“Let’s discuss next steps in Plan To Get Laney Laid.”
“We could plan your love life, instead.”
Ashley shook her head. “Uh-uh. Maddie’s next.”
Madeline groaned. “I’m a lost cause. Focus on Laney.”
Ashley pulled a set of laminated cards out of her beach bag and slapped them down onto the table. “Research time. I’ve brought the list of possibilities.”
The menu didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. It was maybe six pages of drink names, with the occasional picture of something pink and fruity. Or in a coconut. Laney strained to find something erotic about it, but it was just a list of alcoholic beverages. Some of them with ice cream. Yum. She pulled it over and started flipping through it. If orgasms weren’t happening, ice cream was next on her list.
A Good Night Kiss
Leather and Lace
A Tender Touch
Much Fuss for the Conquering Hero
All Night Long
Seduction on the Rocks
Black Leather Whip
See You in the Morning
Cowboy Up
Sex on the Beach
Kinky Sex
Sex with the Bartender
Kiss-in-the-Dark
Slow Comfortable Screw
Okay. Some of the options seemed anatomically impossible, while others were clearly optimistic. Seduction on the Rocks, for instance, was clearly a fantasy that no one in her right mind would reenact. The slow, comfortable screw, however, had promise. Lots of sexy Gray promise. Wait. She tore her gaze away from the menu.
“How do you know this really isn’t just a list of drinks?” Because it sure looked like a list, even if every single name had something to do with sex. Maybe the bartender had a dirty mind. Or really, really liked laughing his butt off when somebody ordered a—she flipped the page and squinted—Slippery Nipple. She wanted to feel sexy, not ridiculous.
Maddie scooted closer and stabbed a drink with her finger. “I had this one last night. Believe me, no orgasms were involved. Marketing hype is like penis hype—all words, no action.”
Since Ashley was the one who had first brought up the drinks menu, that made her the expert. “So how do you know it works?”
Maddie grinned. “Have you tried it? And, if so, which drink do you recommend?”
Ashley tapped the side of her nose. “Not telling. And I have inside sources. The question really is—does Laney start at the top and work her way down, or just pick her favorites?”
* * *
KICKING THE RADIO would be a stupid move. Gray needed the radio. He simply hadn’t expected the bad news the guy on the other end had delivered. The bad news fit the incoming crappy weather to a tee. A slow-moving storm had blown up about an hour ago, and now rain was pounding the island, the drops practically flying sideways. The night was perfect for cozying up to a bar—or waking up Laney and getting her going all over again. Instead, he was stuck out here in a seriously damp patch of jungle, rainwater dripping off his tent while the local mosquito population circled him as if he was an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Good thing he loved his job.
“You cannot be serious.” Levi cursed and started disassembling his M16. Not that the gun needed cleaning, but the man had energy to burn and hated sitting still. “They can’t do that to us.”
Gray scoffed. “When’s the last time we had a choice about the mission timeline?”
Levi cursed again. His shooter’s position on the time change was crystal clear.
“Marcos’s advance team lands in three hours.” Mason said the words out loud, as if verbalizing the FUBAR situation would make it better.
“That’s the new plan. Our target is either itching to get his tropical relaxation on or he’s decided that unpredictable is the new safe.” Gray fell back on the stack of duffel bags. Their camp was neat and orderly, despite their prime location in the jungle. Thunder boomed, low and close, the downpour on their canvas roof dancing at tango speed. He’d spent more than a few months concealed in similar patches of wet, mosquito-infested jungles, waiting out a target.
But somehow, it sucked worse, knowing Laney was tucked up in her bungalow, all sweet and warm. He’d much rather be there than here, and that was a problem. There was no solving it now, however, so he forced himself to focus on his present reality: that his ass was parked in a tent in a SEAL camp.
Some of the guys liked to create a little piece of home inside their tents, with photos and pictures, as if those pieces of paper were windows into the normal goings-on thousands of miles away. Or a reminder of what they were fighting for. He’d never needed that. Give him a bedroll and his weapons bag and he was good.
Nope. The two-thousand-dollar-a-night luxury bungalows two clicks away weren’t his thing. He wasn’t a fancy kind of guy. He liked beer, bikes and camping. Laney Parker, on the other hand, was the kind of woman who deserved the finer things in life. Not that she was a prima donna or demanded five-star treatment, but she had a classiness about her that made him want to give her the best life could offer. For a couple of days only, he reminded himself. She wasn’t interested in keeping him, and he definitely didn’t want her anywhere near Marcos and his muscle.