Daring Her Seal. Anne Marsh
put it past him to pursue her. He liked sex, and their ostensible marriage would put a crimp on anyone’s style.
“Okay,” he said agreeably.
Right. She snorted and he looked at her.
“Like you could go a week without having sex.”
“I absolutely can.” He sounded confident. She’d give him that.
She, on the other hand, was hyperaware of his long, powerful legs stretched out in the sand next to hers. He was still wearing his BDUs and combat boots, and for no particular reason, the sight of him ready for anything got her going. Or maybe it was just that he was a gorgeous, available jerk and she’d been without a boyfriend for too long.
“Pull the other one,” she said dryly. “I’ve seen you in action, remember, and going without sex while you’re out in the field doesn’t count.”
“You think I’m going to cheat on you while we’re married?” He managed to sound surprised, but it wasn’t like he was the poster child for monogamy.
“We’re not really married. Anything we do doesn’t count.” She wasn’t sure she really meant that, but there was no point in setting herself up for disappointment with Levi.
“I keep my promises.” He set his beer bottle back on the bar with a small click and leaned forward—surprise—to take her hand, his calloused fingers threading through hers in a rough-tender caress that was inexplicably good. His thumb found a sensitive spot in her palm and rubbed. Okay. Maybe she was the one who wouldn’t make it a week.
Which was undoubtedly his point.
“I dare you,” she blurted out, her mouth rushing ahead of her brain. “No sex for one week.”
“Sure.” He nodded agreeably. “You said the sex shop’s closed, so no worries.”
She’d never thought he would take advantage of their possibly married state. He wasn’t that kind of guy. They were plenty clear on that particular point—it was just everything else they disagreed about.
“But,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “If I take your dare, you take mine.”
Her hand shot up. “No. I’m done negotiating with you.”
Of course he kept right on talking as if she hadn’t said anything. “For each night I go without sex, I get to choose a drink for you from Fantasy Island’s cocktail menu.”
She really, really needed to ignore the pulse of heat that suggestion generated in her belly. And lower. This was Levi. She didn’t even like him, but apparently her body thought angry sex was something she should try at least once in her life. Preferably tonight.
He watched her calmly, but there was no mistaking the tension in his big body. He had her and he knew it. The problem with having worked with Levi in the field was that he’d learned things about her, like the way she responded to a challenge. Jesus. Emotionally, it made her feel like a five-year-old—when parts of her definitely were all adult around him—but she just couldn’t walk away from a dare.
“You want to get me drunk?” Somehow, she didn’t think he was talking about alcohol.
His teeth flashed as he snagged the drinks menu from the bar and waggled it in front of her. “We both know I’m talking about the other menu, babe. The secret menu, where the drink names are code for sexy stuff. Pink Panties. Angel’s Tit. Tie Me to the Bedpost. I pick the drink. You do the deed.”
THE EXPRESSION ON Ashley’s face registered a whole lot of hell no and you’ve got to be kidding me. If he’d been any kind of gentleman, he’d have looked away. Seeing as how he’d moved into bastard territory long ago, however, he merely flipped the menu open and ran his finger ostentatiously down the list of cocktails.
Her long lashes flicked down, her brown eyes following his finger as a truly spectacular blush painted her cheeks. Special Agent Dixon wasn’t a pretty blusher. No delicate shade of pink there. Her whole face flamed as though she’d been dipped in Day-Glo red. The color was kind of cute, actually, although he’d have bet his last paycheck that nothing shocked her.
He’d have lost that bet.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. Guess that won him points in this game of one-upmanship they were playing. He was actually capable of shocking snarky, no-nonsense, I-can-beat-your-ass Ashley Dixon. Today was a red-letter day, and he’d fucking mark it in his calendar. They’d worked together for the last year, and he could count the number of times he’d seen her look out of her element or anything less than perfectly confident. The woman was a chameleon, capable of fitting in anywhere and with anyone. She thought she knew the best way to handle every step of their missions. Worse, she’d been right. She pointed out her accuracy constantly and it was not an endearing trait.
“Sex on the Beach, Screaming Orgasm, Bend Over Shirley.” He winked at her. “Or should I substitute your name for that last one?”
Her blush got deeper. Any brighter and orbiting astronauts would be able to spot her cheeks from space. Together for less than twelve hours, and already he’d pushed her to Code Red. Provided he survived, this week together was turning out to be one of his better ideas.
She sucked in a breath, which undoubtedly meant she was about to start talking or yelling, and that was his cue to keep right on going. Once Ashley got started, she didn’t stop until she’d won.
“Nothing to your liking, Dixon?” He gave her his most winning smile. “Let’s try—”
“Shut up,” she growled. He recognized the look on her face. If she’d been a fellow SEAL, they’d have been rolling around on the sand by now, trading punches. Still, her expression was priceless. He reached for his phone. A moment like this deserved to be immortalized.
“Jesus, Brandon. Have pity on the bartender. He’s gonna think we’re having marital problems already.”
He thumbed on his phone and raised it. “Say cheese.”
She slammed her hand down over his, pinning his fingers to the bar. With her other hand, she pocketed his phone.
He whistled. “Nice move.”
If he were a lucky man, she’d kill him quickly. Since, however, he was currently married to Dixon and stuck on a tropical island after taking a vow of chastity, his luck was clearly nonexistent. Too bad about the phone, though, because the pictures would have been spectacular. He wiggled his fingers beneath hers.
“We’re done talking,” she snapped. Frankly, he was surprised she got the words out, because she had her teeth gritted so tightly she might need dental work. Her chest rose and fell beneath her shirt and damn it—was that a push-up bra? He leaned forward to get a better view. Why, yes, his cranky, ass-kicking wife was indeed sporting Victoria’s Secret. His favorite kind, too, the type of bra that cupped a woman’s breasts and laid them out framed in lace. He could run a finger down the deep valley her lingerie had created. Follow the path with his tongue and then his dick if he could sweet-talk her into a better mood...
“If you don’t stop staring at my boobs, I’ll hurt you.” Her grip on his fingers tightened. Nice to know she’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat and interrogation techniques. He’d caught Mason teaching her a few new tricks, too, the last time they’d been on Fantasy Island. His fellow SEAL had claimed to be QAing the DEA’s training program, but Levi was pretty sure the guy had just been stirring up shit. Dixon was mean. She didn’t need more ways to hurt a guy.
Speaking of which...he pulled his fingers free. No point in leaving her with the opportunity, and they both knew she couldn’t hold him if he wanted out.
“Is touching allowed? Good to know.” Grabbing her hand before she could snatch it back, he turned it over and pressed a kiss into the palm. The way she dug her nails into his skin was plenty of answer.