Ruined by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 2) (3 page)

They would. Cara knew that without a doubt. But she hadn’t wanted to tell them about Mick the night before, and she really didn’t want them to follow her out to the plantation today. No, it would be better if they were off-island for the next twenty-four hours. When she went nuclear on his stupid, brawny body, it would be best
not to have any witnesses.

“I’m sure,” she said with a decisive nod.
 

As they started the engine behind her, she hurried up the dock and tossed her bag in the back of her car. Steeling herself for more recriminations, she dialled Bill back, a plan already forming in her head.

An hour later, she found Mick lying in a hammock he’d strung up between two pillars on the back veranda. Because of
course he was having a nap, the giant ass.

Stomping right up to him, she tried not to notice that while he was wearing clothes, strictly speaking, there was a lot of bare skin on display.

Tan, muscled, solid-looking skin, and then a slice of less-tanned lower abdomen sliding out from the low-riding waistband of his board shorts.

Her eyes got stuck on the flat, ridged planes of what looked like
eight-pack abs for a second before she remembered she was there to yell at him. She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him, ignoring his vaguely amused expression as he blinked up at her—apparently he wasn’t napping, just resting his eyes so he’d be fully prepared to blast her for being in his way.
 

Well, two could play that game. She loaded up her best boss-lady voice and fired. “You
sent away my electrician?”

He shrugged and slowly rolled up to sit on the edge of the hammock, clearly immune to boss-lady. “Not expressly.”

“What happened? He was left with the impression he wasn’t allowed in the house.”

“Oh. Well yes, I did tell him that.”

“You don’t have that authority!”

“Yes, I do. You just don’t recognize it. Have you heard from the lawyer’s office yet?”

There was enough
of an authentic question in his voice for her to know that while she hadn’t, neither had he. So she didn’t answer him.
Suck on that, mister.

“Where did you get a hammock?”

“In town.”

In town?
She sputtered and gapped at him as the corners of his mouth curled up, lazy and proud as a peacock. She tried to suck in a breath. It hurt. “What…” She trailed off, then tamped down the outrage and tried
again. Her voice was strained, but at least it was working. “How else have you made yourself at home?”

He stood, again moving slowly, just to irritate her. But as he towered above her, it wasn’t only annoyance she felt. Through her bristling anger came a wave of awareness. She narrowed her eyes to keep them from rolling at herself. Really, hormones? Him?

Yeah, him.

Had he been that tall yesterday?

No, yesterday she’d been wearing wedge sandals. Today, in her flat deck shoes, she felt positively miniature next to him.
Focus, Cara
. “Have you been in contact with your…friend?”

“So many questions, Ms. Levasseur.” He winked at her and moved past her. She refused to breathe in.
Don’t smell him, don’t smell him…
 

He disappeared into the kitchen, and after giving him a reasonable head start,
she followed. She found him at the counter, where two boxes of supplies glared at her. So a hammock wasn’t the only thing he’d picked up. Bottled water, bread, bananas, the largest pack of Slim Jims she’d ever seen. Cereal, shelf-stable milk—
ick
—and cookies rounded out the groceries. Okay, so he wasn’t cooking or settling in for the long haul.

But he would still be here on Monday.

She took a
deep breath. “Until confirmed otherwise, work will continue as planned. And you are not to scare away any tradespeople with nudity.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “I was wearing clothes.”

She glowered at him.

“Okay, I was wearing boxers. It’s the weekend, and I was making myself some breakfast. I wasn’t naked, and even if I was, that’s nobody’s business but mine.” His smile got even cockier, if
that was possible. “And yours, if you want it to be.”

“I don’t.”

“Then stop staring at my chest.”

She jerked her eyes up to his face—she could have sworn she was just looking at him. She’d seen him grin. And then…maybe there’d been some gaze drifting. Not her fault. “You’re taking up a lot of valuable real estate right in front of me.”

“Uh huh.” This time his smile was crooked, his eyes hooded.
He looked like he was about to ask her a question he already knew she’d say no to. “You got a bathing suit on, by any chance? I’m heading down to the beach.”

He wanted to go
swimming
together? The only thing she wanted to do with him was bid each other a polite farewell as he carried his ridiculously oversized, over-muscled, over-everythinged body off the estate and out of her life.

“No, I do
not,” she lied. “And stop calling it a beach.”

“Oceanfront property, lady. In my world, that’s a beach.”

He was insufferable. “Well, go enjoy cracking your head open on the rocks, then. I have work to do.”

“On a Saturday?” He frowned. “I thought you’d said you’d be back on Monday.”

That was before you started waging a guerrilla war based on some misguided sense of possession being nine-tenths
of the law
. “Change of plans.”

He gave her a long, scrutinizing look. She held her ground. She wouldn’t be intimidated.
 

Finally, he canted his head to the side and nodded. “Well, if you’re hungry, there are sausages and grilled tomatoes in the fridge.”

“The fridge isn’t…” She trailed off. It
hadn’t
been connected to power. But as she glanced over his shoulder, she realized he’d moved it back
against the wall and plugged it in. So cereal and shelf-stable milk were his backup pantry staples. Crappity crap.

Two could play at that game. “Thank you for the offer, but I had my breakfast a few hours ago.”

He smirked at her. “Early riser, are you?”

“You should try it some time.”

That shouldn’t amuse him, but it clearly did. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

She stiffened. “Anyway, if
you’ll excuse me…”

“Just what work are you doing on the weekend? Suddenly?”

She gave him a bland look. “Why?”

He gave her a slow perusal. Up and down his gaze crawled, and it should haven’t felt good.
It didn’t feel good
, she lied to herself. They were on opposite sides of what could turn into a serious legal battle.

This man was the enemy, no matter how tall or how handsome he was. No matter
how warm his gaze.

The. Enemy.

“Because I think you’re going to be a problem for me, Ms. Levasseur.” Okay, so he was on the same enemy-page. That was…good. She swallowed as his gaze hardened. “Does that start today?”

Did the fact that she’d brought all the camping supplies she owned and quietly set up shop in the ballroom constitute the beginning of an all-out-war? “You tell me. Does it?”

He laughed quietly. “Answering a question with a question. I’m guessing yes.” He took a few steps back, slow and sure, his eyes never blinking as he held her gaze. “I’m going swimming.”

“And I’m going to work.”

“See you later.”

“Definitely. You can count on it.” She really didn’t need to say both of those things. She pressed her lips together to keep any more empty, threatening promises from
spilling out.

“Ms. Levasseur?” She jerked her chin up in response to his slow drawl of her name. He smirked as he pointed to the jug of filtered water that she used for tea. He hadn’t used any of it, she saw. “In case you were looking for some running water. I got the bathroom hooked up in the servants’ quarters.”

What? She gapped at him. “When?” The question stuttered out of her.

He grinned.
“You’re not the only one who had breakfast hours ago. I’ve been busy.”

THREE

M
ICK
LOOKED
DOWN
AT
THE
FROTHING
SURF
SWIRLING
AROUND
HIS
ANKLES
.

He shouldn’t take as much glee in throwing Cara off-kilter as he did. But there it was—the first bit of fun he’d had in a long while.

And for all her bluster, for all the hard, angry looks she threw his way, he felt an odd familiarity with her.

So he secretly liked the woman he’d spend the next few days around, at least
as much as he liked anyone, and he was having fun.

This was all good.

The ocean was fun, too. The surf had been pretty vicious first thing this morning—exactly how he liked to greet the day.

But not even the crashing waves felt as good as poking the sexy, fiery, defensive woman currently plotting his demise up at the main house. Every time they clashed, she lit up like a Chinese lantern. It
hadn’t taken much for him to realize that his slow and steady “not going anywhere” attitude was an easily lit match, and he used it at will because…

Well, because it was fun.

He laughed. He hadn’t used that word as many times in the last ten years as he had in the last ten minutes inside his head.

And he’d wanted to hang on to that life, desperately? What was wrong with him?

Although it probably
wasn’t healthy that he got a charge out of clashing with Cara and invading her space. Until the question of ownership was resolved, he had to recognize that it was her space, at least in her head.

He wasn’t going to do anything with it, really. Other than a bit of basic plumbing.

Buying a used moped…well, a guy needs transportation.

And stocking the kitchen just meant he had snacks at the ready
between swims and naps.

He grinned again as he surged away from shore, over the rocks he’d now memorized. Cara hadn’t been kidding about the rough water access, but that wasn’t a problem for him. If anything it ensured his privacy, which he needed, because there wasn’t anything impressive about how slowly he moved on the unsteady footing.

His smile fell away. One wrong twist and he’d be rendered
useless, flopping like a fish in the water. His hollow victory over fixing some damn pipes was just that—empty. Meaningless.

Unimpressive.

He dove into the surf, a shallow glide that did nothing to restore his faith in his ability. He’d hoped this trip would give him a new purpose in life. Instead, he’d realized that he’d been served a pile of shit to deal with, not of his own making, but now
it was his only hope for the immediate future. He didn’t have any other career options. Didn’t want to go into private security like so many of his buddies did. And he didn’t have any other transferrable skills.

He couldn’t even do something fluffy like bartending, because he was downright rusty on the interacting with other human beings thing. Cara’s pretty face swirled in his mind.
Fuck
. What
he wanted to do was stalk back up to the house and kiss the scowl right off her dusky pink lips.

Wanted to tell her he wasn’t the bad guy here, he wasn’t the enemy she needed to guard against. He was just a messenger and he didn’t really care.

Except a part of him did.

He dove deeper, exhaling effortlessly. The stream of bubbles against his face felt good. Little pops of reality bursting through
his denial.

He didn’t want to be done with life at thirty-five.

He wanted a new career, a second chance.

That was why he was pushing back at her. Not because he was just Will’s errand boy.

He wanted Villa Sucre.

Pretty, pouting mouths be damned.

A mistake had been made, but it wasn’t his mistake, and he wouldn’t pay for it. He’d lean on Will to lean on the lawyers, and he wouldn’t let up
until they’d broken the news to Ms. Levasseur.

She was no longer Cara of the curly hair and endless legs. Her full name was the safest way for Mick to think about her now.

His unfortunate enemy.

Not of his choosing, but when were they ever?

In the past, he’d been fighting for the greater good.

Now he was fighting for himself and his own future. He’d give it all he had. It might not be everything
he’d once have brought to a battle, but it was still formidable.

He almost pitied the Historical Society director and her big, luminous eyes.

Almost.

Then he thought of the way she cagily refused to answer his questions and he girded himself against sentiment. She would show him no mercy. He’d give her the same right back.

Fun time was over.

~

C
ARA
FILLED
HER
BUCKET
FROM
THE
PUMP
IN
THE
FRONT
GARDEN
and hauled it back into the ballroom. She’d swept the room twice, but there was still dust everywhere. For her plan to work, she needed to stake a claim right in the heart of the estate.

As the cold water splashed over her hand, she tried hard not to think of Mick. He’d sauntered off in the direction of the beach. Was he slicing through the waves right now? Or climbing back out,
droplets rolling down that impressive chest?

Clinging to each defined ridge for a moment before tumbling to the next… She closed her eyes as she pictured it. He was a mountain of a man, complete with his own built-in waterfall system.

Cara had been born and raised on Miralinda. Fit men in swimsuits were a dime a dozen.

So
this
man was visually distracting—big whoop. It meant nothing.

She thumped
the bucket in the centre of the room and grabbed a rag from the pile she’d assembled. Dunking it, she relished the cold grip of water around her hand.

Time to get real.

That man was a menace on every level. Visually distracting. Morally bankrupt—obviously a conman, even if by accident. His friend had sent him down here on a fool’s errand and Cara could spare him no sympathy.

His tough loss
that he’d come all this way for nothing.

And now he wasn’t even getting a quiet weekend in paradise because he’d made the mistake of interrupting the careful flow of work she’d organized.