Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(46)

“Not anymore,” he whispered, leaning down until his mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers. “I want to finish what we started down there in that galley. Hell, what we started a year and a half ago in Syria. Don’t you want to finish it too?”

“God, yes,” she admitted, watching his lips curve into a smile that could only be described as triumphant and…male.

*

2:10 p.m.…

Leo stood on deck, binoculars raised to his eyes as the salvage ship sliced through the softly rolling seas. Waves shushed against her freshly painted hull, and the big engines hummed with newly tuned health. Beside him, Olivia mirrored his stance, one hand on the rail to steady herself against the gentle rocking of the vessel and the other holding a small pair of field glasses to her eyes.

And maybe he was just being fanciful, but he would swear he could smell her alluring scent drifting toward him on the breeze. Which, you know, might account for the semi he was sporting. Then again, perhaps that had more to do with the fact that she’d agreed to finally, finally be his.

For tonight, he was quick to remind himself. Just for tonight.

For some reason, that thought brought with it a vague sense of unhappiness. Not because he was against one-night stands. For shit’s sake, one-and-dones were pretty standard for spec-ops guys. The covert nature of their jobs didn’t lend itself to maintaining stable relationships, and it was a rare woman indeed who could send her man out the door time after time, not knowing where he was going, not knowing when he’d come back…if he’d come back. And then if he did come back, not being able to ask him anything about where he’d been or what he’d done. That’s why most of the SEALs Leo knew, himself included, opted for the occasional trip to Pound Town with a woman who didn’t want anything more than the use of his hard body for some sweaty, unbridled sex.

No, sir, that indefinite sense of…discontentment digging into the back of his brain like a damned chigger didn’t have a motherfrickin’ thing to do with him being against slam-bam, thank-you-ma’ams as a general rule. But more because he suspected he was against them when it specifically came to Olivia.

The truth of the matter was, he…well, he liked her. Like, really, really liked her. She was quick to crack wise and easy to laugh. She knew when to talk and when to shut up—like during those myriad sunsets they’d shared in Syria, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the hillside, not saying anything, just being near each other and taking comfort in that nearness, that small human connection.

He always knew where he stood with her; she didn’t pull her punches with him. And yet he had a sense that she was keeping a part of herself separate, a part of herself…secret. She was a whip-smart open book wrapped in a riddle and tied up with a mystery. In a word: fascinating…or maybe captivating…or perhaps intriguing better described her.

Whatever she was, he remembered having an epiphany about two months into their assignment in Syria. She’s what I’ve been looking for…waiting for. The thought had exploded inside his brain like an IED. Stunning him. Wrecking him.

Truth to tell, he hadn’t been the same since. And despite having teased her with that whole Are you askin’ me to go steady? business down there in the galley, the fact of the matter was he was scared shitless that once he finally got her in his arms, he wouldn’t want to let her go.

“Holy jeez, Leo,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “You need to invest in some oil.”

He lowered his binoculars to find her watching him. The wind and the sun had pinkened her cheeks, making her eyes seem that much bluer.

Arresting…

He snapped mental fingers. That’s the one! She was the most arresting woman he’d ever met. Of course, right now she was more like the most confusing woman he’d ever met. Invest in oil? What the what? He decided to go with his standard Einstein-esque rebuttal of, “Huh?”

“Those hamsters are running so fast up there”—she pointed to his head—“that their wheels are squeaking and I can hear them all the way over here.”

See? What had he said? Quick to crack wise.

“Are you sayin’ I’m thinkin’ too loud?” He grinned down at her.

The wind caught the end of her ponytail, blowing some of the inky black strands across her cheek and lips. She brushed them away, and his gaze zeroed in on her hand. The memory of her fingers in his hair as she hungrily ate at his mouth had the semi he was sporting pulse into a full-fledged cockstand. Apparently the self-love belowdecks was no match for the power of that kiss. Or even just the memory of the power of that kiss.

“A penny for your thoughts?” she said.

He snorted so loudly it was a wonder he didn’t swallow his tonsils.

“What?” She tilted her head.

“Nothin’,” he told her.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you ever get the feelin’ we talk in circles?”

“Not me,” she insisted. “It’s you.”

“Me?” he scoffed. “I’m not the one with somethin’ to hide.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m a civilian now. What you see is what you get.”

“And what do you think I have to hide?” she asked, her expression turning enigmatic. Yessir, and there’s the CIA agent I’ve come to know and…um…know. Why did he keep getting hung up on that last part?