Big Sky Summer. Linda Lael MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
bar, and the possibility of his refusing orders was clearly not an option she’d entertained. But...he’d worked around her need to be in charge four years ago. She was simply Mia and a woman he’d like to get to know just a little bit better in the very limited time he had before he shipped out again and she...got on with her own life.
So he followed her pink-and-rhinestone backside up to the beach bar. His thoughts should be illegal. Sweep his thumbs beneath the edge of her bikini. One good tug and she’d come undone.
To his chagrin, the scene at the beach bar was worse than he’d anticipated. The bride high-fived Mia as if she’d scored a hat trick and won the game for the home team, while five other women in pink rhinestone bikinis eyed him assessingly. Hell. This was not a drink with an old Army buddy. This was an interrogation. Or the dating version of musical chairs.
“Sit there.” Mia pointed at the single empty seat beside a blond bridesmaid who looked as though she’d just won the lottery. At least they were color-coded. Pink for available and white for completely off-limits. He sat down in what he was fairly certain was Mia’s seat, but he wasn’t completely sure how he’d ended up here.
Mia made the introductions, then waved down a waiter and placed an order for another round of drinks. The two of them were the only ones going with iced tea today. He watched her effortlessly organize her bridesmaid troop. In some ways, she was just the same as before, giving orders, arranging things. With the best of intentions—he’d give her that. She wasn’t bossy just to be take-charge. It was simply that she was a planner and not afraid to assume command. Ever. In under five minutes, she had the drink orders marshaled, seats rearranged, and the conversational train headed in a pleasant direction.
“You’re active duty?” The bridesmaid next to him toyed with the dog tags around his neck. He put a few more inches of space between them, although there wasn’t much room to retreat. His leg bumped the bare thigh of the bride on the other side. Coward he mouthed at Mia. She’d stuck to her post on the far side of the group.
She grinned, a gleeful smile illuminating her face at his discomfort. Whoa. Her happiness was a one-two punch to his gut. Don’t think about what it felt like to be deep inside her. Good luck with that. Maybe she’d acquired mind-reading skills in her last deployment, because her smile widened. Instead of being all serious and take-charge, Sergeant Dominatrix had a fun side. Who knew?
“I’m helping out a buddy on the island. He’s launching a dive business and needed a few extra hands on deck. I’m active duty in six weeks.”
Which he hadn’t planned on doing when he’d first come out to Discovery Island. Not re-upping had been a done deal. And then he’d gotten a call from his team leader, asking for one more mission, one more deployment. He’d thought he’d picked a spot, decided to settle down. But he was...bored. His feet itched to go somewhere, anywhere. Air Rescue Swimmers didn’t just rescue the drowning. They also conducted surveillance in drug ops and ran recovery missions. Their CO needed someone with his skills—and Discovery Island didn’t need him. Daeg Ross could hire any other vet and that was the truth. He’d stick it out until the replacement guy showed up, and then he’d haul ass back to San Diego and his real job.
“Doing what?” His pink-and-rhinestone inquisitor scooted closer.
Keep it simple. “I’m a Navy rescue swimmer.”
Mia leaned across the table. “He picked up our pieces. If a pilot went down, Tag and his unit went in. They fished us out of the water. Bad storm, tsunami, sinking boat—they were our go-to guys.”
College had been as far out of reach for his eighteen-year-old self as a trip to the moon or Outer Mongolia. A week after his high school graduation, he’d enlisted. He’d completed two years of training in advanced swimming and lifesaving techniques, then deployed to his first squadron. He knew his weapons and tacticals, but his job had been rescuing people. He’d never been a combatant.
Unlike Mia.
She’d been fierce, a fighter in bed and out. The night they’d met, she’d been a fish out of water, sending him drinks at the bar and then looking insulted when he returned the gesture. Normally, he would have avoided a woman like her. After training hard, fighting tooth and nail for each rescue, he wanted a simple, uncomplicated hookup. But he hadn’t been able to keep away from Mia. Had instead followed her home when she’d looked over her shoulder at him and said come. Nothing about her had been relaxing or fun, but he hadn’t minded. Had, in fact, been hooked.
The bride looked at the two of them, her head snapping left, then right, as if she was watching a tennis match at Wimbledon. “You two know each other?”
Biblically.
“Mia bought me a drink once.” He tipped his head toward the former sergeant.
Who grinned right back at him. “And he was worth it. Best seven dollars I ever dropped in a bar.”
The bride shook her head. “Who knew you’d meet up again on Discovery Island?”
Who knew indeed? The iced tea level in his glass sank to the halfway point. The overabundance of sugar had his teeth curdling. “How long are you ladies in town for?”
The bride checked her phone. “Five more hours.”
Her face glowed as she inundated him with endless, incomprehensible details about her wedding in two months, and which families were flying from where. In his line of work, Tag had saved other people’s families. His first rescue had sent him a picture a couple of weeks after Tag had fished the guy out of the Pacific Ocean: the man had gone home, and his daughter had sent a photo of the two of them dancing at her wedding. That was a good picture, a good day.
While he made polite chitchat, he was aware of Mia getting up. She moved around the group, identifying drink recipients for the waiter with smooth efficiency. Alcoholic beverages sorted, she returned to the bride and produced a tube of sunscreen with an SPF of about a million and one.
“Strapless dress. Time to lather up.”
The bride obediently presented her back, and Mia got to work spreading the sunscreen over her bare shoulders. Slick with lotion, her hands slid up the tanned expanse of the bride’s back, then back down again...and, hello, hard-on.
Perfect. That was his cue. He stood up to leave and did his best to pretend bridesmaid number four hadn’t just patted his butt. Plausible deniability. Mia apparently had plenty of imagination herself, because she kept sliding him covert glances. She was good. He doubted any of her friends had noticed her interest.
He had.
He brushed past her, paused. “You need to stop staring.”
Chairs crowded their table at the beach bar, leaving limited room to maneuver. Instead of easing away from him, she lost her balance in the sand and made full body contact, her breasts pressed against his bare arm. One cotton T-shirt. One pink bikini top. There was nowhere near enough fabric between them.
She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Too bad. He’d been enjoying the contact. “I’m not. Staring. At you.”
“Uh-huh.” Rattled was also a new condition for Mia. He’d seen her aroused and take-charge. Coming. Which was his personal favorite, because that was the closest she came to really letting go and...he needed to stop remembering. Right now. He nodded his head in the general direction of the bridal party. “Ladies. Thank you.”
Mia followed him of course, her flip-flops snapping loudly against the sand.
“Explain,” she demanded.
He flashed a smile at her, loving the way her fingers curled into her bare arms. He got to her. No matter what words came out of her prickly, sassy mouth, she wasn’t indifferent to him. At all.
“Remember—you don’t outrank me.” The unspoken anymore hung in the air between them. Yeah, spending time with Mia would be dangerous. He couldn’t afford a two-night stand with her, and