Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

He looked over Mia’s shoulder. Five pairs of eyes drilled into him from the beach bar. A lovely blonde raised her margarita to him in a silent toast, and he grinned. Pretty women on a pretty day. He should have been in heaven having things go his way like this. It was all so fun. So easy. On the other hand, there was nothing easy about Mia Brandt.

You had your shot and you screwed it up...

He shipped out in six weeks. She set sail in six hours. Even if he’d been a long-term kind of man, neither time line allowed for a relationship. And that assumed she even wanted him for more than a centerpiece at the bachelorette party that was in full swing up there at the beach bar.

When he didn’t answer her right away, she dug in. “What’s not to like about a free beer?”

He smiled. “Every drink has strings attached. I learned my lesson at the Star Bar.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t hear you complaining that night. In fact, you did plenty of hollering of the good kind.”

Her slow smile heated his blood. He’d always loved a challenge, making him real glad he had the side of the boat between them. Otherwise, there would have been no way she missed the erection he sported. Squatting down by the side of the boat, he folded his arms on the side. The move put him on eye level with her. He’d forgotten how tiny she was.

“You made plenty of noise yourself.”

“Maybe I did. A girl has to look after herself in bed.” She slapped her hands on to the edge of the boat—and on top of his. She wore no rings, but there was a pale circle on her ring finger.

Ouch. He went on the offensive. “You were bossy.”

She’d been bold. Confident. And more than a little take-charge in bed. So, okay, he hadn’t minded at the time. He’d been completely on board with her plan of a night of hot, casual sex. And, if she’d liked to give orders, he’d also been willing to indulge her. Unfortunately, he’d been busted sneaking back into his apartment. He’d been tired. He hadn’t been thinking. The litany of excuses didn’t matter, however, because he’d let slip the name of the woman he’d slept with, and his night with her had solidified her reputation for being a ball-breaker.

Sergeant Dominatrix. Yeah. Not a kind name. A guy might live that down—after about four hundred tours of duty—but Mia had been a female officer working with male officers who didn’t always treat women like equals, even if the field manual said they should. Good reasons, bad reasons—he figured she probably hadn’t cared.

Her eyes narrowed, proving she hadn’t changed since then. “You needed directions.”

She was close enough to kiss. She had brown eyes, paired with the longest, most feminine eyelashes he’d ever seen. Retreat. His lips almost brushed hers, as his fingers automatically tightened around hers. He might be pulling her into the boat—or she might be pulling him overboard. Damned if he knew.

“Directions you were happy to issue. If you didn’t like the results, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Her knowing smile pushed all his buttons. “I was the senior officer.”

Like. Hell. “It’s a good thing we were a one-night thing. Because you don’t outrank me anymore, sweetheart.”

2

TAG JOHNSON WAS still a pain in her ass. He was also drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t active duty anymore. He was. The possibility he might—just possibly—outrank her galled her. She was almost certain he was teasing her.

Almost.

Big and built, he filled out a T-shirt in ways that had her libido sitting up and taking notice. Maybe it was the hint of mischief crinkling the corners of his eyes, or maybe it had something to do with his hands...yeah, his hands definitely got her going. The words tough and capable came to mind watching him work a wrench. A dive watch flashed on his wrist as he gave some unidentifiable piece of boat motor one last, hard twist and then transferred his gaze to her, thumbing his sunglasses up.

She grinned. At least she had his attention now. Taking backseat to a boat engine wasn’t acceptable. She’d always had a competitive streak, and her drive to be the best had helped propel her to success in the Army. Part of it was a pilot thing—who could fly farthest, fastest, lowest. Get a bunch of aviators together, and the adjective didn’t matter. She’d out-flown, out-landed, and out-shot every one of them.

Her competitive drive had been the reason why she’d met Tag in the first place. Four years ago, she’d been back stateside for a few weeks of R & R following a challenging deployment. After several weeks of parking her butt in San Diego, she’d been looking at another government-sponsored trip back to the sandbox. She’d been living dangerously for years, so sending a round of drinks over to Tag’s table had seemed tame in comparison. When the waitress had brought the Mia-sponsored bonus round to his table, he’d raised his beer, laughing. See? Everyone liked a free drink. Nonetheless, she’d been completely unprepared for the bolt of pure heat shooting through her and making her think, for the first time, about indulging in the kind of one-night quickie her team boasted about. Logically, most of her guys’ chatter about hookups and amazing blow-your-mind sex had to be just that. Chatter. Hot air. Pure fiction. Except she’d looked at Tag, and he’d stared back at her, his hazel eyes promising just one thing.