Ruined by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 2) (10 page)

And here in his room, on his bed, Cara opened for him, giving him every last inch of her. He slowed down, ignoring the staccato pace his thudding heart wanted him to set.

He was going to
explore her folds slowly…carefully…and thoroughly. Find out where she liked the flat of his tongue and when she needed a firmer flick. If she liked having her lips sucked or nibbled, or she liked him working her clit as much as he enjoyed the feel of that firm, aroused bud in his mouth.

When she started jerking up to meet his ministrations, he tightened his grip on her thigh with one hand and
pressed the other against the flat of her belly.

The immediate flood of moisture against his tongue told him she liked being held down. A lot.

Fuck, he wanted to flip her over and rail her into the bed.

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

But he wanted to so much his dick ached and he ground his hips against the mattress.

“I’m getting close,” she whimpered.

“Good. Come for me.”

“No….” She shifted restlessly
as he licked around her clit, faster now. “Yes….”

“Yes.”

“No!” She laughed and tangled her fingers in his hair, weakly tugging him away from her sex. “Come here.”

He shook his head as he lifted up onto all fours. “Can’t.”
Fucking liar.
He could. His body wanted to so much it hurt.

She licked her lips and glance between their bodies, down to where his dick bounced against her leg.

Slow as
molasses, she reached between them and like she had magnetic superpowers, he shifted up her body until his cock slid into her palm.

With a tight grip, she stroked his length. Did she know that with each downward pulse, she rubbed his throbbing crown against her belly? That a bit of his pre-come wiped against her skin, marking her in hungry little licks?

He braced his knees between her thighs,
against the mattress, and held himself over her on one forearm. With his free hand, he caressed her, from her wet, parted lips, over her breasts and down her belly. Their arms jockeyed for a moment, and then he found her wet and open for him, ready for his fingers.

The first thrust inside her stole her breath. She gasped, then froze at the top of the inhale, like she knew it would be hard to
take another.

Hard to fucking breathe? He knew the feeling. She had him twisted inside out from a hand job.

~

I
F
C
ARA
HAD
HAD
ANY
DOUBTS
ABOUT
WHETHER
THIS
WAS
A
GOOD
IDEA
OR
NOT
—and she really hadn’t, not after that first kiss—they would have been evaporated by the intensity of this moment.

Mick slid another finger inside her, whispering how beautiful she was. How wet she was for him,
like she couldn’t feel the slickness at the tops of her thighs.

He was wet, too. As she jerked him slowly between their bodies, warm, sticky lubrication slowly coated her fingers. She was on the Pill, and took it regularly. Every morning with her breakfast, even after moving into that ridiculous tent.

They could…

But no. They weren’t even dating. They hadn’t talked about their histories.

This was a freak event, spurred on by the storm and their constant fighting. This was chemistry, nothing else.

He stared down at her, watching her so solemnly as they worked each other closer and closer to the dirty, sweaty pinnacle they both so desperately wanted.

Nothing more than chemistry?

Try another lie
, she told herself. That one didn’t work. She cupped his cheek with her free hand and
he bent down, their lips brushing in an almost kiss as her desire started to spool inside her. Tighter. Faster. His breath fanned across her mouth as she arched beneath him, tipping her head back. His lips fell on her neck, searing her skin as she exploded around his fingers.

Her own grip flew faster, up and down his shaft until he cried out, his release spilling hot and wet against her fingers,
her belly…

And then he was on her again, no space between them. Nothing left but their lips and their sighs, and they were one as they kissed. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, holding her tight against his body.

She yawned. She couldn’t help it. “We should shower,” she said drowsily.

“Wait here.”

She lay flat on her back, staring up at the bunk above as he crawled over her. A
few steps and he was out the door. Water ran, then he returned, and carefully cleaned her belly, her hands, and between her legs.

She blushed, but it was too dark for him to see that—she hoped.

When he returned, he rolled her over and spooned her from behind, his big, solid arm warm as it wrapped around her. “Go to sleep, kitten.”

She kissed his biceps. “Hell of a first kiss.”

He chuckled
against her hair. “I know, right?”

“Are we going to get to do this again?”

“Hell, yes.” He growled.

She grinned as she closed her eyes. “Do you want to talk about—”

“Nope.” He pressed his hand to her belly. “Go to sleep.”

She’d never slept naked with someone before.

It turned out, it was pretty wonderful.

TEN

M
ICK
WATCHED
C
ARA
DRIFT
OFF
TO
SLEEP
. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her lashes sweeping against her cheeks. The tips of them were blonde, then darker against her skin. He wondered—not for the first time—if her wild hair was a natural mix of blonde and brown or if she did something to make herself look even more the part of the perfect, exotic Caribbean princess.

He chuckled to himself.
Would she hate that? She was ruthlessly professional. But on the other hand, she wore those short shorts that made him crazy and danced like nobody was watching while she worked.

He was quickly learning that this island beauty didn’t play by any rules he recognized.

When his phone vibrated what felt like a minute later, he was surprised to see dawn breaking out the window. Huh. He’d slept after
all—hadn’t been sure he could, because he didn’t want the night to end. Maybe he’d drifted off somewhere between competing thoughts of
could he be any sappier
and
how did she smell so amazing?

His phone sounded again. It would wake her up if he didn’t check that message.

He climbed out of bed, rubbing his thigh with the heel of his hand, more out of habit than actual pain. That was a fucking
relief. Cara was the first woman he’d slept with since before he was injured, and it wasn’t like he’d given any thought to being careful the night before.

Except for with Cara. Of course he’d been careful with her. The wave of tenderness that washed over him should have surprised him—and, if it had ever happened in the past, would have embarrassed him. But he couldn’t stop looking at her, marvelling
at how right it ha felt to be with her, to hold her and love every inch of her body.

Would they do it again?

Fuck. He wanted to wake her up and do it again right now, but the woman had earned her rest.

He swiped his phone and punched in his password. The text was from Will.
Just hang tight.

Three words. How many messages had he sent? He’d gone into town to email the guy before a God damned
hurricane struck, and that’s all Will could say?

He glanced over at Cara, curled up in his bed.

Okay, so his friend had called yesterday. And Mick had hung up on him.

But he’d gotten out of bed for
Just hang tight?
He sighed and threw his phone into his bag.

His stomach rumbled. He should make them breakfast. Cara made a mumbling sound in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the blanket. He
looked outside. He should make them breakfast in another hour or two.

Until then, he should burn off some of his frustration in the ocean.

~

C
ARA
FOUND
M
ICK AT THE BEACH.
Dawn had barely broken, but she’d woken up to an empty bed and a quiet sky, and there was a note left on his pillow.
Went swimming
.

He was a man of few words.

As she watched him move effortlessly through the surf,
racing away from shore with huge, powerful strokes through the water, she found herself wondering what he would make of the plantation—other than the gun range and all the other horrifying renovations he threw at her that first day.

An executive training facility, he’d said. Mick? Training people? That would require talking. Although he had a certain charm, when he wasn’t thinking about it. When
he was teasing…

She blushed and burrowed her toes in the sand.

It was a lovely stretch of beach.

Awful rocks in the water, but maybe those could be moved.

That wasn’t in the Historical Society’s mandate, of course. Nor its budget. But a girl could dream.

Turning the plantation into a bed and breakfast or an inn. Letting her mother run an establishment instead of just cleaning one.

But the
millworks—the only fully intact ones remaining on the island—were a national treasure. They didn’t deserve to be abandoned so the property could be a commercial venture. They needed to be protected.

She frowned and dug her toes a little deeper. She couldn’t lose sight of the importance of protecting the historical value behind her. And now she had her girls on her side. They’d figure something
out.

In the distance, Mick turned around and headed back.

She stood up, holding the towel she’d brought down to him.

“Were you watching me?" he called out as he stood up, twenty feet out from shore, and made his way carefully over the rocks.
 

Cara let her eyes drop to the scar on his leg. Whatever surgery he was recovering from it hadn’t interfered with his ability last night. But in the cool,
grey, early morning light, she could see how he held himself carefully. Maybe when he wasn’t thinking about it, his body was capable of a lot more then he thought it was.

She stowed that thought away for another time. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.
 

“Yes, I was watching you. Enjoyed the view, too. You're quite a capable summer." She laughed. “Is that a ridiculous thing to say
to somebody who was in the Navy?”

Mick took a long slow breath and set his jaw as he gave her a hooded look. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You didn’t,” she said quietly.

He took a few more steps towards her, stopping just outside her reach. “There's probably a lot that we’ve learned about each other that we haven't shared, isn’t there?”

She nodded.

He held out his hand. “I’m Mick.”

She stood up and took it. “Cara.”

“I’m recently retired from the U.S. Navy.”

“I’m the director of the island’s Historical Society.”

“Ahh,” he said, giving her a wry smile. “What brings you to Villa Sucre?”

She let go of his hand and turned around, pointing back up the path through the jungle. “It’s a property of some historic significance.”

“Is that so?”

She handed him the towel and stepped
to the side. He fell into step with her as they walked back toward the servants’ quarters. “The mill is the only remaining sugar works on the island.”

Mick stopped suddenly and looked at her, his brow wrinkling. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

“When would I have done that? When you were yelling at me to get off the property? Snooping on me?”

He rolled his eyes. “How
about while I made you dinner?”

“You weren’t very talkative.”

“‘Hey, Mick, let me tell you why this place is special.’ Is that so hard?” He lifted his voice, mimicking her, and she wanted to growl.

Yes, it was that hard. “You showed up out of the blue,” she protested, her blood pressure rising with each word. “Seriously? Now you’re putting this on me? How about you stop for a second and say,
‘Hey lady, why are you working so hard to restore this place, anyway?’”

He started laughing as she copied his voice, but stopped when she glared at him. “Hey, that was funny.”

“This isn’t funny,” she said, shaking her head. “One minute together, awake, and we’re fighting again.”

“Maybe that’s because we haven’t had our good morning kiss yet.” He gave her a half smile and brushed his fingertips
against her temple. She twisted and pressed her cheek against his palm.
 

His warmth grounded her and she nodded. “Maybe.”

“Come here.” His fingers curled around the nape of her neck as he tugged her closer, and she didn’t care that he was still damp from his swim. She folded right up against his body and parted her lips for him, tasting the salt of the sea and the reassuring warmth of his tongue.

His lips pulled and pushed against hers, coaxing her into an extended, breath-taking embrace that had her reeling when they finally pulled apart.

“Good morning, Cara,” he said quietly with a wink.

She grinned and pressed her fingers to her swollen lips. “Good morning,” she murmured.

“Can I make you breakfast?”

Her stomach rumbled. “Yes, please.”

ELEVEN

A
FTER
M
ICK
MADE
BREAKFAST
, C
ARA
TOOK
HIM
ON
A
TOUR
OF
THE
GROUNDS
. The sugar mill, the fields, the main house. He made a list of storm damage on his phone. It wasn’t that bad, although the roof needed to be repaired before the next one hit. It was a miracle the house had stood vacant for a decade and not been destroyed.

They held hands and talked and didn’t fight, which was a minor
miracle.

That didn’t mean they weren’t talking around the elephant in the room—or on the estate, as it were.

His future plans meant taking all of this history and turning it into something ruthlessly modern, ruthlessly commercial.