Revealing Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 4) (12 page)

No. She’d realized. But breaking free hadn’t ever felt like an option. Until Emma had made a split-second decision to stay in the Bahamas that had changed the course of Rachel’s life. If Emma could be brave enough to chase her own happiness, Rachel could too.

ReefCo’s building in downtown Freeport took no time at all to find, largely owing to the giant sign lording it over the other less impressive structures surrounding it. Two uniformed police officers clopped by on horseback, tipping their hats to her as they passed.

On the eighth floor Rachel emerged from the elevator and greeted the receptionist. Anderson, predictably, made her cool her heels in the lobby for exactly six minutes, then buzzed the receptionist to escort her back to his office.

Rachel had done her research on the billionaire. Jared Anderson had made his money in his twenties after opening a successful group of hotels in the States and now focused on “humanitarian” efforts in the Caribbean as he expanded his hotel empire. Which was a front for slinging his ego around the small corner of the Bahamas that he owned.

But despite having studied up on him, she still managed to be fifty shades of shocked when Jared Anderson greeted her at the door of his office draped in a smile, oodles of charm, and an Armani suit that looked so good on him David Beckham must be curled up in a corner somewhere, weeping with envy. In short, Jared Anderson was the kind of man who elicited double takes and wild fantasies involving various stages of undress.

Cheekbones that could cut butter and carefully styled light brown hair completed his full package. He was underwear-billboard hot and then some, putting a whole different spin on Charlie’s command to play “dirty.” Because Rachel could think of a few choice scenarios that might fit that bill and give her the complete upper hand at the same time. She’d never shied away from using sex to get what she wanted, especially not in a competition the likes of which Anderson had started.

Until now apparently.

She shook Anderson’s hand, noted his appreciative once-over, and had to swallow the wave of revulsion at the thought of letting this man put his hands on her.

God, what was wrong with her? She didn’t have to like him. She just had to win, and it would take so little effort to have him eating out of her hand. Confidence had always been her best accessory, and judging by the vibe in the room, the billionaire had sniffed it out instantly.

Except she knew exactly what was wrong with her.
Evan
. That exasperating, enigmatic, sexy-as-hell frustration with a bad case of tight-lipped-itis had crawled under her skin when she wasn’t looking.

And she hadn’t even slept with him. Yet. What had happened to her get-laid-get-over-it-get-gone plan? There was a big knot of Evan inside that she’d failed to notice until it was too big to pluck out.

Her heart thudded against her rib cage as Anderson motioned to the wingback chair near the window. Cozy. As she took one seat, he slid into the other and gazed at her expectantly.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Blume?” Anderson asked smoothly.

Get a grip
. This wasn’t any different than dealing with a client’s ass of a husband. She’d never faltered when it came to rich, entitled men trying to push around someone else.

“You can back off, Mr. Anderson,” she suggested pleasantly and smiled as she crossed her legs. Thankfully she’d gone full-bore sexy in a short skirt, mostly because she liked it, but also, just in case. Her instincts had been dead on.

He smiled in kind. “I respectfully decline. Your buddies are going to have to acclimate to the idea that Ilhota Rosa isn’t going to be their little playground for much longer.”

Oh, so that’s how he was going to play it. “Not if my petition to have it named as a wildlife sanctuary gains traction.”

“But it won’t. The only wildlife in that area is the dolphins. I’ve hired an expert, Dr. Audra Reed, to assess their habit, and when she files her report, it will say that the dolphins are migratory and thus don’t stick to any particular location. Poof.” He flicked his fingers in an obnoxious explosive gesture. “There goes your petition.”

Holy hell on a hippopotamus. She hadn’t expected that, and it was not okay.

Rachel’s temper snapped, and a cold chill settled along her neck. “We’ll expect any reports to be provided to us for third-party corroboration, of course.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head. “Just keep in mind that any delays will be dealt with accordingly.”

Seething silently, she nodded while mentally running through as many painful accidents as she could imagine potentially befalling Mr. Anderson. “As will any tampering with either the expert or the reports.”

Anderson showed his teeth. “You cut me to the quick, Ms. Blume. Everything is above board here. On my side of the table at least.”

The implication that things might not be on the up and up on her side only served to piss her off even more. But then this meeting hadn’t gone one iota like she’d planned, and that ate at her too. She stared at the panoramic picture of a coral reef stretching across the wall above Anderson’s head until she thought she might get out of this room without punching the billionaire in his pretty mouth.

“Duly noted,” she said and stood. “Send me the report at your convenience. I’ll show myself out.”

Anderson didn’t rise to his feet in kind and instead steepled his hands just under his chin, looking very much like a praying mantis. Before she told him so, she whirled and strode from his office.

She texted Charlie her return flight time and stewed the entire trip back to Abaco, where he’d pick her up in the speed boat. Since the grocery store was in between the airstrip and the dock, she ducked in to get staples and made herself walk past Zippos without going inside to buy the fifth of vodka she desperately wanted to wash the taste of Jared Anderson from her mouth. Evan didn’t need her problems to cause him problems, and also it wasn’t fair to come home smelling like a brewery.

Not that he’d necessarily notice.

He might not even come out long enough to eat the chicken she planned to cook, but she wasn’t doing it for him. When stressed, she cooked.

Charlie was waiting for her at the dock, casually leaning against one of the weathered support posts. He took one look at her face and uncrossed his arms to help her into the boat. “That bad, huh?”

“That man is a…” She couldn’t think of a bad enough curse word to call him.

“Yeah.” Charlie’s eyes were hidden behind his silver-lensed Ray Bans, but she didn’t have to see them to know they’d turned into ice chips. “He’s a piece of work.”

“You know him.” It wasn’t a guess. She’d been trained from an early age to listen to tone in order to gain tips on how to lead witnesses or destroy an opponent’s testimony.

“Let’s just say we go back and leave it at that, huh?” He never looked away from the water, ostensibly because he was driving a boat in crowded waters, but she recognized a man avoiding a topic when she saw one. There was a story, oh yes there was. But she dropped it for now because he clearly did not want to share.

No surprise there. This group of former SEALs had chosen to live in the Caribbean instead of going home to the states after being discharged from the Navy for a reason, and it was a sure bet that Evan wasn’t the only one with scars. He just couldn’t hide his.

“Sorry I don’t have better news.” Depression and fatigue pulled at her, weighing down her shoulders. “He’s hired a dolphin expert who supposedly is going to say Ilhota Rosa isn’t where they live.”

Charlie’s hands froze on the wheel, his knuckles going white. “Did he say who?”

A little concerned, she eyed him. “He mentioned the name. A Dr. Reed? But nothing about her or her credentials. I insisted he send the report when he gets it. We’ll hire our own consultant of course. Know any dolphin experts?”

His jaw flexed. Twice. “Not really.”

“Well, we’ll find someone,” she assured him. Or maybe she was assuring herself because she didn’t feel so confident all at once, especially in the face of Charlie’s obvious disappointment and frustration with her.

When she got back to the bungalow, Evan was nowhere to be found, and since she didn’t own him and he hadn’t shared his work schedule with her, there was no telling when he’d be back.

Well, he could eat cold chicken cacciatore. She wasn’t a chef, and this wasn’t a restaurant.

Her temper spiked when the chicken had a ton of fat on it. Fuming, she cut away the fat and envisioned rubbing it all over Jared Anderson’s pretty face and then throwing him to the wolves.

She hadn’t done anyone any favors with that useless trip to Freeport, let alone herself. And she didn’t like her reasons for being so upset about it.

The number one reason on her list breezed in from work seven exasperating minutes later, after she’d nicked her finger with the knife while quartering the cremini mushrooms and right at the precise moment when she knocked over the olive oil, spilling half of it on the floor. Evan didn’t bother coming to the kitchen, though he’d have to be deaf not to hear the blue streak of curse words she’d spit out as her precious olive oil coated the linoleum.

“That’s okay,” she called as she sopped up oil with a mound of paper towels, tossing them into a shopping bag as they grew saturated. “I’ll just be in here slaving away for you, Master. You don’t worry about a thing. Your dinner will be on the table as promised—”

Evan appeared at the entryway to the galley kitchen, arms crossed, a silent, hulking chunk of man with damp hair and a T-shirt hastily pulled over his torso. It sat just off-center of his broad shoulders, hugging the planes of his chest that she’d felt with her own fingers and would give blood to get her hands on again. His jeans were unbuttoned and the shirt had caught on the opening, leaving a tantalizing gap that was way too small to see anything good, and that pissed her off even more.

She glared up at him from her supine position on the floor. “The least you could do is put this oil to good use by getting down here and rolling around in it. After the day I’ve had, I deserve a hot man covered in oil to look at while I cook.”

He didn’t even grant her so much as an eyebrow lift.

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered. “You just want to take a shower, and I’m being nasty for no reason. You didn’t have to come in here and check on me. I’ll just be the surly one on her knees.”

Because it would be way too easy for Evan to let her get a handle on him, he bent down without a word and helped her wipe up the rest of the oil. When it was as cleaned up as it could be, he held out a hand for her to grasp, hauling her off the floor as if she weighed no more than a feather. At five-nine, she never felt featherlike. Nor did she spend a lot of time in the company of men who would think of such a chivalrous gesture, especially when she threw her independence in everyone’s face whenever she got a chance.

As she regained her balance, she gripped his hand, refusing to let him pull away. Evan glanced at their joined hands and then at her face, his expression maddeningly blank.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For the oil. For taking me to Ilhota Rosa. For giving me a bedroom. I’m sorry about all those times I offered you a drink.”

He nodded and his fingers tightened around hers briefly and then slipped away. Good thing. She ached to pull him closer, to settle into his embrace, because… Well, the God’s honest truth was that she was so cold inside and her body craved his warmth. He was strong and solid, and she needed both at that moment with an intensity that scared her.

Because that’s not what they were doing here. He’d shut down any kind of personal revelations on the beach because they weren’t a couple and they didn’t share stuff.

They were barely friends, let alone anything more, exactly as it should be.

“Go take a shower,” she instructed. “I’m fine.”

Except for the part where her voice cracked.

Evan’s laser-sharp gaze zipped over her face, and she looked away before he clued in on the consternation inside. He was having none of that.

His fingers slid across her jaw, firmly guiding her face front and center and
oh, God
. Mute, she stared up at him as his thumb brushed across her cheek, his fingertips resting in the hollow of her throat. The air crackled with expectation, heating instantly as their gazes connected.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured after an eternity. “For snapping at you on the beach.”

His voice smoothed across her skin, sensitizing it as if he’d touched her all over in one fell swoop, and everything inside caught fire. Automatically she swayed toward him, desperate to have that gorgeous mouth on hers again.

But he held back, silently cataloging the things he saw in her expression, and she was pretty sure she lacked the ability to hide any of her secrets from him when he looked at her like that: her confusion over her ultimate goal here… her inability to find another man even the slightest bit attractive… the hole inside with a shape that bore a remarkable resemblance to the man a scant few inches away. All of that was there and available for his viewing pleasure.

She shut her eyes as the raw ache inside grew painful.

“Please go,” she whispered.
Before I come apart.

“That’s what you want?”

She nodded, and he melted away. Looked like she was the liar who needed a pass while at home.