First, however, she needed to beat his ass at basketball. It was the principle of the thing. She settled back against him with a wiggle. If he wasn’t playing fair, she didn’t have to, either. His erection promised good times when they finished this little competition of theirs.
“Mia—”
She loved the growl in his voice. “Watch this.”
The hand around her waist crept higher, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Lucky him—she hadn’t worn a bra, since she was currently braless and luggageless. He knew it, too. He might have said something, but his words were lost against her skin.
She lobbed the bag into the open trash can, going for gold. “Four points for me.”
“There’s no four point shot in basketball.” His thumb moved higher, stroking gently over her nipple. Definitely a point for him.
“Three points for the shot, one for the distraction.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t play fair.” He sounded amused, not irritated. She probably deserved another bonus point for his good humor. She knew she was too take-charge, too fond of giving orders. Part of that was the military, but the rest of it was all her. “Next time, you should explain the rules before you get started.” Turning, she slapped a hand against his chest and pushed him gently down. He didn’t resist. Good man. The muscles in his abdomen flexed as he went, watching her face, a smile curving his mouth. Thank God for willing men.
She shouldn’t do this but...she wanted to.
His back hit the floor, and he popped right up on his elbows. He was still wearing the smile—and far too many clothes. She needed to work on that.
“Are we done competing?” He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and melted her insides. He was never in a rush, was just content to be in the moment and enjoy. In twenty or thirty years, when she was nothing more than a distant memory, he’d wear those smile lines on his face for everyone to see, and he’d be even more gorgeous than he was now.
She opted for honesty. “If you admit I won.”
He gave a bark of laughter that ended abruptly when she scooted down his thighs, savoring the raw power of him between her legs. She was strong. She trained hard. They both knew, however, she couldn’t hold him if he really wanted to get away. Not without hurting him and getting hurt in return.
“Mia—”
“You know what?” She ran a hand down his chest and the T-shirt with the Navy insignia on the front. “This offends me. Take it off.”
He gave her The Look. The one that said he’d play any game she wanted, but it would be his turn to choose the next one. She could work with that. Muscles flexing and bunching, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it over his head toward the couch. His chest was a masterpiece, sun-kissed and cut. He still wore his dog tags, a visible reminder he was headed back to service and she wasn’t. She had hers, but tucked away in a pocket of her duffel bag. The military part of her life was over.
“Better?” There it was—the rough growl she couldn’t get enough of. Tag was so smooth and put together. She relished getting under his skin. Getting to him.
Oh. He had no idea.
“One night wasn’t enough, was it?” he asked. Okay. She might have fantasized about having him again. Once or twice. A month.
“Not even close.” He pressed his mouth against her throat and the pulse that told him exactly how she felt about him at the moment. They both wanted this, so why not?
She loved the feel of his thighs pressed beneath hers, all hard, rough power. Tag was a fighter and a soldier, but he also had a sweet side he hid from the world. He was nice in ways she absolutely wasn’t. The man had an apartment full of rescued animals, for crying out loud.
And he’d added her to his collection.
She dragged her fingertips over his stomach and up his chest where his heart beat steady. When she hit the metal of his dog tags, she tugged lightly.
“You’re sure you’re not staying long-term on the island?”
“They’re not a leash,” he said dryly.
The heat that flashed through her was ridiculous. She needed a distraction because even though she knew there was no tying up—or tying down—a man like Tag, she had all these fantasies running through her head. So she slipped a finger beneath the band of his boxes, her fingertips bumping against the hot head of his erection.
“Hello.” She grinned, popping the buttons on his jeans and doing some creative rearranging until she had him free and bare. She rubbed him with her palm, delighting in the way his head bumped demandingly against her hand.