Revealing Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 4) (10 page)

“But it’s just filed, right?” Charlie scrubbed at his five o’clock shadow with the palm of his hand. “It hasn’t been granted by the court yet.”

“That’s right. It takes time for the motion to come up on the docket. But odds are good it will be approved. If Anderson gets wind it might not be, he certainly has the money and connections to grease a few people.”

And would. She knew the type, had crossed swords with many a privileged jerkoff who thought the planet should jump when he said jump. Unfortunately, for guys like Anderson, they thought that for a good reason—that was how their life worked.

“So that’s how he wants to play it,” Charlie mused with a dark chuckle. “You’ve been following the rules too much seems like. I hear you’ve got a reputation in the courtroom for making men cry like little girls. If I gave you permission to fight just as dirty, what would you do?”

“How dirty are we talking?”

The counter came automatically—because Charlie had unwittingly just hit every last one of her buttons—but how she got it out around the lump in her throat was beyond her. She’d left Boston specifically to get out of shark-infested waters, not so she could sharpen her teeth on a billionaire who had the power to make her friends’ lives very miserable if she lost.

And that was the rub. No matter what, she couldn’t lose. Which meant she had to find her inner Blume again. She hated that part of herself, the ingrained competitiveness, the refusal to unclamp her jaws when she got that first bite of meat between them. Worst of all, the sinking feeling that she’d never
win
enough to buy absolution.

Apparently you could take the Blume out of Boston but not out of the woman.

And that made her sad. Where was she supposed to go to escape her DNA?

Charlie jerked his chin. “Filthy. I’ll leave the semantics up to you. Make that son of a bitch squeal like a stuck pig and then roast him over an open fire, preferably with a spit stuck straight down his pompous throat.”

Well then. “Remind me never to make you mad, Charlie.”

That had come automatically too. Make light of the situation until everyone was so distracted they stopped looking too closely at her. It wouldn’t do to let on how this whole thing was ripping a hole in her gut. Impartiality was the only way to fly.

“I pulled my punch on that one.” He shrugged. “I ran a platoon of SEALs in Iraq. Means you have to do what you have to do, with no room for error. Sometimes it’s not pretty.”

No, sometimes it wasn’t. As in almost never. And Rachel was so tired of life being that ugly.

“As your lawyer I strongly advise you to continue on with business as usual until we hear differently,” she said smoothly with nary a crack in her voice because that was how Blumes did things. “I’m not going to let him win.”

And that was as good as a blood oath in Rachel’s mind. Aqueous Adventures would come out on top of this very uneven fight. Period.

Charlie left, but Evan and Rachel sat nearly frozen on the couch. Her butt was going numb from the hard part of the arm, which was a nice match for the rest of her body. Especially her heart. An unfortunate by-product of having shark’s blood in your veins. There wasn’t a whole lot of room left over for human emotion.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I underestimated him. It won’t happen again.”

Evan nodded, but he didn’t look at her, and that probably hurt the most. She’d gained huge inroads in their relationship, finally moving to a point where she’d started to think he trusted her, and in one shot she’d undone all her progress.

Which she totally deserved. But on the boat yesterday, that had been an almost-kiss and she’d lain awake last night reliving it, over and over, but with a different outcome. She ached with that unfulfilled promise, so close to being in Evan’s arms and yet so far.

“Can I ask you to do me a favor?”

He glanced over, his expression so frighteningly blank she faltered. And then he raised an eyebrow, which was so normal that, of all things, pricked at her eyelids. A Blume didn’t actually cry, no matter how much they might want to. Her mother had drilled that one into her after they took the baby away without even letting her see her daughter’s little face one time.

“Take me to Ilhota Rosa,” she said, and that was when her voice cracked.

Evan’s gaze latched onto hers, probing, refusing to let her look away, but oh, God, this was the part where she wanted to. His dark eyes were like scalpels, slicing through flesh and bone until she lay flayed open for his viewing pleasure. What was he looking for? And what was she unconsciously telling him?

After an eternity, he blinked and the moment thankfully dissolved. But then he stood and held out his hand, clearly intending for her to take it. Probably so he could help her to her feet, because Evan Silva was at his core a good guy, but that didn’t stop her from envisioning a different reason. Like because he intended to pull her into his arms and hold her, simply because she felt like all her inside pieces had unraveled and a man with Evan’s quiet strength could easily keep her together.

Except Rachel had been clinging to her own insides all by herself just fine. Men were not bandages, not ever. So she climbed to her feet without his help, shooting him a quick wink. “Save the courtly gestures for our next date. You can buy me flowers. Roses turn me into a sure thing every time.”

His expression didn’t change as his hand dropped to his side, and she had the distinct impression she should have taken his hand. By sheer virtue of not doing so, she’d likely communicated far more than she would have if she’d just done the expected.

But doing the expected had made her miserable for far too long, and she was tired of that too.

“Does this mean you’re taking me?” she asked and crossed her arms. Usually he was the one who had to put up that barrier, but he was standing there with his arms by his side, watching her. Getting out of this stifling bungalow sounded like her idea of heaven. “I’d like to see this place that’s so important to everyone that I’m being asked to eviscerate Anderson.”

Evan lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the door, which was the best invitation she’d get out of him today, clearly, so she followed him to the dock, wishing she’d stopped to put her hair up. But he had her all discombobulated.

The small stretch of island came into view a short few minutes later, glistening in the sun with its trademark oddly colored sand. The shocking color of cotton candy, the pink swath ran from the beach to the clear water until it hit a stripe of vibrant blue.

When she and Emma had first come to the Caribbean, they’d snorkeled around the reef just offshore, but Rachel hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the island itself. The whole reason they’d taken the trip was to help Emma get over her fear of the ocean, and snorkeling had been her first attempt. Dex had taken point to soothe her friend through it, with phenomenal results, but the exercise hadn’t given Rachel a whole lot of room to enjoy the surroundings.

Having just screwed up everything for the silent man at her side didn’t bode well for a great second trip to the island either.

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly as Evan tied the boat to a rickety dock near a pristine beach. A large growth of trees and bushes sprang up about a hundred yards from the water, extending as far as the eye could see toward the middle of the island, where it rose in a green-topped peak.

The pink sand met the trees at a grass line in a hard stop, contrasting with their light-colored trunks and green fronds. It was practically a Dr. Seuss book, absent only the Lorax to make it completely fantastical.

Any idiot could see this wasn’t a place that you disturbed.

Without a word Evan put his hand at the small of her back, guiding her as she walked in front of him on the listing dock. The boards shook as they went over them, and she appreciated the extra sense of security his warm palm gave her.

Though it was just as easy to pretend he’d reached out for the same reason she’d welcomed his touch—because it felt nice to be connected as they carefully picked their way across the pink sand to the dead middle of the beach.

Two gray heads poked up out of the sheet of glass stretching to the horizon, flinging water up on the shore. Rachel gasped. “Dolphins!”

Evan sank down onto the sand at her feet, lounging back on his elbows, but she was afraid to move lest she scare away the cute little bottle-nosed faces. The dolphins played with each other, rolling over in the water to flip their tails and talking up a storm with their high-pitched squeals.

“That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen,” she murmured to Evan. “Did they escape from a training facility or something?”

“No.”

She glanced down then because a talking Evan was far more exciting than a talking dolphin, especially after she’d botched the Anderson deal. Before the magic of Ilhota Rosa faded, she settled into the sugary sand next to him, mirroring his pose, but leaning on her side so she could focus on him.

He stared out over the water watching the dolphins, who didn’t seem inclined to quit frolicking just because of the human’s presence. “That’s what wild dolphins do.”

“It’s amazing. This whole place is amazing. No wonder you don’t want a jackass developer to come in here and ruin it.”

Anderson would ruin it too, she had no doubt. The trees would have to be clear-cut to make way for the resort the man wanted to build, and if a million tourists tromped through these waters, the dolphins would likely find another place to hang out. Sticky-fingered little children would destroy the natural beach with their sand castles and plastic cups. Sure, Anderson could be planning something eco-friendly, and there was no guarantee he would.

Without warning Evan rolled onto his side, propping his head on his elbow, his dark eyes one hundred percent focused on her. “Jared Anderson cannot have this island.”

She nodded, her eyes going wide. “I’m going to fix this.”

“Rachel.” Her name growled from his throat. “I’m serious.”

Caught up in the combination of his voice and his intensity, she stared at him, unable to get her lungs to work because
oh, my God
did she want to hear that again. Her name on his lips, preferably as he moved over her, his hands hot on her body.

She swallowed, and it burned all the way down. If she couldn’t have that, she wanted
something
. It wasn’t fair that he could uncover all her secrets with a simple glance and she got nothing in return.

“Why?” she whispered. “What’s so important about this place? To you?”

A
stray breeze picked up a lock of Rachel’s unbound hair, flinging it over her shoulder. Evan could easily capture it with his fingers and drag it back. It would be an excuse to put his hands in her hair, and he hated that he was looking for one.

Because he didn’t want to answer her questions. But he had to. He had to make her understand so she didn’t mess this up.

How did you explain what it was like to be an alcoholic? Evan lived in fear each day that he’d be unable to stop himself from descending back into that pit of weakness, that he wouldn’t find the strength to be in his body a second longer unless he could numb it.

And every time he felt that way, he came here. Anderson wanted to take it away from him, shifting Evan’s foundation once again after he’d grappled with finding his footing for so long. To hell with that. Evan had fought more evil than regular citizens cared to know about; this was just a different sort of battlefield, one he had to figure out how to master.

He fisted a hand in the sand, grinding the fine grains into his palm. If only the imprint could become permanent, it would be like a substitute numbing mechanism that he could rub a thumb over whenever he got lost.

But he didn’t want that either. Numbness was a coping mechanism. What he really wanted was to remove all the stuff inside that made numbness preferable.

“Evan.”

Rachel’s voice slid across his skin like the smoothest whiskey. Is that what she would taste like? His mouth watered at the thought of finding out, already primed for that first shot.

Against his screaming conscience’s advice, he glanced at her, and the backdrop of Ilhota Rosa with Rachel in the forefront raked through his lungs. It was the most gut-wrenching, gorgeous sight. Or rather second most. First most would include ripping her out of that little yellow sundress she wore and laying her back against the pink sand, her miles of skin begging for his touch.

The muscles in his hands flexed as he fought to keep from reaching for her. It would be a hell of a release to finally sink between those long legs. But he could only give her sex. Nothing more. And Evan didn’t work that way. Didn’t want to work that way. Sex should be meaningful, between people who cared about each other, and he was in no position to open that door. It was a vicious catch-22 that he couldn’t resolve.

So he lifted a brow to indicate it was okay for her to speak, that he was listening. Which she always perfectly understood as if he’d communicated by osmosis.

“You don’t have to tell me about Ilhota Rosa if you don’t want to,” she said with grace he didn’t deserve.