Revealing Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 4) (2 page)

Alcohol
.
Rachel
. Rachel and alcohol at the same time. It would taste like sin and salvation. His groin stirred at the same time his mouth started watering.
Yes. Do it.

He blocked out the image of sinking his hands into her glossy brown hair and taking exactly what he craved. That was not happening because he was not that guy. He had been that weak once, and every day he fought against giving in to the whispers of his addiction.

He gave her his usual brow quirk, which had the great side benefit of forcing her to swallow if she wanted to fill the silence with her chatter. Rachel always wanted to fill the silence.

“Not a drinker then? Or have I just not found the right temptation to stick in my mouth?” She grinned, unaffected by his lack of response.

That was one thing he grudgingly appreciated about Rachel—she never asked him questions that he felt compelled to answer. She threw out comments and seemed perfectly okay if he just listened, yet everything she said stuck to her underlying agenda, namely to advertise her interest. Somehow her eternal optimism got the corners of his mouth to tip up, and she didn’t miss it.

“Holy wedding day miracle, Batman, was that a smile from Evan Silva that I didn’t have to sacrifice goats to get?”

He bit back the laugh because the last thing Rachel needed was encouragement. But then, the fact that she’d made him laugh on a day when he’d planned to be in a really bad mood until the sun set deserved something.

“Don’t get used to it,” he advised.

“A smile
and
a speech?” She toasted him with her nearly empty champagne cup, training her brown eyes on him as if she feared she might miss it if he did anything else unexpected. “This
is
my lucky day. And here I thought I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to at this party.”

All at once he caught the glint in her gaze that hinted at a deeper story. Might be nothing more than the sunlight reflecting off her glasses, which she never seemed to be without. But he didn’t think so. Evan spent a lot of time watching other people, and they always gave away more than they intended.

He cocked his head, contemplating her. The wedding was over. He should be walking away, going back to his bungalow to nurse his ever-present black mood alone.

He didn’t move. “You don’t have trouble talking.”

“Occupational hazard. Lawyers are never in danger of having nothing to say.”

There. He saw it again. A hint of vulnerability that she covered instantly. She was good. But Evan was far better at keeping the world out of his head. Seems like he should have realized that Rachel hid behind her brash personality.

It would have been much better if he’d never clued in on that. Because now he wanted to know what she was hiding.

Seagulls circled the reception, cawing as they looked for abandoned food to filch from untended plates. Rachel loved their cute faces and aerial acrobatics that made it seem they were floating on air. Their presence felt like a good omen for the couple who had married on this beach.

She watched them wheel and dive for a minute so she could avoid Evan’s dark eyes, which had latched onto her with laser-sharp intensity.

He did that a lot. As if he could see through her and wasn’t all that impressed by what he saw. Which in turn caused her to throw up more smoke screens. Exposure was not her thing.

“What?” she said and lifted up her hands in kind, pretty sure the gesture was identical to one her mother made. Fantastic. Evan was turning her into her mother. “I am a lawyer, born and bred. I talk. It’s what I do.”

Thanks went to dear Mother there as well. All six members of the Blume family were lawyers. And not the gentle, giving kind. The Blumes practiced divorce law. The more assets a client had to hide, shelter, and avoid splitting, the more they charged.

Sharks cowered when a Blume waded into the water.

And Rachel was sick of being a Blume, sick of trying to be the good Jewish girl her parents expected. This jaunt in the Caribbean was a chance to be someone other than the girl who got pregnant at eighteen, gave the baby up for adoption, and then spent the next twelve years making it up to her disappointed family. Which she still didn’t think she’d accomplished no matter how hard she’d tried. Now she’d like to try living her life for
her,
and Duchess Island was a part of that.

As was this silent, infuriating man towering over her. She was five-nine for crying out loud. She should be able to look him in the eye but no. Not unless she wore five-inch heels, and a beach wedding did not facilitate that.

Evan did that thing with his eyebrow that spoke volumes. Usually it said, “I’ve got your number and it’s zero.” One day she’d crack that Evan-shaped shell and roll around in his gooey center. The man had depth. It intrigued her, totally against her will, because normally she liked to keep things shallow. Less pain in the long run.

Of course, his complete lack of engagement got her competitive spirit good and riled up. Hard-to-get was her favorite game, and she was playing to win. Besides, Evan Silva was worth the effort; she could feel it.

Since the man in question had gone back to facial movements instead of actual conversation, she did what she always did. Filled the gaps in hopes of drawing him out.

“The ceremony was lovely,” she commented brightly as a breeze flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Simple and all about Dex and Emma. A lot of weddings are too overblown and expensive, which frankly ruins the whole point.”

Crossing his arms, Evan shifted his wiry frame to one foot, which meant he was listening—for now. When he moved to the other foot, that’s when she could forget it because he’d had enough. Yeah, she might have become a student of the many nonverbal cues of Evan Silva. It wasn’t illegal.

“You know what I mean.” She waved a hand. “It’s like the marriage doesn’t matter as long as the wedding is the best money can buy. I know a girl who spent over a hundred grand on her wedding. A real bridezilla. Had to have live butterflies to release at the reception.”

That’s where she paused, just to be sure she wasn’t losing him. Butterflies and brides had to be like nine hundred and forty-seven on the list of things a gorgeous chunk of masculinity like Evan wanted to talk about. But his dark eyes hadn’t wandered away in boredom, so she pressed on.

“But it was fall. In New York. She was worried about the butterflies getting too cold and dying, so the bridesmaids—of which I was one of nine—we had to run around Manhattan buying space heaters the morning of the ceremony. Space heaters. For butterflies.”

“Nine?”

She laughed to cover the shock she always got when Evan treated her to the gift of his voice—and she was not confused about it being a gift. He rarely spoke to anyone, not just her, and it was a good thing he didn’t run around babbling like a game show host. His voice was deep, scratchy from underuse, and hit every vertebra in her spine, which always tingled when he spoke.

It was just one of the many reasons she couldn’t quit him, no matter how frustrating and difficult a simple exchange of words grew. Also she might be a glutton for beating her head against the wall, which was a fatal flaw she should really fix.

“That’s your question? Yeah, nine,” she repeated and smoothed the hem of her sundress that Emma had picked out for her this morning. Which was really a way to covertly wipe her hands that were half-clammy and half-sweaty. The man made her insane. “All sorority sisters from college. I went to BU.”

Evan lifted a brow to the three-quarter mark, which was either
go on, did I hear you correctly?
or
seriously
? She hadn’t quite worked that one out. “Boston University. My parents’ alma mater and all three of my brothers’. Family tradition.”

Well, duh. Obviously. Evan had her all flustered with this almost-conversation, which might be the longest one they’d had to date. She shut her eyes for a beat. “Man, the sunlight is brutal. I keep meaning to order another pair of glasses with photochromic lenses. I lost mine a week ago.”

Just as she was about to launch into an explanation about how she lost her glasses, Evan shifted to his other foot.
Mayday
. He’d walk away in another ninety seconds if she didn’t step it up. Learned that one the hard way.

“I’ve been reading up on the legal system here in the Bahamas,” she offered, and yeah, it sounded as desperate of a subject change out loud as it did in her head. No one wanted to talk about the hours and hours she’d spent researching precedents for filing an injunction to prevent a corporation from purchasing the island called Ilhota Rosa.

She
didn’t even want to talk about the whole reason she’d stayed in the Bahamas with Emma. Because she hadn’t come up with anything useful yet, and these people were counting on her to stop Jared Anderson’s ReefCo dead in its tracks.

Evan froze, his intense gaze landing on Rachel and digging in. Hadn’t seen
that
coming. Oh, she’d caught his interest, yes she had, and it sliced through her like a machete with razor-sharp heat.

What she wouldn’t give to have him look at her like that while he peeled all those clothes from his prime body. Then he’d sear her from the inside out while he stripped her, those eyes going darker as his gaze roved over her bared body. He’d pull her into his arms, eyeing her lips with wicked intent.

Oh, God, yes
. She wanted that.

And right in the middle of her fantasy, Evan leaned closer, dropping his crossed arms. Opening himself up. The scent of man, ocean, and something that reminded her of sex invaded her senses. Rachel’s knees turned to jelly, and only a supreme act of will kept her off the ground.

“What did you find out?” His voice did not help the situation going on deep in her core.

“That I need to take a cold shower,” she murmured and locked him in her sights. Why not go for broke? “Or a hot one, pending your plans for the rest of the day.”

“About the legal system.” He threw the eyebrow quirk in for free with that one, though she really hadn’t needed the extra clue that she’d yet again hit the Rachel Brick Wall the man had erected.

If she’d glimpsed him hanging out with a hot girl around the Duchess Island Resort or noted a stray hickey on his neck, she might be a little more understanding about his continual refusal to engage. She could shrug and go on, telling herself she just wasn’t his type. But no one seemed to be his type. Why not? What was the magic combo that got his motor humming?

The mystery of Evan Silva had crawled inside her, begging to be solved, and she would unlock him if it was the last thing she did. Judging by her lack of success thus far, it probably would be a deathbed achievement.

“Yeah, I knew what you meant.” She scouted around for more alcohol because she needed a drink in the worst way, if for no other reason than to occupy her hands.

Her gaze landed on a silver washtub full of beer. That would have to do apparently, as the total catering budget for this wedding reception had topped out at around three hundred bucks. No fine wine to be had on Duchess Island when the hosts funneled all their money into their tourist excursion company.

Emma had given Rachel the side eye when she’d offered to pay for whatever Emma wanted. After all, they’d been best friends for a long time, since freshman year when they’d been roommates, and Rachel had more money than she knew what to do with. Raking philandering husbands over the coals on behalf of her female clients paid obscenely well, even if Rachel now had a healthy case of never-getting-married-itis. The things people did to each other after promising to love, honor, and cherish were brutal indeed, and she had no intention of becoming Exhibit A.

Sex she liked. A lot. As long as no one got visions of rings and strings dancing in their head, it was all good.

“Beer?” she called out over her shoulder as she scurried to the washtub, drawing two longnecks out to offer Evan one.

He shook his head and crossed his arms again. Not for the first time, she got the impression he was holding himself in as much as he was issuing a visual “back off.” But she could take a hint. He didn’t want beer. He wanted to know what she’d done thus far on the pro bono case she’d taken on for Aqueous Adventures.

Which wasn’t much. Guilt loosened her tongue.

“Well, you know the Bahamas is part of the British Commonwealth?” Evan shot her a look that could only be described as part
duh
and part
get on with it
. “It was news to me. I mean, I knew the British settled a lot of this area, but the United States had the revolution and everything, so they broke away.”

God, she was boring herself. She chugged a third of the beer and smiled brightly. If nothing else, Rachel had a lot of practice at the art of the do-over.

“So anyway, I’ve been familiarizing myself with real estate law and how to file an injunction. Seems like the courts do honor injunctions, which was the first hurdle, but I also want to potentially hit Anderson with something more permanent.”

Those dark eyes never left hers. “Like what?”