SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (2 page)

Vince dropped his
swagger again as soon as Larken was gone.

“Rik,” he said, holding out his hand. He recognized the Norwegian from their initial video call interview the week before.

“Nice to meet you in person,” the mercenary said. They shook, then Rik introduced Trent McTavish.

“I understand you’re a recon specialist,” the Scotsman said, standing up. “And Larken hates your guts.”

Vince hesitated. He needed this job. He was also pretty sure he could convince Larken they should be friends again, given enough time. But step one in winning Larken over was protecting her secrets. “I’m your guy for recon, yes. And Larken and I are both professionals.”

Rik laughed. “Larken White is many things. A fantastic shot, a loyal team member, and a decent poker player. But she’s not particularly professional.”

Vince bristled, and he didn’t miss that the other man didn’t miss his reaction. Good. The sooner they did away with any idea that Vince wasn’t on Team Larken, the better it would be for everyone.

Because Vince wanted the job. A lot.

But he wanted Larken White even more. His mission for the weekend had just been adjusted. He glanced between the two other men. “Did someone say poker?”

‡

L
arken had changed
out of her bikini top and tiny cut-off jean shorts.

She’d put on a dress.

Vince was so screwed. He wasn’t that great at cards to begin with. Add in the distraction of the world’s nicest breasts floating free and loose beneath a cotton sundress, and a teasingly mean smirk twisting the gorgeous set of lips just above them, and he was toast.

He hadn’t heard the rules of Camo Cay Poker Night the first two times she’d spelled them out. But what the heck, why not shoot for one more try. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

She rolled her eyes. They were alone at the round table that had appeared in the living room after dinner—a meal she’d skipped, or taken elsewhere. He’d taken the gift of undistracted time with his hosts to show Rik he understood how the geopolitical unrest impacted the private contractor jobs they’d be doing. As a Navy SEAL, he’d had regular briefings on all manner of situations most people had no clue about, because from time to time, he’d been asked to do the impossible. Gotta know your shit to deliver on that.

Rik wouldn’t be the first to ask Vince to sneak into a drug kingpin’s compound. Or an Italian billionaire’s penthouse apartment, a Russian oligarch’s fortress in the far north, or a Brazilian hotel playing host to a global weapons marketplace.

He was the first to offer perks like living on a private island paradise—which Vince couldn’t take him up on—and spending more time with Larken—which he would.

“…So you can ante in whatever you want, as long as it has value to you.”

Vince sighed. He’d missed the instructions a third time.

It wasn’t his fault. Her breasts were dizzying. Her scowl was distracting. And his mind was still trying to play catch up on the dinner conversation.

One week a month, give or take, and he’d make easily double his SEAL salary.

One week a month, give or take, he’d have a chance to escape his responsibilities and slowly chip away at the unfortunate history between him and Larken.

That would stand a better chance of working if he paid attention when she spoke.

He was rescued by the arrival of Trent, and the two other members of the team, Jackson Sutter, and Rik’s younger brother, Mats Amundson. They’d met at dinner, and he’d even shared a cigar with Jackson out on the back patio. Vince had just finished a tour of duty in northern Iraq with Jackson’s younger brother Jared, who was still an active SEAL.

The spec ops world was small.

So he wasn’t sure how the hell he’d been blindsided by Larken like this. Where the hell had she been? And why was she here?

Had she always been that damn beautiful?

Yeah, she had. But now there was an edge, a pissed-off vulnerability that was entirely his fault. But she hid it well.

“What are you guys putting in tonight?” Larken teased. Even though she’d been bitchy as hell earlier, it was clear that they were all close. Vince felt a stab of jealousy.

Jackson tossed a wad of bills onto a tray on the sideboard, next to the poker chips.

Mats slid a vintage Browning Hi-Power out of a holster on his hip and set it beside Jackson’s offering.

Trent pulled a pen out of his pocket and twirled it in the air.

“Tell me that’s not just a pen,” Mats said, his eyes lighting up.

“Not
just
a pen in the
least
, my friend.” Trent handed it over. “It’s a listening device. Depress the button and hold it against your ear.”

Mats did just that, then put it down immediately. “Come on, man. You could have warned me that Rik and Calli were acting like teenagers in the kitchen.”

Vince couldn’t hear anything, so that was interesting. The pen design was kind of James Bond-overkill, but on the other hand, equipment that could pass through commercial airport security was a bonus.

“How about you, Lark?” Jackson asked.

Lark?
Vince fought not to react to the nickname.

She shrugged and held up her key.

The fuck?

“I’ll put in the west cottage for a week.”

“A week?” Trent shook his head. “I made that listening pen with my own hands.”

“And that Browning is in mint condition,” Mats protested.

Larken shrugged her slim, strong shoulders, making her breasts jiggle. “Take it or leave it, my friends.”

I’ll take it
, Vince thought, but he knew he wasn’t thinking about what she was offering. What he wanted to take was definitely not on the table.

Trent kept protesting. “A week. For that, you should have to stay in the cottage, too. Make me breakfast each morning.”

Larken snorted. “You don’t want me to cook for you.”

“Well, no, but I can’t suggest anything else to sweeten the pot. I like my balls attached to my body.”

She arched one brow and offered a lazy smile to her co-worker. “Maybe I’ll make an exception for this week.”

Hell no, she wouldn’t. Vince ground his teeth together as Trent gave her a surprised look, then smirked. “Then absolutely. Cottage for a week. Larken included.”

Damn it. Now Vince had to win a fucking poker game.

*

“How about you,
Nash?”

Larken turned away from the conversation as Jackson asked Vince what he was putting in for the game. After tossing her key on the tray, she took her time counting out her poker chips. Then she poured herself a glass of ice water.

Anything to distract herself from the warm purr of his voice.

His accent had changed. It was still there, but it wasn’t as round, as drawly. As in-your-face Southern boy. She could still hear the traces of Georgia, but he’d spent almost twelve years in California. Probably learned half a dozen languages. Had to become a chameleon.

And now he was getting out.

She couldn’t pretend to know him, not anymore, but she was surprised Vince wasn’t staying on the teams until retirement. He’d always been so driven, so intense.

He’d chosen the SEALs over her—and now he was choosing the mercenary life over the SEALs?

She sipped the cold water and willed herself not to care.

Calli swept in, her cheeks pinked from being kissed in the kitchen, and set a tray of snack food on the coffee table. Rik followed with two six-packs of beer.

Usually Larken thought her employers were cute in their obvious love for each other. Cute, and alien-like.

Now there was a six-foot something reminder in the room that she’d had a taste of that once, and it wasn’t for her.
She hadn’t been for him.

Yes. That did the trick. The older-and-sexier Vince, with his smooth voice and distracting tattoos, was no match for the viper pit of Larken’s memory. He stole the top marksman spot from her, only to dick off to the navy like he didn’t care—about her or the army.

And now he had new selfish reasons for leaving the SEALs behind and joining Rik’s team.

“Just cash for me,” Vince finally answered. She turned around, not wanting to hide from him any longer, and pinned a cold, hard stare on him as he approached the sideboard.

He didn’t back down. He didn’t glare, either. Just held her gaze as if to say,
“Get it out of your system.”

Not going to happen.

He knew she held grudges. He needed to go find a cushy job somewhere else. This slice of paradise was hers, and she wasn’t sharing it with him.

“Five hundred enough?” he asked, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He’d changed from his swimsuit into cargo shorts and a black t-shirt that stretched perfectly over his broad shoulders and hung loosely over his narrow hips and waist. He’d been tall when they’d gone through training together. Now he was
built
. It was deceptive, really, how big he was. From across the room he looked just like your average fit soldier.

But now that he was standing next to her…

Larken was tall. Five foot nine, she barely had to lift her chin to look most men in the eye. The only guy in the room who usually made her feel small was Jackson, and that was because he was a giant.

Now there were two giants in the room.

Maybe it was a good thing that her natural eye-contact point on Vince’s body was the dip at his collarbone. Looking him in the eye might weaken her resolve to sabotage his plans for joining their team.

He’d always had nice eyes.

“Better make it a grand,” she said, even though Jackson had probably only put a couple hundred down. The Browning was worth a grand, though. And a week of her breakfasts…

No. Vince couldn’t win a week in her cottage. That wasn’t happening.

Well, it didn’t matter. Calli and Trent took turns winning, unless there was a full moon or they were distracted.

And they didn’t always play for winner takes all.

“How do we want to do this?” she asked, sliding away from Vince’s side to take her seat at the table.

He took a seat directly opposite.

That was even worse than being right next to him.

She needed a drink.

“Winner takes all sounds good to me,” Calli said with an inappropriately warm smile at her husband. “I wouldn’t mind an early night.”

So that meant that as each person ran out of chips, they’d be done.

Rik went out first, three hands in.

Larken swore under her breath as Calli smiled that stupid little smile that meant she wanted to get laid.

Getting laid was good and all, but Larken really needed her friend to win the damn poker game.

She set her cards down and stood up, ignoring the way her inner thighs warmed at the thought of sex. It had been…too long. And until Vince had shown up, she’d been just fine with her imagination and her fingers.

Larken had very capable fingers, but…

Nope. She wasn’t going there. She stalked over to the coffee table. Grabbing a lime wedge from the bowl set out next to the beer, she jammed it into the neck of a new bottle, and tipped the drink back, taking a long, deep drink.

Trent joined her, yawning as he grabbed a beer of his own.

“No, you can’t be tired,” she said bitterly.

“I was up all night making those pens,” he said with a shrug.

“Pens, plural?”

He grinned. “I made one for each of us. So I don’t really care about staying in the game tonight.”

You bastard
. But she couldn’t tell him why that annoyed her so much.
Fine.
She had a poker game to win, clearly.

At first, her pile of chips grew. Trent bowed out next, going all-in on a hand that only a man who longed for his bed would go all-in on.

Calli hung in, stealing hands from Jackson and Mats, but then Rik got up and rounded the table. He just stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders, but Larken didn’t miss how his fingers danced back and forth across the bare skin there, and on the next hand, Calli threw in, losing pathetically to Vince. And then their hosts bid them a good night and scampered upstairs to love each other.