Claiming Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 1) by Kat Cantrell

Jace ferry him back home.
    But when he slammed the door of the bungalow, Evan just glanced up from his permanent spot on the sofa, where he contented himself with watching inane TV shows from ten years ago night after night.
    “Bad day,” Dex mumbled by way of explanation, not that Evan had asked—or would.
    Was it too much to hope for to have someone who cared whether he’d had a bad day or not? Hardly mattered. The same simple things that were available to normal people didn’t apply to Dex Riley. He’d long ago made his peace with it. Some days just didn’t feel as peaceful as others.
    He stripped out the shirt reeking of cigarette smoke, tearing off two buttons in the process, and threw it in the corner, followed by the rest of his dress-up clothes. Naked, he rolled into bed.
    Midnight. The witching hour, when all of the crappiness of life crashed down the hardest onto those who weren’t smart enough to take an easy lay when it was offered.
    Bed was not going to work. Too big and too empty.
    Dex threw on a pair of board shorts. The dress-up clothes—that wasn’t his style anyway. He’d rather be wearing a straightjacket than a button-down. He ducked out the back door to avoid Evan and his closed-mouth approach to everything and stormed to the beach. Moonlight overlaid the water with a silvery sheen, and it calmed him instantly. If nothing else, the water always welcomed him with open arms.
    Even as a teenager growing up in Houston, the gulf had called to him with a near mystical draw. His earliest memories involved the lull of the surf and the tug of the tide against his ankles, always pulling him toward the water.
    As much as he chaffed against working for ReefCo, which was a painful, necessary evil, he had to admit that having a flexible schedule and the ability to get paid for scuba diving… well, he had a lot of nerve complaining.
    Everything drained from his mind in a snap as the moonlight flashed across a supple body in a white bikini walking toward him on the beach from the opposite direction.
    Emma.
    “What are you doing here?” he demanded as she stopped short less than a foot from him.
    His mood, her scent, and the witching hour crashed together in a swirl that had danger written all over it. His body strained to yank her into his arms, to lose himself in her, taste something that sweet after the sour that had coated his throat all day.
    “Looking for you, of course,” she said simply. “I’m ready.”
    “For what?” he growled, drinking in the way her hair draped across her shoulders, as white as her swimsuit in the pale spotlight of the moon.
    What would it hurt if he slid a chunk across his fingertips? Just to see what it felt like. His skin had little nicks from handling parasailing ropes, and those silky strands would probably catch on the unhealed spots, but it would be like a balm to his saltwater-roughened hands.
    “For you to take me in the water.”
    Yes . Emma. Water. It would sluice off her fit little body, running in rivulets down the valley between her breasts, and her hair would hang in thick, dripping strands down her wet back. Maybe he’d reach for the string at her neck and pull. Slowly. The bow would gradually slip free from its knot and those white, drenched triangles would peel away… and then he would take her all right.
    No . No Emma, no water.
    “Now? It’s… dark,” he announced inanely.
    Actually, he was way too hopped-up on loneliness and way too pissed about discovering his taste in women had turned on him to do anything with Emma. She needed a lesson in the art of timing, really bad.
    “Please, Dex.” Her voice caught on it, turning gravelly and far sexier than it should have been. “Rachel is locked up in our hotel room, and judging from the sounds coming from inside, she’s either being given the orgasm of her life or learning to speak Klingon. Either way, I didn’t want to barge in.”
    Dex shut his eyes with a groan. “So you walked a mile on a