Wicked Nights (Men of Discovery Island 2)

There. She wriggled and took the last inch of him. “Now it’s my turn.”

She began to move and, nope, he didn’t have any complaints. Even when it was her turn for a very, very long time.

10

A MALE ARM pinned her to the bed. An arm that matched the leg tossed casually over her own leg. Piper squinted and spotted her panties on the floor in the dim morning light. Getting dressed seemed like a logical next step, so she worked her way out from beneath the arm and sat up. She preferred sleeping with the curtains open because she liked seeing the ocean. Plus, it wasn’t as if she had neighbors. Other than the very occasional fisherman or motorboat, there was no one to see in. Liberated, she stood up and padded over to the window. Yep. Same ocean view she’d admired every morning for the past two years. The difference lay in the bed behind her. Resting her forehead against the glass, she postponed turning around.

The rustle of sheets warned her time was up. “Piper?”

Cal’s raspy voice made her melt and sent heat shooting through her body. Apparently, one night hadn’t been enough to get him out of her system, after all.

“Present and accounted for,” she said, when what she really wanted to say was “How come you’re still here?” It would have been easier if he’d done the walk of shame to his truck and gone home. Maybe. Or maybe he wasn’t a morning person and it was still too early for him to be thinking. She didn’t know. They’d skipped all the dating preliminaries and gone straight for the good stuff.

“Are you coming back to bed?” Did he want her to? She was a morning person.

“I’m up.” She padded barefoot over to the door. Maybe other people managed their mornings-after more smoothly, but talking just seemed awkward. Cal sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, and she revised her opinion. Naked was a good look for Cal.

“Is there something I’m supposed to say here?” He ran a hand over his head.

“I’m making coffee.” It had to be the lack of caffeine that had her considering crawling back into bed with him. “I’ve got work to do. Contracts to win. You can have the first shower.”

“Right.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Do not look, she told herself as he swiped his clothes off the floor.

She kept repeating those words to herself over the course of the next twenty minutes while she made coffee and scared up a muffin. She was still trying to convince herself she’d succeeded when she parked her butt in a chair down by the water and finally admitted she’d failed.

Have sex with Cal.

Get him out of her system.

Hah.

Her plan was an epic backfire. She’d had sex with him. Once. And, hallelujah, it was likely going to happen a second time—she owed him a night, after all, and Cal always collected on their bets.

He’d taken charge of her, of her body. And she’d liked it.

Correction.

She’d loved it.

Out here, alone with her thoughts and the ocean, she could be honest with herself. She’d had no idea that not fighting with Cal could be so much fun. Toe-curling, senses-devastating fun. Apparently, he had hidden depths. She should have been plotting her dive program and figuring out how best to wow the Fiesta team. Instead...she was wondering if her night with Cal also included the morning after. And making a mental note to negotiate future bets more carefully.

Cal wasn’t just the Grim Reaper raining disapproval on her actions. He was sweet. Thoughtful. And he had a sense of humor. She’d known some of those things before—after all, anyone who came up with a bet where the loser wore a red, white and blue string bikini clearly had a fine sense of the ridiculous (and he’d agreed to wear the suit if he’d lost, so he was also fair). He’d also carted her butt down the sunbaked dock yesterday, like some kind of Sir Lancelot. At least, she thought that was the guy who’d tossed his grade-A and probably ermine-lined cloak over a mud puddle so his queen could keep her feet dry. Or maybe that was Sir Raleigh. Whoever the guy was, Cal had made her feel special last night.

Special.

Like there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

Funny how she’d felt something suspiciously similar when he’d jackknifed into the water at Rose Wall. She wasn’t stupid and he’d never been a good liar. Something had gone wrong, and it hadn’t been with his equipment.

Equally clear, he didn’t want to talk about it. Keeping silent might be just a guy thing. A fish or a piece of seaweed had brushed his leg, and he’d startled. He was embarrassed. The big, tough navy SEAL had overreacted and was covering.

But...she didn’t think so.

SEAL training wasn’t some kind of covert op. While she’d never trained herself to be a SEAL or a rescue swimmer, she’d heard stories. Watched the videos on YouTube. Any man who could swim three hundred and fifty feet underwater before surfacing for a breath of air? That man wouldn’t have been worried by a leaky snorkel.