Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Four. Her breathing leveled out. The room was empty of threats. See? She could lie back down like a normal person and go to sleep. More breathing sounds came from somewhere too close. A whuffling, snoring sigh—a cat? Twisting, she spotted Tag’s geriatric cat curled up on the pillows between their heads like the feline owned the place.

The Army psychologist she’d seen under much duress had suggested counting. A little yoga breathing and things would look better. Right. Tag’s big, solid presence on the other side of the bed, on the other hand, seemed to be her anchor in the semidarkness tonight. She’d learned not to question what made her heartbeat slow to a nice, steady pace. If it worked, good enough for her. Interesting, though, how her head had decided Tag was some kind of lifeline. Maybe it was the whole rescue-swimmer thing. Maybe he gave off some kind of white-knight vibe.

Or maybe it was just Tag.

She needed to move. The bedroom door was at her five o’clock. Two windows lay at her nine o’clock. Unless a Stinger missile launcher blew a hole in Tag’s roof—unlikely—those were the only routes in and out of the room. His room was clear. She slid out of bed silently and then checked the door and the windows. Just to make certain. The courtyard was empty. Good. Part of her had expected to find Mr. Bentley parked there, ready to opine about what she and Tag had gotten up to last night.

She blew out a breath as she scanned her surroundings one more time. Early morning light seeped into the room. Apparently, Discovery Island actually had birds, because they were making a ruckus outside. Apache. Chinook. Black Hawk. Her bird identifying skills didn’t extend further than the standard Army fare. And roosters. She could do roosters, too, but thankfully none of those appeared to be parked outside Tag’s place. She moved around the bed and positioned herself where she could see Tag’s wrist and his dive watch. It was six in the morning—civilized enough for her. Had she noticed how sexy his wrists were when she’d picked him up at the Star Bar? Because they were, strong and sprinkled with dark hairs. Even all relaxed as he slept, something about him read powerful. She had no idea why she was staring at his wrist, for crying out loud.

Okay, she knew. God. He was gorgeous.

Fall back.

They had some kind of weird power-struggle dynamic thing going on. The sexual tension between them was amazing and scary as hell at the same time. She really wasn’t the kind of woman who did one-night stands, and yet Tag made her want to break those rules, again and again. He was her one and only exception.

She eyed her side of the bed. The sheets were probably cooling down, just the way she liked, and the pillow was punched down. No. See, that was what was wrong with this picture. She didn’t have a side of the bed. She wasn’t staying. He’d offered a place for the night. Nothing more.

It had to be her naked state making her think about hopping onto the bed and waking Tag up with a hand beneath the sheets. Morning sex was even better than good-night sex. Stop it. She needed her clothes. Before she could second-guess herself and get back in bed, she padded out into the hallway to recon where her stuff had ended up.

After all, since her luggage was currently headed to Mexico, she couldn’t afford to lose the clothes she’d arrived with. Discovery Island didn’t seem like the kind of place to have a Walmart. Fortunately, her clothes were exactly where she remembered parting company with them. More or less. They’d dropped her borrowed T-shirt on the living room floor, while her bikini bottoms were on the kitchen floor. Oh, boy. She had no idea how that had happened, although she had some mighty fine memories of Tag pressing her up against the wall and then working his way down... Yeah. He was the best cure ever for insomnia.

She took stock. Her assets at the moment consisted of a cell phone, a pair of shorts, a hoodie, two flip-flops, a T-shirt and twenty bucks. If she’d been former Spec Ops, she probably could have constructed an airplane out of the lot and flown back to the cruise ship. Since she wasn’t, however, she’d need to come up with an alternative plan. For instance, she could phone her brothers and one of them would be here in half a day.

No. No how, no way.

She wasn’t ten, and calling her family wasn’t an option. Not only would she never live it down, she didn’t need to. She had this situation under control. As long as you stay out of Tag’s bed, a little voice whispered. Because you don’t have any control around that man. Decision made, she bent over and grabbed the top.

“Do it again.” Tag said, low and rough, from the shadows behind her.