Authors: Anne Marsh
One Hot SEAL (7 page)
Keep reading for a special sneak peek from TEASING HER SEAL, my October 2015
Harlequin Blaze.
Subject: Navy SEAL
Gray Jackson
Objective: Stay on
mission. And out of her bed.
Surgeon Laney Parker is on her honeymoon. Alone. Without
her cheating fiancé, she's enjoying her nonrefundable "vacation" at
Fantasy Island, an exotic resort filled with lush greenery, white beaches and
staff who apparently grant every sexual request. Including an unbearably hot massage
therapist whose touch turns Laney to molten lava…
Laney has no idea that Gray Jackson is actually an
undercover Navy SEAL who's supposed to keep his hands off. Or that Gray wants
to take total control. To give Laney just what she—hell, what they both
need. Gray can grant her every erotic wish, just as long as he keeps his cover.
And just as long as their sexy little tease doesn't go beyond the week…
On a good
day, Laney saved at
least five lives by noon. Her numbers dipped during the slower weeks, because
not all days were a constant rush-rush of heart attacks, gunshot wounds and
four-car freeway pileups. San Francisco traffic made the Autobahn look tame,
and the off-ramps at Balboa Park alone had ambulances pulling into the bay on a
semimonthly basis. Instead of scrubbing in, arms up as she hip-checked her way
through the surgery door, however, now she was…naked.
Absolutely butt-naked
and stretched out, waiting for a man to come and run his hands over her body.
Usually, naked was
cause for celebration, except for the inescapable fact that she was all alone
in a cabana with the same grade-A ocean views that had greeted her plane
yesterday. Her surroundings included miles of powdery white sand, dotted with
palm trees, and nothing but the calm blue Caribbean Sea begging for a close
encounter with a snorkel. Fantasy Island—which was a ridiculously
fantastic
name—was undeniably much
prettier and calmer than her usual Monday morning gig.
Harlan didn’t know
what he was missing, the bastard. Oh, he was still a good-looking bastard,
tall, broad shouldered and dark haired. He’d been tapped to play football for
his college, but by then he’d already decided medical school lay in his future,
and he’d passed on the team because he couldn’t risk the damage to his hands.
If she hadn’t taken the Hippocratic Oath herself, she’d have been tempted to
step on those talented fingers. Hard.
Imagining Harlan here
on Fantasy Island was surprisingly difficult, although he’d been the one to
pick out the place for their honeymoon. She was fairly certain she remembered
what good sex was like. Or, at the very least, she remembered
having
sex. Decent sex with matching
his-and-her orgasms at the end. Since both she and Harlan were trauma surgeons,
they didn’t share too many off-the-clock hours, and she’d had to schedule time
to make love with him, which was a sad commentary right there. This trip had
been her chance to
not
be in control
of every step of their sex life, and she’d been looking forward to it. While
he, on the other hand, had been checking out nurses.
She wriggled on the
massage bed and snuck another peek at her phone. Her ponytail slid over her
shoulder and she forced herself not to grab it and play with the ends. But holy
awkwardness. Lying here like a slab of meat hadn’t been in the spa brochure.
Her cabana boy—aka
masseuse
—was
late. The spa attendant had turned on some kind of New Age crap music, heavy on
chimes but missing any noticeable beginning or end. The chiming went on ad
nauseum. For added bonus points, the attendant had spritzed the air, and
Laney’s towel cocoon smelled like some kind of floral scent that made her nose
itch.
Waiting was not a
good use of time. The sixty hours a week she spent—
had
spent—in a San Francisco trauma bay had been measured in
increments of a minute or less. Of course, the same could be said about her sex
life, which was her problem right there. She hadn’t been getting any, ergo she
had sex on the brain.
Or maybe that was the
resort’s fault. Her libido had Madeline’s explanations on the seaplane playing
in a sexy loop through her head. Place an order from the cocktail
menu—and pick a sexual fantasy.
A
Good-Night Kiss
,
Affair
,
Climax
,
Double Jack
,
Triplesex
…
Pick one. Point. All she had to do was ask for it.
She lifted her head
up and fished her phone out from beneath her sheet. Six minutes late. She’d
scheduled thirty minutes for this massage business—so she had twenty-four
minutes left.
She liked to keep to
her schedule.
Her masseuse,
apparently, did not share her outlook on life.
“You’re cheating,
sweetheart. No phones in the spa.”
Two big legs appeared
in front of her, legs as big and rough as the voice issuing orders. Laney
looked up and up and…sweet baby Jesus, the man had good genes. He was also more
than a little rough around the edges. His face was all hard lines, his hair cut
ruthlessly short with military precision. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw as he
towered over her. He wore the loose white pants and form-fitting T-shirt that
all the male resort employees sported, but somehow he managed to make the
cotton look lethal, as if he was balanced on a razor edge, ready to pummel or
go brute predator on the first threat that crossed his path.
This
was her
masseuse?
He tapped her phone.
As if he had the power to make her do precisely as he commanded. It wasn’t hard
to imagine him giving orders. Hit man. Maverick CEO. Rogue mercenary. She had
no idea who he was, but her body leaped in anticipation when his thighs bumped
against the side of the massage table.
Was
he
on the menu?
“This isn’t the spa.”
Since her butt was stretched out beneath a cabana with a thatched roof,
building rules absolutely did not apply. Neither did logic since, although
Fantasy Island had twelve private villas, all positioned for maximum privacy
and sunset views, what it did not have was an actual spa building. She’d been
promised her masseuse would be
happy to
attend you wherever you wish, madame.
“And you’re not in charge.”
“You’re on my massage
table.” Amusement colored his deep voice, although his face remained
impenetrable. Playing poker with this man would be dangerous. Hell, everything
about him screamed dangerous. He certainly didn’t fit the spa’s brand of peace
and mind-numbing serenity. He made the gangbangers, with their frequent-flyer
cards to her ER, look like tame bunnies.
“That makes me the
client.”
And your boss.
After all,
she’d be picking up the tab for this little hands-on session.
“Uh-huh.” He plucked
the phone out of her hand. “What could you possibly need to check?”
“The time. Give me
back my phone.” She rolled over, sat up, extended an arm, and the sheet
promptly dipped to nipple level. Damn it. The spa attendant must have been an
Egyptian embalmer in a former life, because somehow the woman had gotten all
the individual pieces of sheet strategically arranged to cover the embarrassing
bits. Laney could do an emergency intubation on a flatlining patient, but the
sheet defied her. She yanked it up and used her armpit as an anchor.
Sexy
. Not.
“You have a hot
date?” He pocketed her phone, ignoring her outstretched hand.
Are you busy?
“So. Are you going to massage me or what?”
Oops. That sounded
downright pornographic. Her girl bits immediately voted for option B even as
she lowered her arm.
“Lie down.” He nudged
her eye covering back down, plunging her into the dark. She didn’t do
vulnerable—and apparently her credit card wouldn’t need to cover a tip
for this man because he had zero customer service skills.
“Wait.” The blast of
heat she felt as she processed his order—and
followed
it—was chemistry. She knew all about chemistry,
thanks to medical school. This man simply possessed enough symmetry that her
own body had ramped up the pheromone production. It wasn’t personal—it
was simply that he was mate-worthy.
“Who are you?”
Before he placed his
hands all over her naked body—
please
—she
needed to know his name.
Available October 1
st
, 2015!
Marsh
The Hunt
THE
HUNT: Part One – Domination
THE
HUNT: Part Two – Pursuit
THE
HUNT: Part Three – Capture
THE
HUNT: Part Four – Discipline
THE
HUNT: Part Five – Challenge
THE
HUNT: Part Six – Claim
THE
HUNT: COMPLETE EDITION
Blue
Moon Brides
TEMPTED BY THE PACK
PLEASURED BY THE PACK
CLAIMED BY THE PACK
TAKEN BY THE PACK
CAPTURED BY THE PACK
The
Fallen
BOND WITH ME
HIS DARK BOND
SAVAGE BOND
Warriors
Unleashed
VIKING’S ORDERS
AT THE VIKING’S COMMAND
Smoke
Jumpers
BURNING UP
SLOW BURN
When
SEALs Come Home
BURNS SO BAD
SMOKING HOT
SWEET BURN
YOURS FOR CHRISTMAS
HEATED
The
Hotshots
REBURN
HOT ZONE
FIRED UP
SEALs
of Discovery Island
WICKED
SEXY
WICKED
NIGHTS
WICKED SECRETS
SEALs
of Fantasy Island
TEASING HER SEAL
PLEASING HER SEAL
DARING HER SEAL (Summer 2016)
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Copyright © 2015
Anne Marsh
This book is a work of fiction.
The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or
organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage or retrieval system, with the written permission of the author, except
where permitted by law.
Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.
One Hot SEAL
Copyright © 2015 Anne Marsh
All rights reserved.
www.anne-marsh.com
