Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

“How so?” She leaned over, waggling a pencil for the kitten to attack.

“Sergeant Dominatrix,” he said, with a shrug.

Wow. And here she thought she’d left that particular nickname behind in San Diego.

“How did you hear that one?”

He looked apologetic. “I was part of Tag’s unit, so I was there when he came up with it. I shouldn’t have repeated it.”

If Sam called her ma’am, she’d have to kill him. And then the rest of his words sunk in. “Tag came up with the name?”

Sergeant Dominatrix wasn’t the kind of nickname any female officer needed to deal with. She’d fought hard, trained harder. She was as good—and usually better—than any man in her division. And Tag had turned her into a punch line.

“Shoot.” Sam’s gaze darted toward her. “I thought you knew. After seeing the two of you together, I assumed it was—”

“A lover’s nickname? A pet name?”

Wisely, Sam shut up.

She wasn’t done with him yet. “Just to be perfectly clear, Tag is the guy who dubbed me Sergeant Dominatrix?”

“It was a long time ago,” Sam offered weakly.

Not long enough. She’d naively thought she’d been making some much-needed changes to her life by staying on Discovery Island. Choosing Tag—even if they only had a limited time together—had been a departure from the orderly script of her life. He’d been a risk and a heck of a lot of fun. Someone special, or so she’d thought. Since she’d no longer been an officer, she’d been free to choose him...and she hadn’t had to be anyone other than herself.

She’d worried about having a future with Tag, but apparently she should have worried about their past.

Sam stared at her, and there was no missing the look of masculine panic on his face. Yeah. He’d screwed up, and they both knew it. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

True.

But, since that horse was out of the barn, she wasn’t going to worry about Sam’s regrets or his futile attempts at damage control. Instead, she was going to do exactly what she wanted to do.

She stood up and headed for the door. Ten minutes later, she was standing at the end of the Pleasure Pier. The water here was rougher, the waves hitting hard against the piers and the surrounding rocks. The words coming to mind were churned up, wild, and—thanks to the choppy water where the incoming water broke—unexpected current. This was no postcard-perfect slice of beach, and swimming here would likely be lethal.

Absolutely perfect for what she had in mind.

* * *

MIA HUNG OVER the edge of the pier glaring at the water. The last time she’d been out on the pier, she’d panicked. She didn’t look spooked, but Tag wouldn’t risk her safety. After he’d seen her tear out here like her hair was on fire, following was a no-brainer.

The closer he got, however, the less sure he was that this was a flashback. “Are you okay?”

In fact, if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. “I’d say so,” she bit out.

“Tell me.”

Whatever it was, he’d fix it. She gave him a disgusted look, clearly marshaling her words. Sam jogged up behind him. “Sorry, man. I put my foot in it.”

Great. So whatever it was, it involved wonder boy. He bit back a curse. The assessment wasn’t fair to Sam. He was a good man, a good soldier. It certainly wasn’t his fault Tag hated the way Mia looked at him, as if she was wondering if Sam might be a keeper.

He leaned against the rail next to her.

“Is Sam spilling secrets?” Best to know what he was up against.

She turned and glared at him. The look in her eyes was part hurt, part anger, part despair. Shit. What had Sam said? Tag’s glare had Sam retreating back to the dive shop.

“Tell me you did not give me the nickname Sergeant Dominatrix. Because that’s the one thing I’d really like to be hearing right now.”

Busted.

“It was a long time ago, Mia—” Excuses. He didn’t make or take them. Except apparently he did.

She shook her head. “Yes or no. Let’s get this clear right now.”

“I did.”

Her shoulders tightened visibly. He lifted a hand, dropped it. He probably wasn’t entitled to touch her right now—or ever again for that matter. He should have come clean with her, although, really, when had the moment been right to say “The nickname you hate so much? I gave it to you?”

She went right on the offensive. “I thought better of you. Instead, you made me into the punch line for a bad sex joke.”