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Pleasing Her SEAL

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“What are the odds she’s taking selfies?” Levi asked.

Zero to none. A familiar calm descended. His pretty redhead was      a threat to his team, so he’d neutralize her. No matter how alive she made him      feel, the mission and the team came first. “I’ll take care of it. You hand off      our guests here to the Navy boys.”

“Got it.” Levi turned toward the approaching Zodiac. “Try to      remember that we’re on a no-kill mission, okay? Plus, she’s friends with Ashley,      and you don’t want to piss off Ashley.”

Jesus. Did he look that cranky? Or like the kind of guy who      would take out an innocent civilian? He agreed with the warning on Ashley Dixon,      though. She was a DEA loaner and honorary member of the SEAL team—and she could      be mean as hell if you riled her up. Moving rapidly, he stripped off his more      obvious weapons and dropped them on the sand. Since he was supposed to be      undercover, working on the down low, he couldn’t show up toting forty pounds of      lethal hardware.

* * *

MORNINGS SUCKED. PREDAWN ALARMS      sucked even more because no one, ever, had accused Madeline Holmes of being a      morning person. Still, she’d given it a shot, scrambling up the hill even as she      willed the sunrise to hold off. Hitting the snooze button the third time had      been a mistake.

In order to make the sunrise, she’d rolled out of bed and      settled for a tank top, shorts and sneakers. Usually, she put some thought into      her clothes. Okay. Lots of thought. Clothing was like armor. Pretty armor. Instead of rocking her suitcase full of      brand-new vacation wear, however, she was climbing Mount Everest. She hadn’t      shaved her legs or brushed her hair and she stank of eau de bug spray.

Go, her.

As the air lightened around her, she pushed harder because the      sun was coming up fast and, color her romantic, but she wanted to catch the      first rays of dawn, the colors exploding over the edge of the horizon. This was      probably her one and only chance to visit a place like Fantasy Island, so every      moment needed to count—and the pictures would be awesome blog material. And the      more footage she got, the better. Everything rode on this trip.

She was lucky to be here, even if she’d come alone. The Fantasy      Island marketing team had reached out to her about advertising on her blog and,      ka-ching, she’d found herself here on an all-expenses-paid vacation. Now she had      to earn her keep or her chance at big-time success would go poof.

The place was paradise, so how hard could it be to talk the      island up on her blog? The only thing missing was the naked hot guy. Or      loincloth-wearing hot guy. She preferred a man of mystery to a      letting-it-all-hang-out-in-the-breeze guy. If she’d understood the island’s      advertising correctly, she might be able to have her choice of either. Or      both.

Whatever she wanted.

Fantasy Island advertised itself as an idyllic slice of      paradise located on the Caribbean Sea—the perfect place for a destination      wedding or honeymoon. The elegant type on the resort brochure promised barefoot      luxury, discreet hedonism and complete wish fulfillment. Maddie’s job was to      translate those naughty promises into sexy web copy that would drive traffic to      her blog and fill her bank account with much-needed advertising dollars.

The summit beckoned and she stepped out into a small clearing      overlooking the ocean.

“I need to work out more.” At least her asthma hadn’t kicked      in. After a quick check of the camera that she’d set up yesterday to do      time-lapse photography, she unwrapped her breakfast. She had a purloined      croissant and a mocha, which was the perfect sunrise-watching food. While she      munched and she shot, the air lightened around her, the birds and the howler      monkeys competing to see who could make the most raucous noise. Being awake this      early was...almost okay.


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