Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(9)

Summer took a deep breath of the sea air racing across the lawn. The man was pretty smart—for a landscaper. And like it or not, there was something soothing about his low, calm instructions.

Not that she needed any instructions.

She felt the ladder move slightly and looked down. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing.” His face was cast in shadow below her. “I was just thinking.”

“If you found a better way to get us out of here, Morgan, I might have to do something slow and painful to you.”

His smile was a slash of white in the gloom. “I was just thinking about all the things a man could do to a woman from this position.” Gabe’s hands tightened suddenly. Her skirt was now riding low on her hips, and Summer realized just how close his mouth was when his breath touched her naked stomach where the bottom of her shirt had slid open.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, I think you do.” His breath moved over her skin, hot and moist like the steam from his shower, caressing the sensitive skin below her navel. “You’ve got a great stomach.”

“Forget about my stomach,” Summer said hoarsely.

“I’m trying, believe me. But it’s not working.”

Closing her eyes, Summer was assaulted by a hot vision of his strong shoulders and naked thighs as he’d emerged from her shower. Something fluttered deep in her stomach, just inches away from his clenched mouth.

The things a man could do to a woman from this position.

The thought was dangerous, erotic.

And Summer absolutely, positively refused to think about it. “Too bad, Mr. Morgan. Because I’ll be interested in sex with you just about the time the Chinese give up tea for Gatorade.”



The problem was, he hadn’t had a woman in almost eight months, Gabe Morgan thought grimly. The second problem was that the woman was too damned close for sanity.

He was covered with sweat and he had a knot in his left thigh, but he couldn’t let go of Summer Mulvaney’s strong, slender body or she’d fall.

Hell, maybe he’d fall, too. And over the last year he’d had more than enough problems.

First he’d double-timed it out for a nasty mission in the Philippines. After that had come the offshore surveillance op in the middle of a godforsaken sea-lane near Borneo. During his second month at sea, a shipboard explosion had tossed him and three others into Pacific currents for two days before a Navy ship had scooped them up. Then had come a HALO accident, when a jump had gone bad. In the hospital, the doctors told him he held some kind of a record for broken bones, and Gabe believed it when he woke up in a big white bed with tubes in four places and his body burning like someone had rammed him through a giant garlic press.

Six months in rehab had brought him back to seventy percent of his fighting strength, and Gabe was battling for more every day. He only wished he could track down the idiot who’d designed the shipboard ignition wiring that had exploded. It would have been a pleasure to teach him the value of quality control the old-fashioned way.

With Gabe’s fists shoved down his throat and any other available body parts.

He touched his knee by reflex and scowled. But he’d get by. That’s what SEALs did.

His first order of business was to yank his mind out of the pleasant gutter where it was currently wallowing, thanks to the sight of Summer Mulvaney’s flat, naked stomach inches away from his mouth.

Oh, the things a man could do against an amazing stomach like that.

Like making that stomach clench hard in sweaty, groaning sex that went on all night.

Sweat trickled down Gabe’s brow. “It could happen. They’ve got McDonald’s in Peking. Gatorade can’t be far behind.”

“Back off.”

“Some of those things could be pretty damned memorable, honey.”

“Like getting your nose broken by my knee?” Summer muttered. The words were rough, as if she were having trouble breathing.

Gabe knew the feeling. “That’s one possibility. Of course, with the right woman, a broken nose would be worth it.”

“Trust me, I’m not the right woman.” Her voice was low and tight.

Just like her lace panties, only inches away from Gabe’s face.

“And stop pulling down my skirt.”

Gabe bit back a sigh of regret at what could have been a major spiritual experience and looked up toward the roof. Mind out of the gutter, sailor. “Don’t blame the skirt on me. And do us both a favor, okay? Get up on the damned roof.”

“With pleasure.” Summer kicked one leg, smacking Gabe hard in the head. “Sorry. It’s—pretty cramped up here, but I’m almost through.” As she spoke, her ankle flashed down, striking his shoulder. The one that still gave him occasional painful moments.

Gabe bit down an oath, climbing higher on the ladder. Something about the woman was nagging at him. She seemed efficient, calm. Too calm?

“You okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Her naked stomach twisted, shoved into his face, and Gabe had a mind-blowing impression of rose-scented soap mixed with a faint edge of sweat. “Just get out on the damned roof,” he said harshly.

Before I tear your clothes off and take you against the wall.

“I’m trying, but there’s a piece of metal caught in my skirt. Give me a minute here.”