Ruined by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 2) (6 page)

“Hey.” He said it quietly, but there was a commanding edge to his voice and she jerked her head up, catching his gaze before
she remembered that looking at him was dangerous. His dark eyes glittered. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. I was totally going to kiss you.”

Her lips parted but no words came out. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, and she felt the phantom kiss so realistically her knees went weak.

“But you’re right. It’s not a good idea.”

“Terrible,” she whispered.

“We should probably just do our own things…”

“Yeah. No more shared meals.”
 

His jaw tightened, the tense pop of muscle all the more stark because of the dim light and the ruthless play of shadows across his skin. It was like she was watching him shut himself off from her. Which was the point, right?

Distance.

Separation.

Space.

They needed a border between them, literally, or she’d push him against the counter and find out just how
good that kiss would be.

Amazing
. She had no doubt.
 

Shit.

“You should stick to the staff quarters,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “And I’ll use the main house.”

“What if I want the main house?” He again mirrored her movements, and his arms were so big, suddenly he felt close to her again, even though he hadn’t moved. She was pretty sure he hadn’t moved, anyway. Why was it so hard to
think
clearly
. He was so close to her, she could feel the heat radiating off his chest against her arm.

Okay, he’d definitely moved closer.

“Too bad,” she said with more confidence than she really felt. “I was here first.”

“Is that how it’s going to be?”

She nodded. “Until we sort this mess out, it’s for the best.”

He didn’t say anything.

She didn’t move.

She could still feel his gaze on her
mouth, hot and interested.

“Fine,” he finally muttered, back away. “Tomorrow we sort all of this out.”

Yes
. Her heart plummeted at the thought. No matter what, tomorrow wouldn’t be a good day.

And there was a solid chance it was going to be the first of many awful days to come.

SIX

M
ICK
LEFT
C
ARA
IN
THE
KITCHEN
AND
HEADED
THROUGH
THE
DARK
to the staff quarters where he’d started to make himself at home. It was a bunkhouse of sorts, although every room opened to the veranda and the ocean was just down a short path, so that beat a ranch any day of the year. He’d taken the room closest to the basic bathroom, and it was spartan.

Not like that was a problem. He was used
to spartan.

What he wasn’t used to was radio silence. Not without a plan.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that they’d been way too lax about this mission.
Because it wasn’t a mission.
He’d come in blind, with nothing more than a letter.

Still, he should be handling this better. Doing more.

Saving the world.

Except really, the only task here was to save Will, and that fucker hadn’t gotten
back to him.

Mick had texted three times and left him two voice messages. He wasn’t blowing up the guy’s phone again, not when there was a solid chance he was away on an unexpected mission. A real one that didn’t involve a plantation and a gorgeous girl with mocha skin and sun-kissed curls.

And since Mick was out of the navy and off the teams, whatever Will was doing—if it was work—was none
of his business.

Bitter resentment twisted in his guts. And then he hated himself for that reaction.

He grabbed his phone and threw himself on the single bed he’d claimed for his own. No new emails. The crappy reception out here let texts through, but his email hadn’t downloaded in days.

Staring up at the dark ceiling, he waited for Brayden to answer the phone.

No answer.

Next he called Finn
Callahan, who he’d just seen a few days earlier. Finn was a former SEAL teammate, and the last time Mick had seen him, he’d been living it up. Damn. Had it really only been a few days? A weekend of sparring with Cara and he felt like he’d been in Miralinda forever. And not in a good way.

Finn answered on the first ring. “Hey man, how’s the island paradise?”

“Not as…paradise-y as expected.” Mick
sighed. “Are you still island-hopping yourself?”

“Shit. That’s too bad. Nah, I’m back in Florida now. You looking for a place to crash?”

“Nope. It’ll work out, I’m sure. But…I can’t get a hold of Will.” Mick rubbed between his eyes. He’d taken his time getting to Miralinda, knowing he had months to get the project started. When was the last time he’d talked to his buddy. Two weeks ago? Three?
“I don’t have access to the internet here. My phone’s only so good, you know? I’m going to go in search of an internet cafe tomorrow, see if I can sneak onto the dark net. But can you do me a solid and find out where he is—even if you can just tell me they’ve gone radio silent and maybe a timeframe they’re expected to return?”

“Can do.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“I’m sure I’ll call it in at
some point. And seriously, if you need to come here for a bit…We can always use an extra pair of hands.”

Finn and a couple of former SEALs had started a canine-training business in the Florida Keys. They kept the military supplied with working dogs, and also placed canines with private businesses that needed the additional security. It wasn’t a bad offer, but Mick frowned at the thought of leaving
Villa Sucre. No, he didn’t want to do that. This was a frustrating speed bump, that was all. “I’m good. Just need to connect with Will.”

“All right, brother. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, man.”

He lay in the dark for a while, rolling their conversation over and over in his head. Thinking of Cara, tucked into that ridiculous tent of hers.

Who pitches a tent in a ballroom?

Why not stay
in one of the rooms upstairs?

She was making a statement. More to the point, she knew what statement she wanted to make. One of righteous ownership.

Mick’s possessive feelings were murkier. More about the idea of the place than the place itself. What it represented.

So he lay in the dark and waited for another dawn. Another day. Hoping that when it came, it would bring clarity or peace or,
if he was damn lucky, both.

Since he didn’t sleep, morning didn’t bring either peace or clarity. Instead he got up when the jungle started stirring and scowled at the birds as they swooped and soared along the ocean’s edge that he knew was just past the trees.

He had a headache.

He wanted breakfast, something hot and filling, but Cara had laid out a clear boundary: stick to their own spaces.

Looking at the sky, heavy with white clouds, but grey in the distance, he also realized that he didn’t have a lot of time to dick around making fancy omelets for pretty women.

For himself. Not Cara.

Unless she was hungry.

The band around his head tightened and he growled. A protein bar and a bottle of water would do just fine. He grabbed those and his phone and wallet, shoving the latter two
into his pockets as he ate and walked as quickly as he could toward the house.

He should have moved his moped down to the servants’ quarters last night.

Now he’d have to cross into
her
space just to leave the property. Not really, of course. He could walk around the main house.

Could.

Wouldn’t.

Except he didn’t even need to go inside to find her. Not that he’d wanted to find her, he lied
to himself. Because of course that was why he’d been heading toward the kitchen, with a plan to retrace his steps on Friday. Right down the centre of the plantation.

Marking his claim, a claim that was fresher and less clear than hers, but still…it needed to be made.

Mick Fraser wasn’t going anywhere.

This was his future, he’d been promised it like a lifeline when his world blew up, and he
was going to fight for it.

Cara was on the back veranda, reading. She set her book down as he approached and stood, moving to block his entrance to the house.

She wore jean shorts again today, just like the first day, and a sky blue t-shirt that set off the bronze of her skin and the bright, daring anger in her eyes.

Why did she have to be so captivating?

Why did he have to care about her
feelings?

Why did she have to have so many damn feelings, anyway?

“Working hard?” he snarled, stopping on the path a few feet away from the steps.

“Waiting for the workmen to show up.” She shrugged.
Island time.
“They might not. A storm is coming.”

“Good to know. We won’t employ them when we take over the estate.”

She laughed at him, as if unaffected by his bluster. “Not going to happen,
but if it did…good luck with that. You take what you can get around here. And when a storm starts brewing…you pick up a book.”

He snorted. “Well, I’m going into town.” If he tapped out another God damned email on his phone, he’d want to punch something. “Don’t fucking do anything while I’m gone.”

She gapped at him. “Excuse me? I think that’s what
I’m
supposed to say to
you
when I leave!”

“Like
you’d ever leave!” He was yelling now, practically shaking from the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his body. It wasn’t strictly speaking true. She’d left the day before, in fact. But logic and reason eluded him whenever he fought with Cara. All the fucked-up chemistry clouded his judgment.
 
“You moved into the damn ballroom just so you could keep an eye on me!”

“Because you’re an intruder.”
She stomped down the stairs and right into his space. “Because you’re ruining everything, Mick Frasier.” She shoved her hands against his chest, and he grabbed her wrists to…not stop her, exactly. Now that he had his hands on her, he wasn’t pushing her away.

Maybe he should pull her closer.

That felt like a good idea, deep down inside. He could breathe her in and maybe, if she got close enough,
she’d fit into the ever-present achy hollow in his chest.

She might not like him, and right now he didn’t like
anything
, but he wanted her.

He wanted her so much it hurt.

And she was close enough that her legs brushed his, her elbows dug into his chest, and he could see every glittering facet of her hazel eyes.

He let her go.

She fisted his t-shirt in her hands. “Let’s get one thing clear.
I don’t trust you. I only have to leave because there’s no running water here.”

He smirked, more than willing to goad her now that she had her hands on him. “There’s a perfectly good bathtub right beside my bedroom, sweet cheeks.”

Her nostrils flared as she narrowed her eyes. “You’re a pig.”

“Why? Because I’d rather imagine you sliding into a bubble bath than harping at me about something completely
out of my control?”

A wounded growl sounded in her throat and she slapped one hand flat against his chest.

“Hit me again,” he said low, under his breath. “Punch me.”

She balled her fist and bounced it too lightly against his pecs.

He wanted more. He grabbed her wrist and pressed her tightly clenched fingers to his mid-section. “I’m not going anywhere, Cara. You’re going to have to try a hell
of a lot harder than that.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” she whispered, her fist still pressed hard against his abs.

“Then kiss me.”
 

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But when she gasped and her gaze flew back to his face, he couldn’t regret it.
Yes,
he thought.
Kiss me. Punch me. Make me feel anything other than this empty fucking ache.

In the distance, thunder rumbled in warning.

Cara’s
lips parted and her eyes widened in shock. After last night, she couldn’t be surprised that he wanted her to kiss him, could she?

On the other hand, this was the second time in as many days that he’d made his desire pretty fucking clear and she’d shot him down. So who was the clueless idiot, really?

He needed to go into town. He dropped her wrist, ignoring the way she swayed slightly into him.
“Never mind. I have to go.”

“Mick…” she trailed off, her voice sliding into nothingness. Her eyes darkened as she stared into his face. “Maybe after we hear something.”

He laughed. “You’re not going to want to have anything to do with me then.”

She jutted her chin out as she crossed her arms and stepped back a step. Two steps. Whatever moment they’d just shared was over. He could practically
hear the vault doors slam shut.

Screw her, then. He didn’t need any extra drama. He shook his head. “You’re a stubborn—”

“Don’t,” she said, unexpected steel making that one word solid. Vault, indeed. “Whatever you were going to say. Just…don’t.”

He frowned. “You think I’d call you a name?”

She looked down at the ground. “I think you’d do anything to throw me off-kilter.”

The only way he wanted
to disrupt her life was throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to that stupid tent so he could get as far under her skin as she was under his.

But his infatuation was clearly one-sided.

And stupid as fuck.

He snarled something that he’d meant to be a laugh but probably ended up sounding feral. Rude.

Right on target for her impression of him.

With a calm he definitely wasn’t feeling
for real, he turned and stalked as quickly as he could around the house.

He needed coffee, the internet, and a new supply of beer. All before the storm rolled in, or his head exploded, whichever came first.

SEVEN

C
ARA
STARED
DUMBLY
AS
M
ICK
TWISTED
ON
HIS
HEEL
AND
DISAPPEARED
.

Come back
, she wanted to cry out.
Come back and I’ll kiss that pissed-off look right off your face.
But she’d screwed that up, pushing him away for the second time.