They found the cabin a short while later, tucked against the hillside on the other side of the flat area. It wasn’t much to write home about, but she wasn’t going to complain. The cabin—or bothy as Dan said the Scots called it—was a one-room stone building with a turf roof. At about ten by fifteen feet, it had a couple of steel bunks in one corner and a “kitchen” on the opposite side. There was a sink, but with no running water; there was also a big wooden bucket on the ground for hauling water from the sea. She hoped there was a freshwater source nearby as well.
The best news was that there was a stove that served the dual purpose of cooking and heating.
Dan quickly went to work loading the few bricks of peat that had been left underneath into the stove and getting it lit, while she did the best she could knocking the dust from the furniture, blankets, and mattresses. She was glad not to see any cobwebs—spiders weren’t her favorite.
She was just beginning to feel the first warm tingles of heat coming from the stove when she lifted the bottom mattress from the bunk to shake it out and screamed.
• • •
The sound of Annie’s scream turned Dean’s blood to ice. Considering how desperate their situation had been a few minutes ago—if this island hadn’t had a place to land the boat, they would have been in real trouble—his reaction was laughable. Dean knew how to control his emotions. He didn’t experience fear or anxiety the way most people did. He buried it. Put it aside. Compartmentalized.
But her scream scared the shit out of him.
He spun around from his position by the stove to see her running toward him. He barely had time to open his arms before she was leaping into them. He could feel the frantic pounding of her heart against his. At least he thought it was hers, but his was freaking slamming against his ribs.
She latched on to him as if she were a terrified kitten who had no intention of letting go. Which was fine, as he had no intention of letting her.
Scanning the area behind her, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No dead bodies or bogeymen lurking in the corner. As she didn’t seem inclined to offer an explanation, he asked, “What is it?”
She turned her face toward his, and his throat caught. Terror still made her voice tremble. “A r-rat! I saw a rat!”
Dean stilled. Jesus fucking Christ, she had to be shitting him? All that for a rat? Relief ate away at his composure. He couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh.
She looked up at him again, no doubt feeling the reverberation in his chest. “Don’t you dare laugh. It was terrifying.”
He tried to sober. Not very successfully. “I’m sure.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
He feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“‘You are such a girl.’ Tell me you aren’t thinking that right now!” He couldn’t do that. “It would have scared anyone. It had teeth! And a tail. It must have been this big.” She pulled away from him long enough to show him about a foot. But he still had his arm slung around her waist and had no intention of letting her go.
He peered over behind the bed and didn’t see anything. “I’m sure. But I don’t see anything.”
Tentatively she broached a look. He could feel her relax. “It’s gone. But you need to find it.”
“I don’t know. That sounds a little sexist to me. Why do I have to do the hunting? Because I’m a man? Does that mean you’re doing the cooking?”
If looks could kill, he’d be roadkill. “That isn’t funny.”
He grinned. It was fucking hilarious.
“I don’t want you to kill it. Just put it outside. But fine. I’ll do it myself.”
She pulled away and took a few steps back toward the bed. But a gray blur shot past her feet like a torpedo, and with another ear-piercing scream, she was right back in his arms.
He savored the sensations for a minute before breaking the news. “Annie?” She looked up and he felt something in his chest thump. Damn, she was pretty. Especially in this position. Glued to his chest and tilting her head up to his. Looking at him as if she needed him—as if he were the only man in the world. He could get used to it—maybe a little too easily. “I hate to tell you, but your Remy is a Mickey. And he was about three inches long.”
“What difference does it make? It was terrifying.” She scowled at him, probably to encourage him to not start laughing again. “And how do you know Disney movies?” Something seemed to occur to her. She pulled away in horror. “Oh my God. You’re married with kids. I’m sorry. What a fool you must think—”
He didn’t let her finish and pulled her back in his arms. “I’m not married. No kids. But I have friends who do. I never would have kissed you if I was married.”
Most SEALs were married by his age, but the men picked for Team Nine had been chosen specifically because they weren’t married and didn’t have connections—or close ones at least. It made it easier for them to operate without anyone around to ask questions. It also made it easier for them to disappear on highly covert, clandestine deployments. There wasn’t anyone to look for them.
But it wasn’t foolproof. One of his fallen comrades’ estranged sister sure as hell was stirring up trouble with her articles on the “Lost Platoon of SEAL Team Nine.” Brittany Blake—the reporter—had been Brandon’s sister.
Annie appeared marginally relieved. But the kiss comment had obviously thrown her. “Why did you . . . ?”
Her voice fell off. She didn’t need to finish the question. If the heat in his eyes wasn’t an explanation, the way his body was reacting to her closeness sure as hell was.
It was way too easy to remember how good she’d felt riding up against him in the boat. How her body had melted into his. How she’d arched her back to press harder against him. How she’d driven him so wild he forgot himself and kissed her.
But nothing more could happen. Annie wasn’t fool-around material. Smart, confident women like her always wanted more. He’d wager she’d never had a one-night stand in her life. He’d had more than he’d like to remember, but the deal had always been understood. Sex, but don’t look for anything more. The only happy ending would be of the orgasmic type. Even before he had to go dark and play dead, he hadn’t wanted anything more.
Machines, Annie had called them. The idea of the heartless, unthinking killer following orders pissed him off, but in some respects she was right. SEALs were a different breed. Most of his fellow SEALs might have married by his age, but they were also likely to be divorced by the time they were forty. SEALs didn’t make good husbands—or boyfriends for that matter. He’d tried before Team Nine, but inevitably—go figure—women wanted to know where he went, what he was doing, and when he would be back. Being gone for months at a time with little communication didn’t make for long relationships. Short hookups he did fine. But that was all he had to offer.
Now, with what was on the line, he didn’t even have that. Until he could find out what had happened out there, he had to be dead.
He had to let her go. But damn, she felt good. Just one more minute . . .
Too late.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one remembering the boat. Her hands had been braced against his shoulders, but slowly she rose on her toes to loop them around his neck and leaned into him. She pressed that soft pink tastes-like-cherries mouth on his, and all the pent-up lust that had been building up on the boat came back in a violent rush.
The rest, as they say, was history. His big head checked his honorable intentions at the door, leaving the little head to do the thinking.
Which never ended well.
Thirteen
Dean didn’t hold back. The dam had burst open, and he met the tentative press of her lips with a fierce growl. A primitive call of possessiveness. A signal of what was to come. She’d unleashed the desire that he’d be
en fighting hard to contain. Now that it was loosed, there was no reining it in. And there sure as hell wasn’t anything tentative about it.
He dug his hand through the damp strands of her hair to cradle the back of her head and draw her in close, tilting her head at the perfect angle to allow him to taste her deeply.
He found her tongue with his and showed her what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her hard and fast, and then he wanted to do it again slower. Exploring every inch of her body the same way he was her mouth.
But if she kept moaning and swirling her tongue against his like that, it might take a couple of times before he could manage slow.
Dean was in a haze. He hadn’t felt like this in too damned long. She was so sweet and responsive; her body was incredible, and the way she moved against him was driving him wild. He’d known that she’d be good—that they’d be good. But not this good.
Mind. Fucking. Blown.
His other hand had slid down her back to cup her ass and lift her to him. That was where he wanted to be. Oh, shit. Right there. Circling. Sliding. Thrusting. Hard and deep.
She was meeting him at every bump and grind. At every thrust of his tongue. Her hands were on his back. On his arms. Squeezing. Pleading.
He’d had a lot of wild sex. He’d had frantic sex. But nothing like this. It was as if someone had lit a match and the whole room had gone up in flames. Zero to sixty in a heartbeat.
His mouth was on her throat. His hand was cupping a breast that was every bit as incredible as he’d imagined. He couldn’t get enough of her. He was so ready for this; he could fucking explode.
He nearly did when she touched him. Rubbing her hand up and down the long, rigid length of his shaft. Squeezing through the damp denim. He felt like a thirteen-year-old in his first make-out session. He forgot to keep kissing her for a moment. He literally had to grit his teeth against the urge to surge deep in her hand and give in to the pounding at the base of his spine.
Too many clothes. He wanted her naked. He wanted his mouth on her breast and his hand between her legs. He wanted to feel how wet she was, find out how fast he could make her come.
Pretty damned fast if those urgent little sounds meant anything.
She was so fucking hot; he had to touch her.
Somehow he managed the button and zipper of her jeans, and then his hand was inside her pants, delving under the thin silk of her panties to the tender flesh between her legs.
She cried out at the first touch. He covered her mouth with another hungry kiss, feasting on her lips as his finger slid inside that damp little slit.
He swore. Groaned. Tried to find a thread of control. But she was so tight. So warm and soft—and wet. Deliciously wet. But he wanted her wetter.
He couldn’t wait to make her come. It was all he could think about. All he could focus on. It became his only mission. And like any SEAL worth his salt, he approached his mission with single-minded determination that left no option for failure.
He cupped her with his palm, giving her circling hips all the friction and pressure they needed as he thrust and stroked with his finger in a rhythm matched by the thrust of his tongue. When he found that sensitive place, he felt her stiffen. Her breath hitched with anticipation.
Oh, fuck yes, she was going to come.
Dean felt the heady delight of knowing success was at hand. His hand. He held her right there. Right in the palm of his hand for a long heartbeat, savoring the moment of primitive masculine satisfaction before finally giving her the caress she needed.
She flew apart instantly—her eyes locking on his. Something jammed in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.
He swore he saw what looked like surprise in her eyes as her body pulsed. Contracted. Shattered.
It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He wanted to see it again. Right now. When he was deep inside her.
Instead she said something that stopped him cold.
“Dan . . .”
It wasn’t the soft plea to finish what they started that Dean heard; it was the name. The false name. It was a harsh reminder of everything that was at stake.
What the hell was he doing? He didn’t lose control like this. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her, but that wasn’t the same thing. This—them—was a bad idea. A really bad idea. She knew too much about him already. He should be cutting ties, not making them.
Every bone in his body fought against what he was about to do—some more powerfully than others—but with a sharp curse, he pulled away, setting her forcibly away from him, and pretending not to notice as her legs wobbled. He couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t do this with her sagging in his arms all warm and weak with surrender.
With her looking at him like that.
He turned away so he wouldn’t have to see her face as he fought for control, waited for his blood to cool, and his cock to stop aching.
But it hurt like hell. His body was still primed and ready to go, angrily protesting the sudden change of plans.
It was the wrong time for her to touch him.
• • •
Annie had never experienced anything like that in her life.
She’d had an orgasm before. At least she thought she had, but whatever she’d experienced in the past paled in comparison to the sensations that had just come over her. It had been intense. Fierce. Powerful. All-consuming. Everything she didn’t even know she’d been missing.
That was what her friends were talking about. What made Lisa drop their plans to go see a movie in the afternoon—in the afternoon!—when her boyfriend called. What made her former roommate, Mary, stay locked up with her boyfriend—now husband—in their room all weekend. Literally all weekend, barely coming out to grab food or go to the bathroom. It was what made the walls shake.
Hot sex.
Wild, crazy, hot sex.
Except they hadn’t quite gotten that far. Why had he stopped?
Dan was turned away from her, but from the way the muscles in his neck were pulled tight and his jaw was clenched, it looked as if he was in pain.
She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
He flinched away from her as if he couldn’t bear her touch. “I’m fine.”
She felt a prick in her chest; a tiny pin had just poked the bubble of euphoria. “Then why did you . . . ?”
Stop.
Suddenly Annie realized what was happening. He didn’t want her. Didn’t want this. He was stopping it.
She’d been so caught up, so lost in his kiss, that she’d forgotten how it had started. She’d kissed him.
Mortification mottled her cheeks with heat. She’d thought that was what he’d wanted, but obviously she’d been wrong. He’d gone along with it—more than gone along with it, he’d taken complete control—but he wouldn’t have started it.
He wouldn’t have started it. She could see it so humiliatingly clearly now. If a hole in the ground opened up and swallowed her, she would have welcomed it.
The universe wasn’t that kind.
She took a few deep breaths, trying to break through the tightness in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean . . . I’ve never done anything like that.” Her first move would be her last. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Yes, she did. Lust. Good old-fashioned, lose-your-senses-and-act-like-an-idiot lust.
He finally looked at her. All signs of pain—of any emotion—had been wiped from his expression. If she hadn’t seen his face a few minutes ago, she would have thought he’d been completely unaffected by the entire thing. Steely silvery blue eyes glinted back at her. Cool, emotionless, impenetrable.
God, had she actually thought she’d seen something in there when she came apart?
Humiliation twisted the knot in her stomach a little tigh
ter.
“Forget about it,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”
Not a pin, there was a knife stabbing in her chest now. Wow. Way to put it into context. No sugarcoating, all right.
He wasn’t done. “You were upset—you don’t look as tense now.”
He hadn’t just said that. Was he honestly just claiming to have gotten her off so she wasn’t so tense? Could he be that much of a dick?
Her eyes narrowed. Taking in the tiny white lines around his mouth and the rigid set of his shoulders. Maybe he’d wanted it a little, after all. “You’re looking a little tense there yourself. I could offer to return the favor . . . unless you’d rather handle it yourself?”
Just in case he didn’t know what she was talking about, her gaze slid down to the still sizable but not-quite-as-prominent bulge in his jeans.
His jaw went slack before he caught himself. Clearly the captain wasn’t used to anyone firing back at him.
“No favors necessary.” His voice sounded a little ragged.
Annie was never provoking—especially about anything sexual. That was about to change. Her eyes flickered to his for only an instant before settling back down on his crotch. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before catching it with her teeth. “Pity.”
The sharp tense of muscle told her that she’d won that round.
She glanced up just in time to see his mouth fall in a hard line before he grumbled something about fixing the fire that had apparently gone out while they were . . . occupied.
Annie continued where she’d left off with the mattresses, stewing and surreptitiously watching him the whole time.
She was glad he’d pulled back. Of course she was. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Julien? Had she really been about to fall in bed with a man she barely knew who was clearly hiding something? Although with Julien at least she’d waited awhile. She wished she’d waited longer. Like never.
Dan bent over, putting his head in the stove to try to look into the flue. She caught herself staring at the tight, perfectly shaped backside that was made for football pants.