Teasing Her Seal (Uniformly Hot!)(5)

And then she gave in and rolled over, presenting him with her back. She was all tangled up in her sheet, the wrapping dipping perilously low on her butt. She had a fantastic butt. He could see the soft indentations at the base of her spine. The urge to smile came out of nowhere, as did the sudden need to trace those delicate spots with his fingers.

What the hell was he doing here?

In what universe had Uncle Sam and his superior officers believed a team of SEALs could go undercover as resort staff? From the other side of the pool, safely positioned inside the towel hut, Levi flashed him a thumbs-up. Right. The bastard had slapped him on the back and announced, “Bring her some towels, man, and give her a massage.”

She turned her head. “Clock is ticking. Chop chop.”

Did she have some place to be? Apparently so, because she held out her hand. “Give me back my phone.”

“The phone’s in time-out.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them over.

She snorted. “Are you new?”

“You could say that.”

She nodded and then opened her mouth and proceeded to give him an unending stream of instructions. “I’ve indicated a preference for essential oils on my spa form. Medium pressure, but I usually have discomfort in my upper back that could benefit from deep tissue work. Start with the deltoids. Then the trapezius. If you can work my trigger points, I’d appreciate it. I can show you.”

She twisted around, her fingers pressing against her back. The sheet slipped. “Lie down.”

He resisted the urge to smack her butt. She was as tough as any drill sergeant he’d met at BUD/S but more than twice as pretty. She had that working in her favor. Levi laughed silently from across the pool, and Gray flashed him the bird, grabbing a glass flask of oil from the cart beside the bed. Cardamom and jasmine oil, per Her Royal Highness’s orders. He poured it into his hand, warming the slick stream.

“I’ll show you.” She twisted on the bed again.

“Down,” he gritted out. Were ropes allowed in commercial massages? A gag seemed like a useful option, as well. Before she could squirm away from him, he spread the oil over her shoulders. She had the palest skin, dotted with freckles but no swimsuit lines. He reminded himself that skin was just skin. It covered bones and muscles. He’d never thought about it before, but damn, she felt special.

The instant connection he felt when he touched her was unexpected. She sucked in a breath as if she maybe felt it, too. At least he’d shut her up for the moment. Yeah. He was a horny bastard, because he immediately started thinking about other ways to make her hold still. Make her come.

He drew his hands down her back in sweeping strokes, working out the visible tension in her neck and shoulders. He was no expert, but her back was a mess of knots. What the hell had she been doing? She was a woman on a tropical island. She was supposed to relax. He rubbed his thumbs in small circles, working out a particularly hard knot.

She whimpered, a breathy bedroom sound he’d bet she didn’t know she was making. Better yet, she’d finally stopped issuing directions. He didn’t dare imagine whether she’d stripped off completely beneath the towel or if she had on just a pair of panties because he was already hard. He’d gone undercover in the worst biker bars in California, fought hard, ridden fast. A massage should have been easy, but he’d never been so hot for a woman before.

She turned her head and muttered something. He didn’t give a damn what it was.

He pressed his finger against her lips. “Not one word.”

“Or...?” Sweet challenge filled her voice and, yeah, he wanted to show her. Instead, he worked his way down the straight line of her spine, headed for her ass.

“I have my ways.” He sounded like a bad villain. He might as well have rolled over and showed his belly, because she ignored his answer and started talking again, directing him from one muscle group to the other so matter-of-factly that she probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. Laney Parker was definitely a woman who was used to being in control. He recognized her need because he felt the same way. But one of them had to give and it sure wasn’t going to be him.

“We need to be clear on one thing.” He leaned forward, so his mouth was level with her ear. “I’m in charge.”



GRAY HAD MAGIC HANDS. Laney should have gone for sixty or even the full ninety minutes instead of the paltry thirty minutes she’d ponied up for. He was that good.

“You’re tight here.” He pressed a particularly tense spot on her back, and she stopped caring that she was stretched out, bare-ass naked and vulnerable. God, he was good.

“Trigger point.” Not, apparently, that she needed to tell him. The man knew what he was doing.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Trauma surgeon.” Was that sultry whisper her voice? Because, if so, Gray was definitely a miracle worker. She felt herself melting under his touch and, wow, how long had it been since she’d done that?

He found and pressed against another knot. “So I should call you Dr. Parker.”

He moved around to the front of the massage bed. The bed had one of those circle doughnut things that she’d always thought were awkward. She opened her eyes as Gray’s feet moved into view. She’d never had a foot fetish before, but he was barefoot, and his feet were sun-bronzed and strong-looking. Those few inches of bare skin made her want to see more. She’d bet the rest of him was every bit as spectacular.

It was probably bad she found his feet sexy. He was just doing a job.

Really, really well.

He gently pulled her ponytail free before running his hands through her hair, pressing his fingertips against her scalp. Maybe she’d been a cat in a former life, because she’d always loved having her hair played with. For long minutes, Gray rubbed small sensual circles against her scalp. She bit back a moan. Just lie here. Keep still. She probably wasn’t supposed to arch off the table, screaming more, more, more. Although she could. She definitely could.

He moved closer, his thighs brushing against the bed. If she lifted her head, the situation could get awkward fast. Thinking about that made her stiffen up again, but then he cupped the back of her neck, pressing and rotating. And oh, sweet baby Jesus, she could feel the tension melting away. The small tugs on her hair sent a prickle of excitement through her entire body.

“Should I call you Doctor?” he prompted.

“Laney is just fine.” The words rushed out on a sigh.

She stared at his feet again, trying to regain her equilibrium. He’d made her drool, damn it.

“Holding still isn’t so bad?” He followed up the wicked amusement in his voice with another sensual tug on her hair.

She didn’t know him. She’d never been the kind of woman who had casual sex. Because that was a personal choice she’d made, she reminded herself. Lovemaking was about as intimate as it got, and she’d never fantasized about letting a stranger touch her.

Before now, the traitorous voice in her head said, because evidently she was seriously considering taking her sex life in a whole new direction. Gray’s direction. The purpose of coming to Fantasy Island had been to take charge of her life. To be someone different, even if the change was only temporary. She wanted to be fun and flirtatious and, yes, just a little wild. In a few more days, she’d go back to being Laney Parker, MD, but on this island she could be someone else. The kind of woman who made her fantasies a reality.



HE NEEDED TO step back. Laney was a doctor, a paying guest—and a civilian. She was undoubtedly an upright, tax-paying US citizen, and he had no business running his hands over her skin. In fact, he was fairly certain that, Hippocratic Oath or not, she was the kind of woman who’d kill him if he played games with her.

So sue him. He liked that, too.

Because he wasn’t playing nice, he tugged the sheet lower, exposing the dimples above the sweet curve of her butt. She hadn’t gone completely naked beneath her sheet. She’d kept her panties on, and he immediately wondered what it would take to coax her out of them, because he was a bastard and not nice. And iron-hard at just a glimpse of those white panties and the strip of pale skin above the band. He brushed a knuckle over the topmost edge. She’d be wearing something silky, he decided. Panties that were as simple and elegant as the rest of her.

She lifted her head and he retreated a step. Not because he wanted to—he was a guy, after all, and would be more than happy to have her face pressed against his groin—but because he really wasn’t a creeper, and he didn’t want to spoil her enjoyment of the massage. Still, he was sorry he’d moved when she looked up at him, hair tumbling around her face, eyes slumberous.

She mumbled something incoherent that ended with on the menu?

What. The. Hell. He was a SEAL and a fighter. Bar fight, the government’s fight—as long as it involved fists and a beat down, he was all in. This menu business, however, was unfamiliar territory. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“The menu.” He gave her words back to her as if repetition would somehow miraculously clear up his confusion. Spa menu? Room service menu? He hated being out of his element.

She blushed, and blood surged to his dick. God. He’d have given his left nut to know what she’d been thinking. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”