Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

“Are you sure you can’t just hang new pictures up over the holes?”

“Don’t be such a slacker.” She wanted to do it right.

“You’ve got issues.” He sounded cheerful. “I should charge you by the hour.”

“You work for sex. You come cheap,” Mia reminded him. She could have hired a painting crew, but she wanted to do as much of the work as she could, and not just because she wanted to preserve her line of credit. This was her house, her fresh start, and she’d make it perfect. Or—she eyed her lumpy spackle job—near-perfect. She’d hang a picture on this spot.

“You can make it up to me later,” he said.

She’d just bet she could. In fact, her imagination suggested a dozen perfectly naughty, wonderfully decadent things she could do to him.

“Besides, this may be my last chance to paint walls for a while.”

Right. Because he was leaving. She was pretty sure painting wasn’t part of his job description for Uncle Sam, unless it involved painting a target.

“You don’t want to stick around now that the business is finally getting off the ground?” she asked casually.

“Hell, no. I’m not the kind of person who settles down. My idea of a good time is jumping out of a helicopter feet-first into shark-infested waters. It makes me a good story at a bar, but bad long-term material.”

He didn’t sound like he cared, which was an important reminder for her.

“Funny,” she said. “You should have thought of that before you proposed.”

He gave her the be serious look. “Why did you join the Army?”

“Because Uncle Sam wanted me?”

“Mia.” And there it was—his growly voice, the one that made her think about dragging him off to bed, even when it really, really wasn’t a good idea. They wanted different things from their lives, which was perfectly fine, except she was also starting to think she might want him in her life. As more than her fake fiancé.

“My whole family joined. It’s what we do. My father served. My three brothers served. I served. They took some convincing when I told them it was my turn.”

He nodded and slapped more paint on her walls. She’d picked the color because it reminded her of an enormous bowl of oranges, bold and citrusy. He wasn’t done with his questions, though.

“Why didn’t you leave Discovery Island like you’d planned?”

She edged her paintbrush neatly along the white trim, loving the way the ribbon of bright orange brought out the creamy paleness of the wood. “I meant to leave, but I fell in love. Is that so surprising? Cal and Daeg liked it enough to stay. Maybe you’ll change your mind, too.”

God, she shouldn’t have said those last few words. Because they both knew she wasn’t playing, not entirely. Between the house and the man, she was definitely falling in love. She’d needed his help—whether she’d wanted to admit it out loud or not—and he’d swooped in to rescue her. But that was the thing about rescues—they were one-time emergencies. Rescues didn’t happen on a daily basis, and, frankly, she wouldn’t want them to. She wanted a relationship.

With Tag.

Who was leaving in a matter of weeks.

“I’m not them,” he said impatiently. “Daeg and Cal have Deep Dive and their fiancées. Cal has family here and Daeg practically grew up with them. That’s not me. That’s not who I am. My CO needs me.”

She needed him.

Mia waved a hand impatiently. Droplets of orange paint hit the front of his T-shirt and speckled his cheek. Oops. “What do you need, Tag?”

“A clean shirt,” he groused, his voice low and husky. He took a step toward her, and she was pretty certain the rest of her living room wasn’t getting painted today, because he reached out and stroked his own brush down the valley between her breasts.

“You could take it off,” she said breathlessly.

“Mmm. Or you could tell me what you need.” His brush painted a wicked circle over her left nipple. She wondered what he would do if she told him the truth, that she needed him to stay put and be a long-term part of her life. He’d probably be on the next ferry out of Discovery Island. With apologies, of course, because Tag was a genuinely nice guy.

“You,” she said, winding her arms around his neck and trapping his brush between them. Painting could definitely wait. “I need you. Stay.”

He stared at her and she had no idea what he saw. But he’d been the one touching her breast, so surely that meant he was interested. That she hadn’t misunderstood.