Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

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      You’re on leave, Savino. Take a break. Get away. Clear your head, shed the baggage and relax, for God’s sake. The Admiral’s order echoed like a bell through his mind, a loud reminder of why he was here. Or rather, why he wasn’t in Coronado, where he belonged.

      Nic pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure beating behind them like steel drums. He could have pushed against the Admiral’s suggestion. But he couldn’t ignore the lack of sleep, the headaches or the feeling that he was losing hold of the fraying thread of the control he so prized.

      So he’d finally had to admit it. He needed the break. He needed to get away, before he put them at any further risk.

      So here he was.

      On Kauai, where he’d always come as a child to renew. At his uncle’s resort, where he could kill two birds with one stone. Family obligation and relaxation, all rolled into one.

      He angled his jaw left, then right, and turned in his seat to scan the patio. Tiki-style right down to the totem-pole bar and palm-frond overhang, the area boasted a dozen small bamboo tables set up to provide cozy beachside relaxation.

      To his right was a seashell-shaped dais sporting yet more palm fronds. Since it was too early in the evening for the band, music drifted down from cleverly hidden speakers.

      To his left was his life’s blood. His one true love.

      The ocean.

      The Pacific, to be exact. Oh, he loved the Atlantic, the Indian and the Arctic just as truly. But he’d first lost his heart to the Pacific here. Right here on Hanalei, actually, twenty-five years ago when his uncle had opened his first resort. He’d sat in the soft sand, pail in one hand, shovel in the other, and stared in fascination at the endless waves of blue.

      In the years since, Keola Hanalei had become one of the premier luxury destinations in Hawaii and Nic had continued his love affair with the sea. He managed to make it back here every few years for a little downtime.

      Not just downtime, he admitted as he absently took another swallow of beer. Renewal. There was something about this particular view that always reminded him of where he’d come from—and why he’d ended up where he was.

      He didn’t mind that the reminder came with 400-count sheets, island entertainment and gourmet food. It made for a pretty sweet setup.

      His gaze, always watchful, shifted again.

      Because the sexy powerhouse at the third table was pretty sweet, too. The woman he’d watched sweep down the circular staircase ten minutes before.

      Vivacious was the word she brought to mind.

      Not in a bubbly, sparkling way. She looked like the type to kick a guy in the head before she’d giggle.

      No. She looked alive. Powerful, intense and intriguing.

      He didn’t know if it was his body’s reaction to the woman—hot, intense interest that reached deep into his gut and demanded attention—or if it was simply the idea of having something to focus on other than the emotionally exhausting thoughts that kept circling his mind like a vulture waiting to pick his soul clean.

      Whatever it was, he was grateful.

      Because like Lansky said, if he was going to be forced to take leave, he might as well enjoy himself.

      And he’d just found a way to do exactly that.

      All he had to do was convince the pixie to join him.

       CHAPTER TWO

      AS DISTRACTIONS WENT, Nic had to admit this one was pretty damn compelling.

      Short black hair framed her face with sharp lines and spiked edges, the glossy style reminding him of a jagged piece of obsidian. The late-afternoon sun glinted gold off a face worthy of a second, third and even fourth look. Slashing cheekbones aimed toward her lush mouth and strong brows arched over her wide-framed sunglasses.

      There was nothing overtly sexy about her simple green sundress. Wide straps and a squared-off neckline didn’t show a lot of skin. The loose fabric fluttered and settled, but didn’t hug tight enough to show the curves beneath. And while the skirt hit her knees, he’d gotten a good enough look at those legs on her trip down the stairs to know they were prime.

      She looked like a sexy anime figure or a sassy fairy. Not the sugary sweet kind, though. The kind that could kick serious ass and stir up all manner of mischief. It was an interesting contrast to the back-off vibe she exuded.

      He probably could have ignored her sultry intensity, or the hint of wildness. But all of that and the challenge of breaking through her shield of indifference? That was almost impossible to resist.

      Nic tipped back his beer and watched her scan her cell phone. After a quick check, she set it facedown on the table. Tapped her fingers on the case while staring out at the ocean. Lifted the phone and checked again. This time when she set it down, she slid it behind her drink.

      He started the countdown in his head.

      Ten seconds.

      He could practically see her vibrating her way through them before she reached for the phone again.

      Not used to relaxing, he deduced.

      He could relate.

      It’d taken him years to learn to shut it off and be in the moment. Especially if the moment demanded relaxation.

      His gaze roamed her face again, with its impression of sharp energy contrasting with her sensual beauty.

      Maybe he could give her a few tips.

      Nic leaned against the bar and considered.

      Not since his college days had Nic had to pick up a woman. Since he’d joined the Navy, especially since becoming a SEAL, the women usually made the initial move. From a time-management standpoint, he appreciated that. It meant he simply accepted or deflected, depending on the circumstances.

      Not that he was a dog about it. But like Flipper always said, there was something about being a SEAL that turned any man into a total chick magnet.

      A rock-hard knot of pain hit him in the gut at the thought of Flipper, as the team had dubbed Chief Warrant Officer Mason Powers over a decade ago. Nic swallowed against the misery in his throat, trying to shrug off the heavy weight of what he knew a Navy shrink would term depression.

      Another reason he’d agreed to take leave—to avoid the threatened psych eval the Admiral’s assistant kept muttering about.

      So instead of delving into his reasonable grief in search of underlying issues, or parsing the text of his remorse over the lack of power in an untenable situation, he’d opted for the beach.

      Now he had the choice to sit and brood in his beer over things that couldn’t be changed. Or to make the most of the moment.

      A man trained to respect СКАЧАТЬ