Stranded With The Navy Seal. Susan Cliff
down and veered back up.
Too late. She caught him looking.
Focus, Starke. Focus on the conversation. “What does he do now?”
“He’s a police officer.”
Logan raised his bottle again.
She moved her straw around in a mix of ice cubes and crushed mint. “So you like ships?”
He shrugged, because he’d never been on a cruise ship before. After spending so much time in tight quarters on military barges, he wouldn’t have chosen this for a vacation. “I was supposed to be working.”
“Doing what?”
Logan couldn’t disclose the specific details. “Guarding someone.”
“A celebrity?”
He made a noncommittal sound. “My client canceled her trip at the last minute, and I was already onboard, all expenses paid.”
“So you decided to stay.”
“Yes.”
Logan had been a Navy SEAL for six years, five of them under President O’Brien. Now O’Brien was a UN dignitary. Secret Service usually provided security to former presidents and their children for a lifetime, so Logan wasn’t sure why SS wasn’t guarding Maya O’Brien. There was some speculation, behind closed doors, that the current POTUS hadn’t signed the protection order for O’Brien’s family.
Either way, Logan had been happy to step in. It was an opportunity to serve a man he respected, and to make a few extra bucks during his time off. Cruising to Tahiti was no hardship. He was still recovering from knee surgery. He’d completed his physical therapy sessions, but he couldn’t return to regular duty for another six weeks. Inactivity drove him crazy. He’d needed a change of scenery.
His current view was spectacular.
Cadence’s phone vibrated on the bar’s surface, indicating a new text. Logan could read the name of the sender: Andrew. She frowned in irritation and turned off the notifications. His protective instincts stirred.
“Someone bothering you?” he asked.
“No one important.”
“Your ex?”
It was a personal question, but she didn’t seem to mind. After a short hesitation, she showed him the conversation. The photo next to the text bubble showed an Asian guy in a pretentious-looking black uniform.
Him: You took a job on a cruise ship? That’s beneath you
Her: You’re beneath me
Him: I wish
Him: I miss you
“He’s a chef, too?” Logan asked.
“A celebrity chef,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Andrew Yu.”
Logan wasn’t impressed. “Sounds like he can’t let go.”
“Well, he’s going to have to, because he cheated. On TV. With his costar.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
He could tell she wasn’t giving Andrew any second chances. She wasn’t a pushover. He liked that. Maybe she was looking for a rebound, a diversion, or a little revenge sex. Logan was happy to be in the right place at the right time. “You should take a picture of us and tell him you’re already on top of someone else.”
She laughed at this suggestion, as if it really appealed to her. She had a sexy laugh, throaty and uninhibited. But she didn’t pose for a photo with him. She tucked her phone into a little black purse and finished her drink in silence.
He hoped he hadn’t blown his chances by being too aggressive. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. When he wanted something, he went for it, and he wanted her. He didn’t see any reason to pretend otherwise.
The club’s reggae band launched into a popular Bob Marley song, interrupting the awkward moment. She perked up at the sound.
His knee told him not to, but his mouth said, “Want to dance?”
She’d seen him at the restaurant.
And on the Lido deck. And in the pool, doing laps.
Every woman onboard had seen him. You couldn’t not see a man like that. He was built like a god, with a sculpted physique that made her mouth water. He had broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Abs from a fitness magazine. Even his face looked strong. The female employees already had a nickname for him: Adonis.
Cady had admired his form just this morning, during her workout. The gym’s treadmills overlooked the pool. He swam like a gold medalist. She’d watched his muscles ripple in the glistening water. When he climbed out, she’d studied every inch of his body, including the brace around his knee. The injury didn’t appear to slow him down.
Rumor had it that he’d been cruising the bar last night—and he’d left alone. She hadn’t come here with a specific plan to catch his attention, but she’d mentioned him to her best friend, Deborah, over the phone. Deb had insisted that she put on a sexy dress and try to “look available, but not thirsty.”
Too late. One glance at him and her throat went dry.
Apparently the dress was working its magic, because he’d been staring at her. She’d picked up her phone to play it cool. Which was the opposite of looking available, but she’d been nervous. Andrew’s annoying texts hadn’t helped.
Months after the fallout, his betrayal still stung.
It stung a little less now, in Logan’s company. She couldn’t even feel it, to be honest. She couldn’t feel anything except the heat of his gaze.
He wasn’t handsome like a movie star. Not quite. His nose appeared to have been broken a few times. His jaw was square, and his smile was charmingly off center. He had the outdoorsy look of a football player or a mountain climber. He was at least six feet tall. She marveled at his size as they faced each other on the dance floor. His shoulders took up a lot of space. He was very solid, and...not very graceful.
She smothered a giggle while he shuffled back and forth to the music. She didn’t mind his stiffness. She loved to dance, with or without a good partner. He was fine as hell, just standing there. The way he watched her, as if her simple moves were mesmerizing, made her want to rock with him all night long.
He was wearing tan pants and a white safari-style shirt. Nothing fancy, but his clothes fit well. He had close-cropped brown hair and a clean-cut, no-nonsense vibe. Underneath that tight control was a hint of raw sexuality.
He wasn’t shy.
When the band switched to a slow song, his hands went straight to her hips. She shivered at the contact. She could feel the warm press of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her dress. She could feel his boldness. Their gazes met and held. He had great eyes. Bedroom eyes that traveled up and down her body in a slow caress. They drifted from her mouth to her breasts, as if these were his two favorite places to look. She didn’t blame him for looking. She wanted him to do more than look.
He drew her closer, aligning their lower bodies. Although he was at least six inches taller than her, she was wearing heels, so it wasn’t a mismatch. She twined her arms around his neck. Her breasts met the hard wall of his chest. His hands flexed at her hips, and his arousal swelled against her belly.
Cady had been around this block before. There were always men who got too excited on the dance floor, or those who felt entitled to come up behind her and grind on her without asking. She’d shaken off her share of losers. It was tiresome. Never once had she encountered a stranger’s erection and become weak-kneed with lust.
Until