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“Fine. I promise. By the time I get back in the office, I’ll be so relaxed you won’t recognize me.”
“Will it include a hot guy and orgasm options?”
“You think about sex too much,” Darby said dismissively.
“You never think about it because it doesn’t exist in your world. How long has it been?”
Since she’d had sex? Nine months, nineteen days and—Darby glanced at her watch and calculated the time difference—eight hours.
Since she’d had good sex? Tack on another three years to that tally.
Not that she was counting.
“A man isn’t necessary for happiness or success,” she pointed out instead of answering.
“You’re young, gorgeous and single,” Grace argued. “If you don’t get some soon, people are going to start giving weight to Paul Thomas’s whining.”
“Okay. That’s a valid counterargument.”
Darby pursed her lips as she reached the lower lanai and found a seat. Despite the cliché touches of bamboo and palm fronds, it managed to be elegant and welcoming at the same time. A dozen cozy tables with shells under the glass were scattered over the glossy wood floor. Two sides were flanked by unlit torches, with the ocean claiming the third and a well-appointed bar the last.
Heat fluttered in her belly when she noticed the man she’d seen earlier was still seated at that bar.
Gorgeous. He looked even better from here than he had from a distance. Tall, a few inches over six feet she gauged, noting the length of toned legs in khaki cargo shorts. His dark hair was fashionably short and a sculpted goatee emphasized sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. And sexy in a take-charge, man-of-power kind of way that made her tingle.
Talk about a change. She was definitely thinking about sex now.
“Call coming in,” Grace warned, her tone shifting to all business. “I’ll touch base later and expect a progress report.”
“I’ll spend my time availing myself of every possible option for fun and relaxation in order to prepare for my pending quiz,” she promised with a laugh.
Not a bad closing statement, she decided as she watched the man toss a handful of macadamia nuts in his mouth. Solid hand-to-mouth coordination could be a good thing, she noted with a smile.
Suddenly, Grace’s plan held a certain appeal.
Darby missed sex. At least, she missed good sex, which was something she hadn’t had in at least three years. Since focusing on her career wasn’t going to cut it as an excuse for the next eight days, she might as well explore her options.
Maybe. Darby leaned back in the cushioned chair, the soft evening air dancing over her skin. The setting sun glinted gold off the man’s profile as he checked his cell phone.
She skimmed her fingers over the rim of her glass as she watched the man tip back his beer. Who knew swallowing could look so damn sexy?
He turned on the stool to take a quick scan of the lanai.
Wow. The full-on face view was even hotter. His impatient frown didn’t put her off. She was practically made of impatience. But the hint of vulnerability in his eyes? Caution signs triggered in her mind. Then he blinked and power replaced pain.
Enough power to make her breath lock in her throat.
The tingles in her stomach turned to heat, flaming hot and high. High enough to burn caution to cinders. Darby shifted in her chair, arched her back and breathed in the warm ocean air.
Oh, yeah. She’d found the perfect way to get through this vacation. The only question was, where did a hot guy like that land on the quiz? Because as she looked him over, she had to admit that relaxation didn’t seen to be the word that popped into her mind.
* * *
“ANOTHER BEER, MR. SAVINO?”
It took Nic a moment to realize the waiter was talking to him. He was so used to being addressed by his rank that the civilian term threw him.
“Yeah. Another one, please.” Normally, he’d stop at two. As a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy, he could be called to duty at a moment’s notice. As the leader of Team Poseidon, a select Special Ops group within the Navy SEALs, he had a reputation for always maintaining control. And as a man who valued the ability to clearly see his way through whatever was thrown his way, he rarely let anything fog that vision.
But as soon as it was set in front of him, Nic tilted the bottle, letting the icy beer wash away the dregs of bitterness coating his throat.
Because Mr. Savino was on mandatory leave. So Mr. Savino didn’t have to worry about being called to duty, holding true to his reputation or clear insights.
Mr. Savino didn’t have a team of men depending on him, trusting his judgment. He didn’t have to face those men when his judgment failed. When, for the first time in his career, he wondered if their trust was misplaced.
His knuckles whitened as his fist clenched tight around the beer bottle.
Mr. Savino didn’t have a damn thing to do but relax and enjoy the forced vacation his Admiral decided he needed. But it was hard to relax when tension was spiking down his spine like a harpoon gun.
He hitched up one hip and snagged his cell out of his back pocket.
“Yo, Lansky here,” greeted the voice on the other end.
“It’s Savino,” Nic said, since even on vacation, his cell transmission was scrambled and wouldn’t show a name or location. “Status report.”
“Aren’t you on leave?” A heartbeat later, he added, “Sir?”
“When was the last time I was on leave?”
Nic took a couple swallows of his beer while he waited for his Lieutenant to figure that out. When he’d downed half of it, he put the guy out of his misery.
“Four years,” he said, answering his own question. “That’d be four years ago, when you and I, Torres, Danby and Powers went to Spain to take those bulls for a jog.”
“We ran with bulls. Danby missed out because he was holed up with that pretty Spanish dancer,” Lansky reminisced with a laugh. “Time before that was when six of us did the Everest climb. Before that was Brazil for Carnival.”
The tension in Nic’s spine slowly disappeared as he listened to Lansky recite their various trips over the last decade. Each trip was accompanied by the memory of one of the team’s adventures with the opposite sex. By the time the man got to the Vegas trip the twelve of them had taken to celebrate earning their tridents, Nic had found his place in the zone again.
“Now that we’ve had that little trip down memory lane, how about that status report,” Nic said with a laugh. His tone was light. But the command was clear.
“Reporting, sir. Ward, Torres and Danby are due back from Yemen in two days. Word on base is that their training mission went well. They had three platoons doing night maneuvers to the tune of Maroon 5’s ‘Don’t Wanna Know’ and adding ketchup to their field rations.”
“Nice,” Nic replied with a laugh.
“Prescott and his lady are still debating whether to do the wedding thing the second time around or just hit up a justice of the peace. Ava’s trying to be practical with the no-fuss angle, but you know Rembrandt. He’s all about the romance. He’ll have her decked out in a fancy dress, carting pretty posies while they say their second ‘I do.’”
Lansky paused to crunch into what sounded like an apple before continuing. “On your orders, Louden, Rengel and Kane are retracing Ramsey’s contacts, talking to everyone in the Navy they can find who knew him. They’ve tracked down some interesting stories. You want the deets?”
“I’ll debrief them when I get back. Anything else?”
Nic finished his beer while Lansky filled him in on the rest of the team, base gossip and the status of his own relationship. Damn if the man didn’t scope gossip better than a granny at a church social. That, combined with the man’s way of charming information out of men and women alike and his sick tech skills, made him a force to be reckoned with when it came to intel. Which was why Nic had called him instead of one of his commanding officers. The Admiral? The Captain? They supported Nic’s team, but their first loyalty was to command. Lansky, like the rest of Nic’s handpicked team, had one purpose. To serve Poseidon.
So when Lansky ran out of gossip, Nic didn’t hesitate to ask the question that had followed him to Hawaii. “What’s the status of the investigation?”
“According to Captain Jarrett, it’s currently lollygagging in red tape. They’re holding Ramsey in the brig but he’s got a hotshot rep who, while not denying the assault charges, insists his scumbag of a client isn’t guilty of murder or treason.”
No more than Nic had expected.
“Jarrett said they’re still digging, but so far his men haven’t discovered any leads on Ramsey’s partner or, more likely, partners. Jarrett doesn’t deny there are others,” Lansky added quickly when Nic gave a low growl. “He simply doesn’t have a clue who they are.”
Nic exchanged his empty beer for a full one, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. He respected Jarrett’s skills, and had faith the guy had Poseidon’s best interest in mind. Hell, the Captain had almost been one of the team. If they hadn’t decided to stick with BUD/S graduates only, they’d quite likely have brought their first-phase instructor in with them. He’d been damn awesome at motivating and pulling them together as a team. But while Nic had been all for it, the others had elected him leader and mandated they close the team at the twelve of them.
But the guy should have more intel by now. Hell, he should have shut down Navel Intelligence’s investigation of Team Poseidon from the get-go. That he hadn’t was giving Nic a serious knot in his gut.
“I shouldn’t be on leave,” he muttered. His scowl faded a little as he watched a sexy brunette sashay across the patio, her little sundress highlighting one hell of a figure. But all it took was a blink to put her out of his mind. Because nothing interfered with his focus when it came to doing his job.
“You couldn’t ignore a direct order,” Lansky pointed out. “Word is Admiral Cree wanted you out of the way until the... How did he put it? Oh, yeah, the shit storm died down.”
Shit storm. The murder of one of his men in a mission to clear their name and take down a traitor, leaving Team Poseidon framed to take the blame for the entire treasonous network.
Yeah. Shit storm was a good description.
“I’m back in six days. Storm or no.”
“Good. I’ll have something for you then.”
And just like that, the knot in Nic’s belly loosened.
“You’re close?”
“Damn close,” Lansky promised. “I hacked deeper into Ramsey’s computer history. I just need to dig through some layers, pull out a few more bytes. I’ll have it cleaned up by the time you get back.”
“Good. I’m ready to end this.”
With that and a few instructions, Nic ended the call with his Lieutenant.
And wished like hell he was still on duty, doing his damn job. Leave was all well and good when he could roll it into a team-building excursion, or even the occasional family obligation. But this vacation while his men were under fire?
It was a fuckup.
He’d have argued against it—the timing was wrong, his team needed him, instincts told him to stay alert and ready for the next hit to strike. But none of his arguments could counter the simple fact that he’d taken a hit. A hard one. It’d left him vulnerable. And his men knew Nic Savino for many things, but vulnerability wasn’t one of them.
Orders were orders, and Nic prided himself in making the best of any order.
You’re on leave, Savino. Take a break. Get away. Clear your head, shed the baggage and relax, for God’s sake. The Admiral’s order echoed like a bell through his mind, a loud reminder of why he was here. Or rather, why he wasn’t in Coronado, where he belonged.
Nic pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure beating behind them like steel drums. He could have pushed against the Admiral’s suggestion. But he couldn’t ignore the lack of sleep, the headaches or the feeling that he was losing hold of the fraying thread of the control he so prized.
So he’d finally had to admit it. He needed the break. He needed to get away, before he put them at any further risk.
So here he was.
On Kauai, where he’d always come as a child to renew. At his uncle’s resort, where he could kill two birds with one stone. Family obligation and relaxation, all rolled into one.
He angled his jaw left, then right, and turned in his seat to scan the patio. Tiki-style right down to the totem-pole bar and palm-frond overhang, the area boasted a dozen small bamboo tables set up to provide cozy beachside relaxation.
To his right was a seashell-shaped dais sporting yet more palm fronds. Since it was too early in the evening for the band, music drifted down from cleverly hidden speakers.
To his left was his life’s blood. His one true love.
The ocean.
The Pacific, to be exact. Oh, he loved the Atlantic, the Indian and the Arctic just as truly. But he’d first lost his heart to the Pacific here. Right here on Hanalei, actually, twenty-five years ago when his uncle had opened his first resort. He’d sat in the soft sand, pail in one hand, shovel in the other, and stared in fascination at the endless waves of blue.
In the years since, Keola Hanalei had become one of the premier luxury destinations in Hawaii and Nic had continued his love affair with the sea. He managed to make it back here every few years for a little downtime.
Not just downtime, he admitted as he absently took another swallow of beer. Renewal. There was something about this particular view that always reminded him of where he’d come from—and why he’d ended up where he was.
He didn’t mind that the reminder came with 400-count sheets, island entertainment and gourmet food. It made for a pretty sweet setup.
His gaze, always watchful, shifted again.
Because the sexy powerhouse at the third table was pretty sweet, too. The woman he’d watched sweep down the circular staircase ten minutes before.
Vivacious was the word she brought to mind.
Not in a bubbly, sparkling way. She looked like the type to kick a guy in the head before she’d giggle.
No. She looked alive. Powerful, intense and intriguing.
He didn’t know if it was his body’s reaction to the woman—hot, intense interest that reached deep into his gut and demanded attention—or if it was simply the idea of having something to focus on other than the emotionally exhausting thoughts that kept circling his mind like a vulture waiting to pick his soul clean.
Whatever it was, he was grateful.
Because like Lansky said, if he was going to be forced to take leave, he might as well enjoy himself.
And he’d just found a way to do exactly that.
All he had to do was convince the pixie to join him.
CHAPTER TWO (#ufc3e9651-3795-5276-9e20-1e4fb91cb28a)
AS DISTRACTIONS WENT, Nic had to admit this one was pretty damn compelling.
Short black hair framed her face with sharp lines and spiked edges, the glossy style reminding him of a jagged piece of obsidian. The late-afternoon sun glinted gold off a face worthy of a second, third and even fourth look. Slashing cheekbones aimed toward her lush mouth and strong brows arched over her wide-framed sunglasses.
There was nothing overtly sexy about her simple green sundress. Wide straps and a squared-off neckline didn’t show a lot of skin. The loose fabric fluttered and settled, but didn’t hug tight enough to show the curves beneath. And while the skirt hit her knees, he’d gotten a good enough look at those legs on her trip down the stairs to know they were prime.
She looked like a sexy anime figure or a sassy fairy. Not the sugary sweet kind, though. The kind that could kick serious ass and stir up all manner of mischief. It was an interesting contrast to the back-off vibe she exuded.
