Wicked Secrets

“Pass.” He set the wrench back in the toolbox. He was about done here.

“One beer.” She propped her hands on her hips and did her best to stare him down. It was a damned good effort, too, although the peekaboo bikini strap beneath her T-shirt was a first-class distraction. Her gaze never stopped moving, quartering the ocean, the boat, the beach. He’d bet she didn’t miss a thing because Cal Brennan, one of the two Navy rescue swimmers he co-owned Deep Dive with, was like that, too, constantly tracking his surroundings and watching for incoming. Somehow, the switch hadn’t got thrown in Tag’s head. He’d left the battles on the battlefield. He was okay.

He looked over Mia’s shoulder. Five pairs of eyes drilled into him from the beach bar. A lovely blonde raised her margarita to him in a silent toast, and he grinned. Pretty women on a pretty day. He should have been in heaven having things go his way like this. It was all so fun. So easy. On the other hand, there was nothing easy about Mia Brandt.

You had your shot and you screwed it up...

He shipped out in six weeks. She set sail in six hours. Even if he’d been a long-term kind of man, neither time line allowed for a relationship. And that assumed she even wanted him for more than a centerpiece at the bachelorette party that was in full swing up there at the beach bar.

When he didn’t answer her right away, she dug in. “What’s not to like about a free beer?”

He smiled. “Every drink has strings attached. I learned my lesson at the Star Bar.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t hear you complaining that night. In fact, you did plenty of hollering of the good kind.”

Her slow smile heated his blood. He’d always loved a challenge, making him real glad he had the side of the boat between them. Otherwise, there would have been no way she missed the erection he sported. Squatting down by the side of the boat, he folded his arms on the side. The move put him on eye level with her. He’d forgotten how tiny she was.

“You made plenty of noise yourself.”

“Maybe I did. A girl has to look after herself in bed.” She slapped her hands on to the edge of the boat—and on top of his. She wore no rings, but there was a pale circle on her ring finger.

Ouch. He went on the offensive. “You were bossy.”

She’d been bold. Confident. And more than a little take-charge in bed. So, okay, he hadn’t minded at the time. He’d been completely on board with her plan of a night of hot, casual sex. And, if she’d liked to give orders, he’d also been willing to indulge her. Unfortunately, he’d been busted sneaking back into his apartment. He’d been tired. He hadn’t been thinking. The litany of excuses didn’t matter, however, because he’d let slip the name of the woman he’d slept with, and his night with her had solidified her reputation for being a ball-breaker.

Sergeant Dominatrix. Yeah. Not a kind name. A guy might live that down—after about four hundred tours of duty—but Mia had been a female officer working with male officers who didn’t always treat women like equals, even if the field manual said they should. Good reasons, bad reasons—he figured she probably hadn’t cared.

Her eyes narrowed, proving she hadn’t changed since then. “You needed directions.”

She was close enough to kiss. She had brown eyes, paired with the longest, most feminine eyelashes he’d ever seen. Retreat. His lips almost brushed hers, as his fingers automatically tightened around hers. He might be pulling her into the boat—or she might be pulling him overboard. Damned if he knew.

“Directions you were happy to issue. If you didn’t like the results, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Her knowing smile pushed all his buttons. “I was the senior officer.”

Like. Hell. “It’s a good thing we were a one-night thing. Because you don’t outrank me anymore, sweetheart.”

2

TAG JOHNSON WAS still a pain in her ass. He was also drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t active duty anymore. He was. The possibility he might—just possibly—outrank her galled her. She was almost certain he was teasing her.

Almost.

Big and built, he filled out a T-shirt in ways that had her libido sitting up and taking notice. Maybe it was the hint of mischief crinkling the corners of his eyes, or maybe it had something to do with his hands...yeah, his hands definitely got her going. The words tough and capable came to mind watching him work a wrench. A dive watch flashed on his wrist as he gave some unidentifiable piece of boat motor one last, hard twist and then transferred his gaze to her, thumbing his sunglasses up.

She grinned. At least she had his attention now. Taking backseat to a boat engine wasn’t acceptable. She’d always had a competitive streak, and her drive to be the best had helped propel her to success in the Army. Part of it was a pilot thing—who could fly farthest, fastest, lowest. Get a bunch of aviators together, and the adjective didn’t matter. She’d out-flown, out-landed, and out-shot every one of them.

Her competitive drive had been the reason why she’d met Tag in the first place. Four years ago, she’d been back stateside for a few weeks of R & R following a challenging deployment. After several weeks of parking her butt in San Diego, she’d been looking at another government-sponsored trip back to the sandbox. She’d been living dangerously for years, so sending a round of drinks over to Tag’s table had seemed tame in comparison. When the waitress had brought the Mia-sponsored bonus round to his table, he’d raised his beer, laughing. See? Everyone liked a free drink. Nonetheless, she’d been completely unprepared for the bolt of pure heat shooting through her and making her think, for the first time, about indulging in the kind of one-night quickie her team boasted about. Logically, most of her guys’ chatter about hookups and amazing blow-your-mind sex had to be just that. Chatter. Hot air. Pure fiction. Except she’d looked at Tag, and he’d stared back at her, his hazel eyes promising just one thing.

Hot.

Dirty.

Sex.

He’d made good on all those unspoken promises. They’d had just seven hours because he’d had orders to deploy in the morning. Approximately four hundred and eighteen minutes of being skin to skin with him because it had taken her two whole minutes to shuck her uniform and boots. He’d been inside her ten minutes after they’d both gotten naked, and she hadn’t minded. She had, in fact, ordered him to hurry the hell up and get inside me now.

Now she stared at him as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind. Darn it. Her unfathomable attraction to him was definitely best kept on the down low.

“Earth to Mia.” His husky drawl stirred more memories. He’d called her by her first name at the Star Bar, as well. She hadn’t protested, despite them both knowing she outranked him. The evidence had been right there on her uniform shirt. But in her hotel room, she’d been Mia and he’d been Tag. Two people giving in to chemistry and a need for closeness before duty called and they went their separate ways.

Tag’s boat rocked up and down with each small wave lapping at the beach. A familiar curl of nausea started in the pit of her stomach, so she transferred her gaze from the boat to the horizon. Throwing up on his boat would be way too humiliating.

“Are you pulling rank on me?” He was out of uniform, so she couldn’t be certain he truly outranked her. Still, he’d struck her as a straight shooter, and she didn’t think he’d bullshit her.

“I made Senior Petty Officer Naval Air Crewman last year.”

He’d done well, but she wasn’t surprised. He’d had drive. She’d certainly never had a better orgasm.

He kept on talking, or, at least, his mouth went right on moving, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes assessed her bikini getup, for which she definitely had to kill her cousin now. Whatever words came out, however, were lost on her as she swallowed the nausea. Her last deployment had ended with a bang, literally. While the outward damage from the concussion grenade had healed, she’d been left with an excruciating susceptibility to motion sickness. It was a good thing she’d abandoned her desire for a career as a pirouetting ballerina at the age of four.

He paused and looked at her. “You cashed out?”

His question, she decided, wasn’t judgmental—more curious, which was a nice change. Justifying her decision to leave military service got old, as did correcting other people’s misconceptions about why she’d joined in the first place. Sure the GI bill was a nice bonus, but she’d wanted to serve. Her father had. Her three brothers had. And she had. She got tired of people assuming she was parked in the waiting room of the VA because she was a wife or daughter.

“I’m done,” she admitted.

He nodded, then turned and tossed something toward his toolbox. Instinctively, when metal hit metal with a loud bang, she dropped to a crouch. Incoming. Rapidly, she assessed her options for cover, mentally narrowing down the direction of the shot fired. The world telescoped to a strip of sand and the whoosh of water in her ears as she tried to pinpoint the source of the danger. The beach was still quiet and peaceful, except for her ladies sending up a rousing cheer as someone proposed a toast.

A curse floated overhead, and then Tag dropped over the side.

“Sorry.” She hated the word, hated all of its implications. Her revulsion, though, didn’t stop big hands from flexing, wrapping around her arm and tugging her carefully upright. She sorted through excuses halfheartedly. Maybe she’d been checking out the sand or—hey—a fish. A quick, sideways peek at Tag’s face was plenty of warning. Whatever story she cooked up, he wouldn’t buy it. Because he understood, damn him.

* * *

THE LOOK ON Mia’s face was one Tag had seen on many others he’d served with. She was so busy proving she was independent and in charge that he hadn’t even thought about the possibility she’d brought home some mental baggage from her tours of duty. Or that the bang of his wrench hitting the toolbox would be enough to send her back to another place and time. Another battlefield. He didn’t know how to fix the situation or what she needed, but he couldn’t disregard her distress, either.

“Hey.” He crouched next to her, ignoring the water seeping through his jeans. He’d dry. Her eyes quartered the beach as if she fully expected a United States Marine Corps AAV to emerge from the surf and open fire. He was thankful every day Discovery Island wasn’t that kind of place, but right now Mia’s head didn’t understand that truth.

“You’re home,” he murmured, not sure what words would bring her back. Carefully, he curled his fingers around her shoulder, feeling warm skin through the black cotton. It was sexy as hell. “There’s no danger here.”

Long lashes swept down, and she released her breath with a shudder. Had he noticed how long those lashes were when he’d had her underneath him? Or on top of him? Hell. There weren’t too many positions they hadn’t tried out during their one night. He’d thought she was simply a pleasant memory, but apparently he’d been wrong.

She grimaced, her eyes snapping open. She was back from whatever mental hell she’d been visiting. He dropped his hands to grip her elbows before she butt-planted in the surf. Unless she’d had a personality transplant, his Mia would want to leave with her dignity intact.

“Memories,” she explained, and they both mentally added bad to her one-word explanation. Yeah. For one deceptive moment, she’d looked soft and vulnerable. But now, she squatted there beside his boat, ready to defend him and everyone else on the beach from invisible bad guys and...he respected the hell out of her commitment to getting the job done.

“Come on.” He stood up, bringing her with him.

She’d angled herself between him and the beach like a good officer. He didn’t need her to protect and defend him, but he appreciated the offer. And other things. He definitely appreciated Mia’s body. Her butt brushed his front. Any closer and she’d be fully aware of his interest. Although she only came up to his shoulder, she looked competent and in charge, her hands on her hips as she surveyed her surroundings. Wispy strands escaped from her braid as if she’d just rolled out of bed, softening her edges. And Mia had a great many edges.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she said. He didn’t know whether she wanted to deflect any more questions or make sure they were even.

But did her motives matter? He could do one drink. It was hot. And he could really use a glass of water because he’d been wrestling with the damn boat motor for over an hour now. It would have been nice, though, if Mia had actually asked. Instead, like always, she was all tell.

And assumptions.

Not waiting for his response, she strode away from him, laying in a course for the beach bar, and the possibility of his refusing orders was clearly not an option she’d entertained. But...he’d worked around her need to be in charge four years ago. She was simply Mia and a woman he’d like to get to know just a little bit better in the very limited time he had before he shipped out again and she...got on with her own life.

So he followed her pink-and-rhinestone backside up to the beach bar. His thoughts should be illegal. Sweep his thumbs beneath the edge of her bikini. One good tug and she’d come undone.

To his chagrin, the scene at the beach bar was worse than he’d anticipated. The bride high-fived Mia as if she’d scored a hat trick and won the game for the home team, while five other women in pink rhinestone bikinis eyed him assessingly. Hell. This was not a drink with an old Army buddy. This was an interrogation. Or the dating version of musical chairs.

“Sit there.” Mia pointed at the single empty seat beside a blond bridesmaid who looked as though she’d just won the lottery. At least they were color-coded. Pink for available and white for completely off-limits. He sat down in what he was fairly certain was Mia’s seat, but he wasn’t completely sure how he’d ended up here.

Mia made the introductions, then waved down a waiter and placed an order for another round of drinks. The two of them were the only ones going with iced tea today. He watched her effortlessly organize her bridesmaid troop. In some ways, she was just the same as before, giving orders, arranging things. With the best of intentions—he’d give her that. She wasn’t bossy just to be take-charge. It was simply that she was a planner and not afraid to assume command. Ever. In under five minutes, she had the drink orders marshaled, seats rearranged, and the conversational train headed in a pleasant direction.

“You’re active duty?” The bridesmaid next to him toyed with the dog tags around his neck. He put a few more inches of space between them, although there wasn’t much room to retreat. His leg bumped the bare thigh of the bride on the other side. Coward he mouthed at Mia. She’d stuck to her post on the far side of the group.

She grinned, a gleeful smile illuminating her face at his discomfort. Whoa. Her happiness was a one-two punch to his gut. Don’t think about what it felt like to be deep inside her. Good luck with that. Maybe she’d acquired mind-reading skills in her last deployment, because her smile widened. Instead of being all serious and take-charge, Sergeant Dominatrix had a fun side. Who knew?

“I’m helping out a buddy on the island. He’s launching a dive business and needed a few extra hands on deck. I’m active duty in six weeks.”

Which he hadn’t planned on doing when he’d first come out to Discovery Island. Not re-upping had been a done deal. And then he’d gotten a call from his team leader, asking for one more mission, one more deployment. He’d thought he’d picked a spot, decided to settle down. But he was...bored. His feet itched to go somewhere, anywhere. Air Rescue Swimmers didn’t just rescue the drowning. They also conducted surveillance in drug ops and ran recovery missions. Their CO needed someone with his skills—and Discovery Island didn’t need him. Daeg Ross could hire any other vet and that was the truth. He’d stick it out until the replacement guy showed up, and then he’d haul ass back to San Diego and his real job.

“Doing what?” His pink-and-rhinestone inquisitor scooted closer.

Keep it simple. “I’m a Navy rescue swimmer.”

Mia leaned across the table. “He picked up our pieces. If a pilot went down, Tag and his unit went in. They fished us out of the water. Bad storm, tsunami, sinking boat—they were our go-to guys.”

College had been as far out of reach for his eighteen-year-old self as a trip to the moon or Outer Mongolia. A week after his high school graduation, he’d enlisted. He’d completed two years of training in advanced swimming and lifesaving techniques, then deployed to his first squadron. He knew his weapons and tacticals, but his job had been rescuing people. He’d never been a combatant.

Unlike Mia.

She’d been fierce, a fighter in bed and out. The night they’d met, she’d been a fish out of water, sending him drinks at the bar and then looking insulted when he returned the gesture. Normally, he would have avoided a woman like her. After training hard, fighting tooth and nail for each rescue, he wanted a simple, uncomplicated hookup. But he hadn’t been able to keep away from Mia. Had instead followed her home when she’d looked over her shoulder at him and said come. Nothing about her had been relaxing or fun, but he hadn’t minded. Had, in fact, been hooked.

The bride looked at the two of them, her head snapping left, then right, as if she was watching a tennis match at Wimbledon. “You two know each other?”

Biblically.

“Mia bought me a drink once.” He tipped his head toward the former sergeant.

Who grinned right back at him. “And he was worth it. Best seven dollars I ever dropped in a bar.”

The bride shook her head. “Who knew you’d meet up again on Discovery Island?”

Who knew indeed? The iced tea level in his glass sank to the halfway point. The overabundance of sugar had his teeth curdling. “How long are you ladies in town for?”

The bride checked her phone. “Five more hours.”

Her face glowed as she inundated him with endless, incomprehensible details about her wedding in two months, and which families were flying from where. In his line of work, Tag had saved other people’s families. His first rescue had sent him a picture a couple of weeks after Tag had fished the guy out of the Pacific Ocean: the man had gone home, and his daughter had sent a photo of the two of them dancing at her wedding. That was a good picture, a good day.

While he made polite chitchat, he was aware of Mia getting up. She moved around the group, identifying drink recipients for the waiter with smooth efficiency. Alcoholic beverages sorted, she returned to the bride and produced a tube of sunscreen with an SPF of about a million and one.

“Strapless dress. Time to lather up.”

The bride obediently presented her back, and Mia got to work spreading the sunscreen over her bare shoulders. Slick with lotion, her hands slid up the tanned expanse of the bride’s back, then back down again...and, hello, hard-on.

Perfect. That was his cue. He stood up to leave and did his best to pretend bridesmaid number four hadn’t just patted his butt. Plausible deniability. Mia apparently had plenty of imagination herself, because she kept sliding him covert glances. She was good. He doubted any of her friends had noticed her interest.

He had.

He brushed past her, paused. “You need to stop staring.”

Chairs crowded their table at the beach bar, leaving limited room to maneuver. Instead of easing away from him, she lost her balance in the sand and made full body contact, her breasts pressed against his bare arm. One cotton T-shirt. One pink bikini top. There was nowhere near enough fabric between them.

She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Too bad. He’d been enjoying the contact. “I’m not. Staring. At you.”

“Uh-huh.” Rattled was also a new condition for Mia. He’d seen her aroused and take-charge. Coming. Which was his personal favorite, because that was the closest she came to really letting go and...he needed to stop remembering. Right now. He nodded his head in the general direction of the bridal party. “Ladies. Thank you.”

Mia followed him of course, her flip-flops snapping loudly against the sand.

“Explain,” she demanded.

He flashed a smile at her, loving the way her fingers curled into her bare arms. He got to her. No matter what words came out of her prickly, sassy mouth, she wasn’t indifferent to him. At all.

“Remember—you don’t outrank me.” The unspoken anymore hung in the air between them. Yeah, spending time with Mia would be dangerous. He couldn’t afford a two-night stand with her, and she didn’t have room in her life for a man like him.

* * *

AS SOON AS Tag retreated, Mia’s ladies declared themselves ready to move on. Go figure. They’d been holding out for man candy, and, now that they’d had their taste, they were good. She stared after Tag’s mighty fine backside disappearing down the boardwalk. Worn denim cupped tight buns, hugging him in all the right places. She’d hung on to his butt, digging her fingers into the hard muscles as he worked himself... Shoot. He was right. She was staring.

“What’s next? Or should I ask—who?” Her cousin grinned happily at her.

Yeah. She had the same question. With five bridesmaids and one bride staring at her, however, she needed to pull it together. Her brief past with Tag Johnson was her own business, and discovering he’d somehow ended up on the same island as her—however briefly—was not something she needed to share. In fact, forgetting all about his sexy butt topped her current to-do list. She’d get right on it.

When her cousin stood up, the other women fell in behind her like baby ducks. Then they all turned and stared expectantly at Mia. Right. Because somehow she’d ended up in charge of this zoo. She consulted her iPad where she had their action plan for the day. Beach bar? Check. Next up was zip-lining.

Oh, joy.

Mia snuck one last look down the boardwalk, but Tag had disappeared. The boardwalk teemed with activity in the late afternoon sunshine with tourists strolling up and down in the palm tree–studded shade. Discovery Island appealed to her on a fundamental level. The place was pretty. It had palm trees. But, more importantly, the locals seemed friendly, and she’d bet there was just about zero crime. Whatever. Their cruise ship floating on the horizon was plenty of reminder. Five hours until departure.

Her own wistful sigh was irritating as heck.

Snap out of it. It wasn’t as if anything could have come of her chance encounter with Tag. A hot one-night fling didn’t mean he was up for a repeat performance. Or that she wanted one herself. Nope. She’d had her fun, and now she had a bachelorette party to lead. She motioned for the group to move out.

“Who’s ready for some zip-lining?”

3

THROWING UP ON a public beach was rude. But Mia’s stomach wasn’t on board with being polite, the pounding headache building between her eyes demanded relief of one kind or another. She’d captured some great pictures of her cousin with the mock veil. The ATV ride had gone well. But the zip line...big mistake.

One of their guides had thought it would be fun to encourage them to spin upside down, and his impulsive gesture had triggered an episode of motion sickness she’d really rather forget. If she’d only stayed upright, her prescription would have continued to do its job. Instead, the overzealous guide had given her meds a workout her head couldn’t handle.

Not ready to confront a world that rocked violently up and down, she kept her eyes screwed shut. The rustle of palm fronds overhead was actually somewhat soothing. If she was lucky—and, given the way her day had gone so far, she probably shouldn’t be investing in lottery tickets—the darned tree wasn’t sporting any coconuts. Her head simply couldn’t take any more knocks. She waited for a moment for the universe to weigh in, but her life remained coconut-free. Good times.