“Nothing else...for now?” When she shook her head, he reached beneath the counter and grabbed a towel. A third scar from what appeared to be a .22 caliber bullet snaked across the back of his hand in a jagged line. His eyes followed hers, and he shifted his injured hand beneath the towel.
“Where did you serve?” Her inner doctor kicked in. Based on the extensive scarring, she’d guess field dressing.
He gave her yet another flirtatious grin. Defensive maneuver. “Right here, waiting for you.”
She rolled her eyes. Did he really think that kind of cheesy line would work on her? Still, his scars were none of her business. She took the towel and retreated to where Gray waited for her by the side of the pool.
“Are battle scars a job prerequisite around here?”
He was back to being poker-faced. “Do you have a soldier fantasy?”
Damn it. She hated blushing. So what if she’d daydreamed once or twice about welcoming her man home? It was none of Gray’s business. Deflect.
“I’m a trauma surgeon, and I’ve staffed the ER. Patients don’t always tell the truth about how they got injured. My patients lied about everything and anything.”
“Maybe you asked too many questions. Maybe the towel boy’s embarrassed about how he got injured.” His hand cupped her elbow, guiding her toward a massage cabana, a heavy weight against her skin. Sure. Confident. Would he position her that effortlessly in bed?
“How do you know how he got injured?”
He gave her a look. “Guys talk.”
“You mean you swap fishing stories. War stories. Who has the biggest dick. Etcetera. Oh, and just FYI...whatever he told you, it’s likely exaggerated. All guys do it.”
He pulled aside the curtain hanging over the door to the cabana. “Inside.”
Uh-oh. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned the size of his penis. Or thought about soldier fantasies. “Is it safe to be alone with you?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Yes, but I exaggerate.”
“DOES EVERYONE LIE to you?” Gray snapped open the towel while he waited for Laney’s answer. Still warm from the laundry, the high-end cotton smelled like some kind of flower. It was a good smell, way nicer than what he usually encountered in the field. There were definite perks to going undercover at a resort. While she’d grabbed towels from Levi, he’d detoured briefly to strip out of his wet suit and into the spa uniform. He had no idea how the real masseuse handled spending his days in white linen. The stuff wrinkled and was hell on the tough-guy image.
She didn’t take the hint to lie down, standing in the center of the massage cabana, chewing on her bottom lip. Since he estimated she was ten seconds from bolting, the towel he wrapped around her was excellent insurance. Maybe he could trade the cotton in for some nice ropes. Or silk ties. He’d bet she’d enjoy the slide of silk against her skin, the gentle tug whenever she moved reminding her that she’d given control to him. He’d enjoy it, too.
Laney shrugged. “Being lied to is an occupational hazard of working in the ER. No one likes to admit that they’re responsible for their own accident or that they did something stupid or illegal. Take your pick, but bodies don’t lie. That guy in the towel hut was shot on multiple occasions.”
“You can tell he took a bullet more than once?” He knew that was the truth, but how did she?
“The scars are different colors,” she said with a second shrug that threatened her cotton shroud. “The one on his palm is older than the one on his forearm, so not a matching set.”
Damn. She was good. It would have been easier if she were less aware of her surroundings.
“So, no matter what he told you, he’s been in a firefight.”
Also true. Levi had acquired those scars during a less-than-friendly meet-and-greet with the Nicaraguan Navy. He had joked that the bullet that had creased his palm was a souvenir. Since Levi had also walked away from that fight, Gray had been satisfied. Sometimes, blood got spilt. As long as everyone got patched up in the end, that was all that mattered..
“Got it,” he said. “Everyone lies.”
She shrugged again. “Pretty much.”
Great. She’d spent her professional life being conned and lied to, and he was doing the same thing. In the name of US national security, true, but the end result was the same. He sighed. There were days his job sucked, and this was definitely one of them.
“Tell me something, Doctor. Why are you here by yourself?” He stepped in closer until his thighs brushed hers. The massage cabana was a cozy space, and he had her up against the massage bed. He liked the way she refused to retreat, the way she held her ground and dared him to keep on advancing. Sex with her would be good. More than good. It would be great, and she would tie him in knots if he let her. Which he wasn’t going to do.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Did you look at my reservation the way you did my phone?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?” In point of fact, he hadn’t. Ashley had. She was a whiz at cracking databases and sticking her nose where it shouldn’t be. He’d asked her to hack Laney’s phone, although apparently that had been super easy because Laney had keyed in the password in front of Ashley, and the undercover op’s memory for numbers had done the rest.
Laney sighed and tightened her arms over her chest. The move did fantastic things to her bikini top, so it was a pity her beach bag covered the rest of her because he liked looking at her. She wasn’t naked and in his arms, but it was the next best thing. Her swimsuit was approximately ninety square inches of wet nylon.
He could have her naked in seconds.
And then in his arms five seconds after that.
Laney stared at him as if she’d just made up her mind about something. She stepped backward and he knew immediately that playtime was over. She was done with him.
“Damn it,” she said, and he recognized the regret filling her voice. He had far too much firsthand experience with that emotion himself. “I really wanted this massage, but I’m going to have to pass.”
Letting her walk away from him was harder than he’d anticipated. Her flip-flops smacked against the pool deck with a brisk snap-snap, her ponytail flicking back and forth. She didn’t so much as throw him a backward glance. Stay in character. He didn’t need a consult with Levi to know that a real masseuse wouldn’t go chasing after a client who had just canceled on him.
Never break cover. Fortunately, he had that iron self-control thing down pat, because the island’s newest guest was hands down the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Better yet, she was interested in him, too. He had no idea how he’d lucked into that, but he definitely wanted to be the man giving her whatever she wanted.
He’d never been one to take orders in the bedroom—he was best at giving them—but some sixth sense told him Laney might be willing to let him be the one in charge. She was stubborn, opinionated and unless he missed his guess, an excellent trauma surgeon. When she wasn’t naked on his massage table, she owned her surroundings. He liked her confidence, her self-control, the aura of awareness she projected. It made the possibility of convincing her to let go even more intriguing.
He watched her go, moving double-time. His current position gave him an excellent view of her ass. She walked with a firm, determined stride, but her hips swayed just the tiniest bit as she walked, a sexy rhythm a man had to watch to catch. He needed to let her go. The closer they got, the harder it would be to not blow his cover, especially given her eagle eye for battle scars.
And...who was he kidding? He wasn’t interested in playing this smart. He was interested in her. He tossed her abandoned towel onto the bed, and hotfooted it after her, knowing Levi would give him shit for weeks.
“I don’t want a massage,” she said, picking up her pace when he fell into step beside her.
“Okay.” He would have enjoyed giving her one, though. Her basic black bikini had double strings holding the sides together over her hips. One hard tug would be all it took to untie the strings and let the scraps of fabric pool around her ankles... “So tell me what you do want.”
5
WHATEVER GAME GRAY was playing, he needed to find a different playmate. Did he take the hint, though? Of course not. The man was impossibly used to getting his own way. He tucked his hands in those ridiculous white linen pants and sauntered along beside her. He had no business looking so good in those pants.
Then to add insult to injury, he’d asked what she wanted.
She wished she knew.
“We’re not having sex,” she said, ignoring the frisson of disappointment in her southern regions. Her body was used to not having sex of any kind on a regular basis.
He blinked, but otherwise showed no other reaction. He had gorgeous lashes, thick and dark, the kind of lush her girlfriends wielded a mascara brush to get and more proof that life wasn’t fair. Although, since she got to recover from her breakup on a tropical island, she was in no position to complain. Sitting on her couch mainlining Ben and Jerry’s wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fun.
“I didn’t realize sex was an option,” he said finally, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.
Great. Not only had she almost propositioned him yesterday and failed then, but she was failing now, as well. Hooking up should have been simple. She said: “Do you want to have sex?” And then he said “My place or yours?” or even just “Yes, please” and they did it and she had the orgasm she needed so desperately. Instead, one of them was screwing this up and it appeared to be her.