Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Worked for him. He dropped down onto the topmost step, looked up—and realized she hadn’t intended to pull up a seat with him. She stood over him, foot tapping, and clearly oblivious to their respective angles. Because, Jesus, he had a fantastic look up her—his—T-shirt. Her panties were some kind of silky navy blue fabric with pink lace absolutely guaranteed to drive him crazy.

“You don’t want to sit?” he said a little hoarsely. “Because I really think you should.”

He knew the moment she figured out the issue. Her face flushed a deeper pink, and she dropped down onto the step beside him.

“You don’t get to sleep with me just because you feel sorry for me,” she announced. “And we’re both going to pretend you didn’t just see my panties.”

He couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face.

“No.” He leaned in a little closer, testing the waters. “I don’t feel sorry for you. But your panties happen to be truly spectacular.”

She elbowed him. “Keep talking.”

“You needed help. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He lost the battle to keep his hands to himself and reached out, carefully tugging her hair free. “The thing is, I need you, too.”

“We sound like a needy bunch. Maybe we should get counseling.” She didn’t sound like she was in a forgiving mood, but her lips were quirking up at the corners. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

The hell with trying to be elegant or smooth. He wasn’t poetic, and he’d be buying greeting cards for every major holiday because he had no idea how to put his feelings into his own words. Plus, only three words really mattered.

Which meant that all he had to say was: “I love you.”

* * *

BREATHE.

She counted each breath, but she sounded like an asthmatic with a two-pack-a-day habit. One. Tag lounged beside her, one big, warm thigh pressed against hers. So much for keeping her distance. Being more than half-naked wasn’t helping her, either, because bare skin made it all too easy to remember their bedroom activities.

“I’m no prize,” he warned, when she didn’t say anything. Because she was counting and trying not to hyperventilate. Her heart thundered in her ears, and, for all she knew, an entire tank battalion was doing wheelies in her front yard. I love you. What did that even mean? “I owe Uncle Sam one more tour of duty, and I’ll be gone for longer than I care to think about. I’m also fairly certain I don’t know how to get this relationship business right, and I’m terrified I’m going to screw it up.”

“Again.” She blinked fiercely and her backyard blurred. Because of rain, she thought. Not because this man was demanding her heart and—just possibly—offering his own in exchange.

“Again,” he agreed solemnly. “You see, I’ve met this woman, and I’m hoping she’ll agree to be my everything. She’s bold and confident and I wouldn’t change one thing about her.”

“Kick-ass.” She looked up at him, and, damn it, those were tears in her eyes. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t a girly girl, and she hadn’t cried in years. “Don’t forget kick-ass.”

“Never. So, can I try again?” He held his hand out to her, his fingers closed around something.

“Okay.” She extended her hand, and he dropped the something onto her palm. Her beautiful, gorgeous, all-too-real and sparkly engagement ring. “You found it.”

He smelled like salt water and outdoors and Tag. “I’m a professional diver. And I may have enlisted the troops. Cal says to tell you that you have one hell of an arm. He’d feel better if you put it back where it belonged, on your finger.”

“This is all for Cal’s benefit?”

Tag plucked the ring off her palm, turned her hand over and slid the ring back on her finger. “Not really, but I’d feel better if you told me you loved me and were going to marry me. I’m flexible on the order.”

She gave him a slow smile. “Oh, the choices.”

“I’m hopeful, but I don’t want to make any assumptions.”

She swung herself onto his lap, straddling his hips so she was face-to-face, mere inches of space between them. Cupping his face in her hands, she knew she believed in second chances. “I love you.”

“You do?” he asked gruffly, like he needed to hear her say it again.

“I do.” He’d opened up to her, so she could do this for him. It was that trust thing again. She trusted Tag. She trusted that the two of them together could be so much more than either of them alone could be. “I like letting go with you. For you. You’re my lifeline when things get rough. I didn’t know when I landed on Discovery Island that I’d be coming home to you.”