Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Her lips parted beneath his, but there wasn’t an ounce of submission in her. Trap. She lured him in via the best kind of sensual ambush, making a sound that was part delight, part moan. He threaded his fingers through her free hand, pinning her fingers above her head. Her hand closed around his in response, and he couldn’t have broken free if he wanted to. Instead, he drank in the little sounds she made as her tongue twined with his, and they both fought to control the kiss and the heat. Kissing and kissing, because admitting defeat wasn’t something either of them did.

“Tag—” She wriggled, her fingers and his loaner shirt trapped between them.

That was his name, he just had no idea what she meant. Tag, kiss me some more? Or, more likely, Tag, back the hell up.

“The bed’s to your right. I’ll take the couch.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes got bigger, though, and he was staring at her mouth where her lips were swollen and pink from their kiss. He wanted to rub his thumb over their enticing plumpness, dip inside her there like lower, more southern parts of him wanted to do elsewhere. Except...she still wasn’t saying anything, and this was likely why he didn’t have a girlfriend, a live-in lover, or—God forbid—a fiancée like Daeg and Cal. They probably knew exactly what to say when their females stared back at them, all big, brown eyes. Maybe there was a user manual somewhere he could read up on, but right now he was on his own. And he had no damned idea what to say.

“Good night,” he said and retreated to the living room.

* * *

MIA WASN’T MUCH for sleeping. Her head got too busy when she slept, and the nightmares were the least of her worries. At least those were over—more or less—when she woke up. Nope. Her real problem was getting to sleep. She’d been fine the first three months she’d been back, and then the problems had started. She woke up dozens of times a night, although she didn’t always remember doing so. Sleeping pills didn’t help, and, after trying them for a week, she’d abandoned any hopes of pharmaceutical assistance. The pills left her with cottonmouth and a sluggish, detached feeling nothing seemed to shake. She didn’t need to be any more numb than she already was, so no, thanks. After her third wake-up call, she shoved herself upright and conceded defeat. Tag had a nice comfortable mattress with sheets that smelled like him. There was a neat stack of paperbacks on a bedside table, nonfiction bestsellers and a dog-eared copy of Sherlock Holmes stories. There wasn’t much else in the room, though. Tag traveled light.

Lightning cracked overhead, followed by the low, echoing boom of thunder. The storms that had been rolling in all afternoon, dark purple streaks on the horizon, were finally there. Raindrops hit the French doors, tap-dancing on the glass.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected after the good-night kiss he’d given her, but sleeping alone hadn’t been on her mental list. She hadn’t expected a repeat of San Diego’s hot sex—even if she’d been hoping—but the bed was a big one. The couch, on the other hand, was of the love seat variety. He couldn’t possibly fit. She should check on him, make sure he was comfortable. Since she was up and all. She looked at her phone. Her cousin had noticed her absence and was predictably frantic. Since Mia couldn’t teleport to the cruise ship, she settled for texting a few vague assurances that all was right in Mia land.

She padded out barefoot. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, her night vision kicked in. Everything was silvery gray, thanks to the moonlight pouring in. Given the miniscule size of the place, locating Tag was easy. He was, after all, the large, man-size shape sprawled on the tiny sofa, his legs hanging over one arm. He’d snagged a pillow from somewhere and then crashed hard, one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his stomach as his resident zoo supervised him. The ancient cat on the back of the sofa cracked one eye to glare at her, although the Chihuahua making itself at home between his legs didn’t seem to mind her presence. Which was good, because staring at Tag asleep was something she could do for hours.

He looked sexy as hell, his chest bare where the throw blanket had dipped below the waistband of his sweatpants. Her pulse quickened as memories of their night together swept through her. She’d licked his taut abdomen, had teased her way down while he cursed and groaned and they both enjoyed themselves. All she had to do now was hook a finger in his sweats and tug, but...he also looked perfectly content where he was—and his couch was most definitely not built for two.