Still Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 10) by Anne Marsh Page B

right here,” he says dryly.
    There’s a pause while we both admire the new scenery in my bungalow. He smells good. He’s not the kind of man who wears cologne—it’s like he just goes through life, doing his thing, and that’s what you get. He smells like the sea and the outdoors, something big and free and as dangerous as it is pretty.
    “Give us a moment,” he says to Lilah.
    This is code for leave and she pouts. She knows she can’t do her job, documenting my antics for the new season, if she’s not present. Plus, she’s definitely enjoying herself.
    So she stalls. “I have to leave?”
    He nods gravely. “Some shit’s private.”
    With Ro? All shit is private. He’d never air his dirty laundry in public. I know he likes to live life on the down-low. When he was in the service, he was Mr. Secrecy, never able to talk about the missions he went on. His emails from the field were short, blunt updates on the weather and inquiries about the state of my health and underwear. He’s a raptor, hunting high in the sky, rather than a peacock. He’d never use two words where one would do.
    “We’ve got married stuff to do,” I tell Lilah, mimicking Ro’s solemn tones. Yes. Yes, I plan on stirring stuff up. It’s just not possible to resist. “Shit to consummate. Hot loving to catch up on. You’re gonna have a front row seat at a porn show if you don’t get a move on.”
    She bounces off the couch, and I can practically see her fingers itching for her camera. “And would Mr. Alvarez care to comment on today’s agenda?”
    Ro looks at Lilah, then me. Nope. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking. Just to hedge my bets, I try and shoot a quick look at the front of his jeans, but his hands hang down between his thighs, blocking my view. Cheater.
    “Ro? You got anything for Lilah?”
    Yes, I up my game. If before I was poking the bear with a nice, pointy stick, now I’m whacking him over his recalcitrant head with a club. Ro exhales—not loudly, but I’m so close to him that I feel his breath gust over my cheek—and then he moves . Oh my God, the man can move. He scoops Lilah up and sets her outside. The front door clicks shut, he flips the lock, and then he comes for me. Pretty please, he strides across the floor, erasing all the distance between us, and then my back hits the floor, one big hand cupping my head carefully as I crash land, the other pulling my hands up and over. Maybe he can read minds. Maybe he knows exactly what my favorite fantasies are.
    Maybe.
    Maybe.
    Maybe not.
    He lowers his not inconsiderable weight onto me. Okay. Being squashed flat is not on my top ten list for fantasies. I like being able to move. And breathing. Breathing definitely tops that list—it’s kind of non-negotiable.
    And… there’s the familiar frown. Some shit never changes. “We need to talk.”

Rohan
    F uck, I love the way Hindi squeaks. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for Jack’s attachment to his red rubber doggy bone. When he successfully performs a training task, he gets special alone time with the damned toy, and he goes to town, chewing and pawing at the rubber until the noise is indescribable. I’ll never spoil his fun again, because this is fucking amazing. She makes another funny peep of sound and I want to laugh—and lick her from head to foot, run my mouth all over her and eat her up.
    Fuck.
    No.
    This is Hindi. My dick may be having a totally natural reaction to the magnificent tits pressing into my chest, but my head’s got to be smarter than that. Any sexual tension between us is just a case of mistaken identity. Or a flat-out mistake. Yeah, because I flattened her. Not because her mouth turned me on.
    “Off,” she grunts. “Air.”
    She’s forgotten that I give the orders in this relationship, so it looks like I need to do a little reminding. I give her more of my weight and she makes a wheezing sound, like the air going out of a mattress. Point. Made. I’ve got a good hold