolis. But two years? He vowed to do whatever it took to get his career back on track before then. Even with his injuries from his last mission barely healed, he wanted to be back with his team. They were probably back in Afghanistan or maybe off the Horn of Africa right now.