Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Hot.

Dirty.

Sex.

He’d made good on all those unspoken promises. They’d had just seven hours because he’d had orders to deploy in the morning. Approximately four hundred and eighteen minutes of being skin to skin with him because it had taken her two whole minutes to shuck her uniform and boots. He’d been inside her ten minutes after they’d both gotten naked, and she hadn’t minded. She had, in fact, ordered him to hurry the hell up and get inside me now.

Now she stared at him as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind. Darn it. Her unfathomable attraction to him was definitely best kept on the down low.

“Earth to Mia.” His husky drawl stirred more memories. He’d called her by her first name at the Star Bar, as well. She hadn’t protested, despite them both knowing she outranked him. The evidence had been right there on her uniform shirt. But in her hotel room, she’d been Mia and he’d been Tag. Two people giving in to chemistry and a need for closeness before duty called and they went their separate ways.

Tag’s boat rocked up and down with each small wave lapping at the beach. A familiar curl of nausea started in the pit of her stomach, so she transferred her gaze from the boat to the horizon. Throwing up on his boat would be way too humiliating.

“Are you pulling rank on me?” He was out of uniform, so she couldn’t be certain he truly outranked her. Still, he’d struck her as a straight shooter, and she didn’t think he’d bullshit her.

“I made Senior Petty Officer Naval Air Crewman last year.”

He’d done well, but she wasn’t surprised. He’d had drive. She’d certainly never had a better orgasm.

He kept on talking, or, at least, his mouth went right on moving, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes assessed her bikini getup, for which she definitely had to kill her cousin now. Whatever words came out, however, were lost on her as she swallowed the nausea. Her last deployment had ended with a bang, literally. While the outward damage from the concussion grenade had healed, she’d been left with an excruciating susceptibility to motion sickness. It was a good thing she’d abandoned her desire for a career as a pirouetting ballerina at the age of four.

He paused and looked at her. “You cashed out?”

His question, she decided, wasn’t judgmental—more curious, which was a nice change. Justifying her decision to leave military service got old, as did correcting other people’s misconceptions about why she’d joined in the first place. Sure the GI bill was a nice bonus, but she’d wanted to serve. Her father had. Her three brothers had. And she had. She got tired of people assuming she was parked in the waiting room of the VA because she was a wife or daughter.

“I’m done,” she admitted.

He nodded, then turned and tossed something toward his toolbox. Instinctively, when metal hit metal with a loud bang, she dropped to a crouch. Incoming. Rapidly, she assessed her options for cover, mentally narrowing down the direction of the shot fired. The world telescoped to a strip of sand and the whoosh of water in her ears as she tried to pinpoint the source of the danger. The beach was still quiet and peaceful, except for her ladies sending up a rousing cheer as someone proposed a toast.

A curse floated overhead, and then Tag dropped over the side.

“Sorry.” She hated the word, hated all of its implications. Her revulsion, though, didn’t stop big hands from flexing, wrapping around her arm and tugging her carefully upright. She sorted through excuses halfheartedly. Maybe she’d been checking out the sand or—hey—a fish. A quick, sideways peek at Tag’s face was plenty of warning. Whatever story she cooked up, he wouldn’t buy it. Because he understood, damn him.

* * *

THE LOOK ON Mia’s face was one Tag had seen on many others he’d served with. She was so busy proving she was independent and in charge that he hadn’t even thought about the possibility she’d brought home some mental baggage from her tours of duty. Or that the bang of his wrench hitting the toolbox would be enough to send her back to another place and time. Another battlefield. He didn’t know how to fix the situation or what she needed, but he couldn’t disregard her distress, either.

“Hey.” He crouched next to her, ignoring the water seeping through his jeans. He’d dry. Her eyes quartered the beach as if she fully expected a United States Marine Corps AAV to emerge from the surf and open fire. He was thankful every day Discovery Island wasn’t that kind of place, but right now Mia’s head didn’t understand that truth.