Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) Read Free

me, though. I’m used to operating in the shadows. Laying on the horn and announcing to the whole world that I’m here just seems wrong. So I get out of the truck, shuck my T-shirt and boots, and empty my pockets onto the front seat. I keep the dive knife and a few other tools, because it never hurts to be prepared. That shit can get wet. I eye the water and the fixed rip blocking my way to Marlee, then grab the fins I keep in the back. Extra firepower won’t hurt.
    I sprint over the sand and run into the water. Just like a training exercise, right? I dive, slicing through the water. Marlee’s a quarter-mile offshore, and we’re losing light fast. When I come up, I slide the fins on and kick hard for her. I can cover five hundred yards in eight minutes. I swim parallel to the current for thirty feet and then angle toward Marlee. After Uncle Sam’s training exercises, this is as easy as floating in a bathtub. I close in on my target—who appears to be oblivious to my approach.
    “Sharks come out when it gets dark,” she tells her board. I told you that I’ve been watching her way too much, right? Because I totally know that this is normal for her. She talks to everything and everyone. Hell, she even talks to me when she’s out of other options. Right now, she’s babbling nonstop at the board, which naturally enough doesn’t answer. The Florida Keys are home to a wide selection of sharks, but most sharks are scavengers. If you’re a dead body in the water, sure, they think snacks are on you (literally), but they’re not going after you while you’re kicking, screaming, and breathing. Most of them are reef sharks and not a threat.
    She smacks the board with the flat of her hand. “Do you see fins?”
    Shocker, but since the board doesn’t answer her, I give it a shot as I pull myself out of the water. She’s touching distance from me now. “Only fins are on my feet, sweetheart.”
    Marlee shrieks and swings the board at my head. Since I’m only half out of the water, I drop to the sand in the interests of keeping my brains in my head and my skull intact. One quick hard tug knocks the board from her hand and brings her down. I’m careful to drop her onto me—there’s not a whole lot of room to spare on her “island”—because she’s clearly worried about sharks. She lands on my chest hard, the air woofing out of her lungs and cutting off the screech. The funny thing is, though, that I’m the one who can’t breathe. Marlee’s gorgeous and mostly naked—so there’s a whole lot of woman pressed against me, stealing my air. To give my lungs (or my dick) a break, I roll her beneath me, pinning her wrists over her head in a smooth, well-practiced move.
    This is what we SEALs like to call a win-win situation, because now not only is my head safe from further assault, but my dick is wedged between Marlee’s thighs. She kicks instinctively, bucking against my hold, and her legs slide around my hips.
    Marlee’s hair flies over her face, and I fight the urge to smooth it away. I’m pretty sure she just tried to brain me, although her efforts are nothing compared to the last Taliban fighter I went hand-to-hand with. She’s a curvy gal, and her bikini top doesn’t do much to contain her top half even when she’s on her back. For just a second, my brain goes AWOL imagining her sitting on top of me and riding my dick like a cowgirl. Might even pop out of those blue-and-white stripes, because everywhere I look, I see soft skin and generous curves. Best. Sight. Ever. I drag my gaze back up to her face—two inches beneath mine—but there’s no blocking the feeling.
    “You scared me,” she growls.
    Yeah. I’d figured that out on my own.
    “I can go away,” I offer, although honestly she’s not in a position to be choosy. I’m the one on top.
    “You’re heavy,” she counters. “And I’m stuck.”
    She shifts restlessly beneath me, or at least tries to. Honestly, I’m not a small guy. She’s got