Wicked Nights. Anne Marsh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ this was Piper.

      So dragging his tongue over her skin and tasting all the places where she was still damp from her dive should have been the last thing on his mind. He’d read her the riot act about her careless driving and say his piece about tomorrow’s business meeting. Then he’d go his way and she’d go hers. After all, he’d been back on the island for almost six months and had managed to avoid all but the briefest of interactions with her. They said hello, goodbye (he suspected she preferred the latter), and nodded tersely at each other from across the street. Life was much quieter that way, because Piper invariably did plenty of yelling when she spent too much time around him.

      The wet suit hit her waist.

      Neither short nor tall, Piper had medium brown hair, brown eyes and a slim build. Those cut-and-dried facts didn’t begin to do the woman in front of him justice, however. They certainly didn’t begin to explain why he unexpectedly found her so appealing or why he wanted to wrap an arm around her and take her down to the deck for a kiss. Or seven. He didn’t like Piper. He never had. She’d also made it plenty clear he irritated her on a regular basis.

      So why was he staring at her like a drowning man?

      And...score another point for Piper. Like many divers, she hadn’t bothered with a bikini top beneath the three-millimeter wet suit. His kiss quota rocketed up to double digits.

      “Piper.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. Focus. Adrenaline rushed through him, sweat dampening his skin. He forced himself to breathe in, slow and easy. To push his heartbeat down and make the sudden energy pumping through his veins work for him. This wasn’t a rapid rappel down to a crash site to search for survivors or a midnight recon of a hostile-infested beach. Nope. This was Discovery Island, a good place with good people. He was home.

      Without acknowledging his greeting, she bent over, shoving the heavy suit down her legs, and his throat went dry. Game over. Silver earbuds, which explained why she hadn’t answered him, flashed as she shimmied, working the suit off. Like always, Piper was lost in her own world, marching to her own beat. Ignorant of his presence, she gave him ample opportunity to admire the longest, sleekest legs he’d ever seen. Her blue-and-white-striped bikini bottom was all practicality, although the conservative cut still clung to her butt. Her water-darkened braid slid over her shoulder, and he wanted to fist her hair, holding her in place as he ran his hands up those legs and parted her for his kiss. Which made him a first-class bastard, even if he kept those thoughts to himself.

      Yeah. But she clearly had more than one advantage on her own side.

      He didn’t negotiate, he reminded himself. He acted. Decided, he approached the boat, knocking on the side to draw her attention.

      She jumped, her head swinging around toward him. “If it isn’t my favorite SEAL.” She flashed him a grin as she popped the earbuds out, taking in his soaking-wet jeans and damp T-shirt. “Had a mishap?”

      She knew precisely what had happened.

      He dropped down off the dock, onto her boat. Deliberately, he let his feet hit the deck hard, savoring her little flinch. She wasn’t as off balance as she’d made him, but it was something. He’d take every advantage he could get because, Christ, she still wasn’t wearing a bikini top. Instead of covering her breasts or grabbing for a towel, she glared at him as if this whole situation was his fault. She was lucky her slip put her out of the line of sight of the other boaters in the marina and he was the only one who could see her. Piper flashed him, and any thoughts he’d had of being a gentleman flew out of his head. He imagined cupping her soft curves in his palms, rubbing his thumbs over the tips. He’d just bet she was a moaner, and—

      He jerked his gaze back up to her face. “We’ve got to talk.”

      * * *

      FEET BRACED, LEGS APART, Cal Brennan made himself at home on Piper’s deck, nothing but challenge in his gaze as he waited for her to finish checking him out. He was magnificent. And mildly pissed off, which was pretty much the usual state of affairs between her and Cal. Of course, her soaking him when she’d buzzed past him into the marina might explain his foul mood. Faded jeans clung to a pair of powerful legs, and an old cotton T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. Dog tags flashed as he turned his head to track her. Cal had never needed power suits to scream, “in charge.” He moved smoothly, confidently, as he came closer, his bare feet silent on the deck after his initial gunshot-loud landing. Behind him, down the dock, she caught a glimpse of a Harley parked in the street near her dive shop. Cal’s black low-rider bike screamed, “race me,” followed by, “take me.” And, while she’d never considered Cal as dating material, she had to admit he was hot.

      Really, really hot.

      “We need to talk,” he repeated and his patronizing, self-assured tone did a great job dampening the desire blazing a hot path through her belly. His eyes dropped briefly to her breasts again—darn it—then returned to her face. Like he was taking inventory and nothing more.

      Right. The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly pleasant, but he clearly intended to do all the talking—while she did all the listening. That wasn’t how she lived anymore. She wasn’t six years old to his ten, any more than she was still a teenage diver bombarded by coaching advice. She was a businesswoman now. A grown woman.

      Even if being near him made certain parts of her feel like a teenager.

      “I’m listening,” she said neutrally because there was no point in pissing this man off before she had to. Plus, gazing at him was no hardship. If she was objective (which she usually wasn’t when it came to Cal), he looked every bit as sexy as his bike.

      Not going there. Swiping her bikini top from her dive bag, she got busy with the ties. While she didn’t particularly care about the peep show she’d given him—you got used to stripping down on the dive boat and skin was just skin—she didn’t need to introduce the whole male-female thing to this conversation or tempt her hormones any further.

      He approached swiftly, inserting himself into her personal space before she could protest. Big, callused fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

      “Lift,” he ordered. His low, sexy, I’m-in-charge-and-we-both-know-it rasp almost made her forget she’d known Cal for twenty years and liked him for none of that time. She was in so much trouble.

      Obediently, she lifted the wet tail of hair while she considered the merits of turning and kneeing him in the balls. Which would be, she decided, a waste. Her body was screaming for satisfaction of a completely different kind, which made no sense at all. She didn’t like Cal.

      “You search me out for a reason? Or did you just stop by for the peep show?” She was proud of herself for calmly getting the words out. She didn’t sound like her hormones were rioting at all.

      “I’ll pick option A.” His voice rumbled in her ear as he bent his head and tested the knot he’d made in her bikini top. “I hear you’re bidding on the Fiesta Cruise Lines contract.”

      Fiesta Cruise Lines wanted a local dive shop to run trips for cruise ship clients. Since Fiesta put in one ship a week at Discovery Island, and they’d promised a minimum of twenty divers to start with, the contract was worth a significant chunk of change.

      “My interest is no secret.”

      “Business is booming?”

      Her balance СКАЧАТЬ