She thought about that for a minute.
“The rain means no seaplanes are flying,” he continued, his smile fading. “The visibility is too low. I’d prefer to get you off the island. Get you somewhere safe.”
Gray obviously hadn’t gotten the memo on Ashley’s cover story plan. “My reservation has a few nights left to go. I’m not planning on sleeping on the beach.”
She was tired of throwing in the towel and running. She’d run when Harlan’s affair had come to light, and she didn’t like herself for that. Gray might be a SEAL and he might be here on an undercover op, but she had a right to be here, too. Plus, she found his insistence on keeping her safe sweet. Which was ridiculous. She was grasping at straws. He was a decent guy and a SEAL. Protecting her came with the territory. He could hardly insist on putting her in danger.
“Do I pass inspection?” he asked, dropping the subject of her departure. She had a feeling the subject wasn’t closed, however.
“Um. Yeah.” She pressed the bandage back in place.
“Good.” He pulled her upright and swung her around. “Because I want a shot. Any objections?”
He braced her against the wall, flattening his palm beside her head as his inner caveman came out to play. Unfortunately, her inner cavewoman was in full agreement.
“At...?” She really needed clarification here.
“A second night. A second fantasy.”
“I’m your doctor.”
“Temporarily and by accident,” he pointed out.
“Sex between us isn’t appropriate. It’s also a really, really bad idea.”
“You don’t want to do your patriotic duty?” Hell. The line sounded cheesy, even to him, and Gray had never won awards for his smooth-talking charm. That was Levi’s area of expertise. Blow shit up. Charm the panties off the ladies. Levi was a pro.
“You’re under doctor’s orders.” She eyed him gleefully. “You have to do what I say.”
Military doctors on two continents hadn’t been able to compel him to follow orders. He grinned up at her. He liked looking at Laney, even when he was actually staring at the top of her head while her cool hands examined the gunshot wound in his side. He’d been lucky. The bullet had taken a shortcut across his side, but it hadn’t gone through. He’d be fine. Hell, he’d had worse.
“Come by tonight and I’ll change the bandage.” Her head was close enough to his bare skin that he felt her words against it, the tiny puff of air as she exhaled. Knowing Laney, she was likely irritated or pissed off.
“Laney.” Her name was a start. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea what to say next.
“Ashley said I could help you with your cover story,” she said, veering off on a tangent.
“She did?” He needed to kill Ashley. Slowly. He appreciated her concern for his sex life—not—but she had to stop meddling. Maybe she was bored or liked the fireworks. He had no idea, but being near Laney was torturing him, and he didn’t need any more encouragement.
“She said that it was possible your target had eyes on the ground and that you all needed to stay in character until you complete your mission.” She shrugged. She was close enough that the move had her breasts brushing against his chest. Her thin bikini top was nowhere near enough fabric. Her nipples were hard little points raking his chest. Was she cold—or aroused? Did she want to pick up where they’d left off the other night? Because his dirty fantasy count definitely exceeded one. When he didn’t say anything, Laney rushed to fill in the awkward silence.
“She said Fantasy Island has a certain reputation.”
He needed to tread carefully. Laney’s claim was more explosive than an ambush with claymores. “It’s an exotic island getaway. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Laney elbowed him. Hard. Gray was almost certain she deliberately went for his good side. “For the drinks menu,” she said. “People come here, they share their fantasies and...”
Boom.
Her blush was cute. Her face resembled a sunburned tomato, which he found amusing. She’d do it, but she wouldn’t say it? They’d have to work on her vocabulary.
“We shared a fantasy.” Pointing out the truth was the honest thing to do.
“I know.” She glared at him. “One fantasy.”
“Is the problem with the quantity or the quality?” Her hair was drying into little wayward ringlets. She had a cowlick, too, the piece sticking straight out at an impossible angle. His fingers itched to reach out and smooth the wayward strands into place. Laney was mussed up, and he definitely had an issue with the quantity of his fantasies because he had plural fantasies. As in, more than one and more than once. He didn’t do long-term. Hell, he rarely went back for seconds, and he’d be the first to admit that made him a dick.