Wicked Secrets (13 page)

“A really, really good thing. A sexual thing. Like brownies with chocolate sauce and whipped cream and that little red cherry thing, but right after your doctor tells you to lose twenty pounds.”

He looked her up and down as she buttoned up her shirt. “You look fine to me.”

Understatement.

“I can’t let you be my
thing
,” she reiterated fiercely. “Because you’re leaving and going back to San Diego and the Navy.”

“And what are
you
doing?”

“I’m still figuring it out.” His skeptical glance must have said it all because she continued. “I have a plan.”

Of course she did. “That’s what I mean. And I’ll bet your plan is in writing, color coded with action items and deliverable dates. It’s not a plan—it’s a step-by-step diagram of how to take over the world.”

“You think I’m bossy.”

It might be true, but he didn’t need to
agree
. Ignoring her indignant look, he shrugged. “Too bad,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Because I’d make sure I was worth waiting for. You ever had welcome-home sex?” He had no idea why he was arguing with her. He didn’t want a
thing
with her, either. Absolutely not.

He did up her bottommost button, then ran his finger up to the next one.

“Or been so hot you can’t wait until you’re home so you do it in the car?”

“Pass,” she said, but she didn’t sound certain at all. He did up another button. She sounded
aroused.

“Liar,” he whispered against her mouth, tracing his finger over her skin to the next button. “You don’t fantasize about your soldier coming home, dropping his gun on the bedside table, and ravishing you?”

“Because you’d be happy to bring my fantasies to life?”

Her question wasn’t a
no.

“Uh-huh. We could do a boss fantasy,” he murmured, slipping his finger between her breasts. “I’ll buy a conference room table. We could combine it with soldier-comes-home.”

“How are you with the knight-in-shining-armor fantasy? You can worship me from afar and keep your hands to yourself.” She did up the last button on her blouse.

“Uh-uh,” he told her. “And, since I’m the boss, I get what I want.”

“Definitely a fantasy,” she said sweetly and held out her hand. “I want my panties back.”

Too bad for his sergeant she wasn’t getting what she wanted. Of course, since
he
wasn’t getting what
he
wanted, it seemed only fair.

11

C
LOSING
 
ON
 
THE
 
cottage turned out to be easy. Two weeks after she’d first laid eyes on the place, she was the proud possessor of a deed and two keys to the front door. The bank had also approved her home equity line, and she’d probably purchased enough supplies to open her own Home Depot store. Moving out of Tag’s place might have caused her a little pang somewhere in the region of her heart, but theirs had been a temporary arrangement.

Bought a house
, she texted Laurel, knowing her cousin would be excited for her. Despite her love of bling, Laurel had chosen to sport a small-size rock on her ring finger because she and Jack were saving up for a down payment on a home. Trading carats for an extra bedroom had been an easy call.

Photos now!
Laurel responded, and Mia spent the next half hour happily trading decorating ideas. When someone knocked on her door, she wasn’t prepared to see Tag standing there holding a box of painting supplies. She supposed he wanted to help. Bonus points for him.

“Are you the Welcome Wagon?” Because she could think of all sorts of ways—deliciously sexy, very naughty ways—to break in her new house. She hadn’t had her hands on Tag for almost twenty-four hours, and she was definitely going through serious withdrawal.

He waved the box at her. “I swung by the hardware store before I came here. Thought maybe you could use a hand...”

“Are you implying I don’t know how to paint my own walls?” Because, really, she was a modern woman. She knew her way around a toolbox—and YouTube.

He propped the box against his hip and grinned at her. “Have you painted interiors before?”

She had the internet. She’d repainted her bedroom in high school. Both of which made her fully qualified. She opened her mouth to say so, but then she got a good look at Tag. He was wearing a faded T-shirt and a ragged pair of blue jeans. God, she loved worn jeans on a guy. There was always the possibility his pants would just give out while he was lovingly bent over a paint can. A gal could hope.

She opened the door. “Come on in. It must be my lucky day.”

Yep. Suspicion filled his eyes. Maybe he’d sensed her rip-his-clothes-off fantasy. “What have you done with Mia?”

“Excuse me?”

He brushed past her when she didn’t move out of the door. “I didn’t expect you to
agree
. Not that quickly.”

Since he seemed determined to invade her house, she followed him, tugging at the back of his shirt. Which stayed firmly on his magnificent body, more was the pity. “I like free labor.”

He gave her The Look. “Now you’re taking advantage of me.”

She shrugged. Yeah...she probably was taking advantage here. However, she had a house to paint, and he was hot. That was called
having her cake and eating it, too
. “I’m perfectly happy to let you help me paint. The question is—what’s in it for you?”

“I’m just being a doting fiancé.” He flashed her a grin and nodded toward the living room. “Are we starting in there?”

The thing was, he wasn’t really her fiancé, and they both knew it. They had some kind of complicated pretend relationship going on, more like friends with benefits. She wasn’t really dating him or settling down with him or doing anything other than sleeping with him. And there wasn’t even much
sleeping
involved because she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. Nope, she was just passing herself off as his betrothed to get the good folks of Discovery Island off his back. Any pleasure she got out of the fantasy was pure bonus.

The former owner must have harbored a secret desire to open an art gallery, because the living room walls were dotted with holes from long-AWOL picture frames. After the tenth spackle-and-patch job, Tag looked over at her.

“Are you sure you can’t just hang new pictures up over the holes?”

“Don’t be such a slacker.” She wanted to do it right.

“You’ve got issues.” He sounded cheerful. “I should charge you by the hour.”

“You work for sex. You come cheap,” Mia reminded him. She could have hired a painting crew, but she wanted to do as much of the work as she could, and not just because she wanted to preserve her line of credit. This was
her
house, her fresh start, and she’d make it perfect. Or—she eyed her lumpy spackle job—near-perfect. She’d hang a picture on this spot.

“You can make it up to me later,” he said.

She’d just bet she could. In fact, her imagination suggested a dozen perfectly naughty, wonderfully decadent things she could do to him.

“Besides, this may be my last chance to paint walls for a while.”

Right. Because he was leaving.
She was pretty sure painting wasn’t part of his job description for Uncle Sam, unless it involved painting a target.

“You don’t want to stick around now that the business is finally getting off the ground?” she asked casually.

“Hell, no. I’m not the kind of person who settles down. My idea of a good time is jumping out of a helicopter feet-first into shark-infested waters. It makes me a good story at a bar, but bad long-term material.”

He didn’t sound like he cared, which was an important reminder for her.

“Funny,” she said. “You should have thought of that before you proposed.”

He gave her the
be serious
look. “Why did you join the Army?”

“Because Uncle Sam wanted me?”

“Mia.” And there it was—his growly voice, the one that made her think about dragging him off to bed, even when it really, really wasn’t a good idea. They wanted different things from their lives, which was perfectly fine, except she was also starting to think she might want
him
in her life. As more than her fake fiancé.

“My whole family joined. It’s what we do. My father served. My three brothers served. I served. They took some convincing when I told them it was my turn.”

He nodded and slapped more paint on her walls. She’d picked the color because it reminded her of an enormous bowl of oranges, bold and citrusy. He wasn’t done with his questions, though.

“Why didn’t you leave Discovery Island like you’d planned?”

She edged her paintbrush neatly along the white trim, loving the way the ribbon of bright orange brought out the creamy paleness of the wood. “I meant to leave, but I fell in love. Is that so surprising? Cal and Daeg liked it enough to stay. Maybe you’ll change your mind, too.”

God, she shouldn’t have said those last few words. Because they both knew she wasn’t playing, not entirely. Between the house and the man, she was definitely falling in love. She’d needed his help—whether she’d wanted to admit it out loud or not—and he’d swooped in to rescue her. But that was the thing about rescues—they were one-time emergencies. Rescues didn’t happen on a daily basis, and, frankly, she wouldn’t want them to. She wanted a relationship.

With Tag.

Who was leaving in a matter of weeks.

“I’m not them,” he said impatiently. “Daeg and Cal have Deep Dive and their fiancées. Cal has family here and Daeg practically grew up with them. That’s not me. That’s not who I am. My CO needs me.”

She
needed him.

Mia waved a hand impatiently. Droplets of orange paint hit the front of his T-shirt and speckled his cheek.
Oops.
“What do you need, Tag?”

“A clean shirt,” he groused, his voice low and husky. He took a step toward her, and she was pretty certain the rest of her living room wasn’t getting painted today, because he reached out and stroked his own brush down the valley between her breasts.

“You could take it off,” she said breathlessly.

“Mmm. Or you could tell me what
you
need.” His brush painted a wicked circle over her left nipple. She wondered what he would do if she told him the truth, that she needed him to stay put and be a long-term part of her life. He’d probably be on the next ferry out of Discovery Island. With apologies, of course, because Tag was a genuinely nice guy.

“You,” she said, winding her arms around his neck and trapping his brush between them. Painting could definitely wait. “I need you. Stay.”

He stared at her and she had no idea what he saw. But he’d been the one touching her breast, so surely that meant he was interested. That she hadn’t misunderstood.

“Mia?”

“Yeah?” God. He moved his hand, the brush.
Something
. Nerve ends sprang to life in her breasts. They should definitely do more of this.

“I can stay tonight,” he said, gently reminding her of their limits. He’d be hers for tonight and possibly the next few weeks as well but, eventually, he’d go. She could work with that.

“Stay,” she said again, dragging his head down to hers.

“Can we borrow your bed?” He didn’t wait for an answer, swinging her up into his arms and heading for her bedroom.

“Too old for the floor?” She pushed the door open for him, and he took her straight inside, setting her down on her feet by the edge of the mattress.

“You have no idea,” he rasped, “what you do to me, do you?”

Nope, but she loved the husky groan he gave when he slid her shirt off. Since she hadn’t bothered with a bra, his move left her breasts bare. Her
orange
breasts. The paint from Tag’s brush had sunk through her tank top. She thought about possibilities for a moment and then decided she didn’t care if they got paint on the bed. She could always buy new sheets. She wanted him out of control and she wanted that now.

He ran his fingers over the paint-streaked tops of her breasts.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Not as gorgeous as you,” she said throatily.

“Men aren’t gorgeous.” He peeled her shorts and her panties down as he said it, stripping her bare for him. “I’d far rather look at you.”

“Hmm. You definitely are here.” She leaned in, pressing her mouth against the spot on his throat where his pulse beat out a sexy rhythm. Then she moved lower, pushing his shorts and his boxers down his legs.

“
Hello
. And most definitely here.” She wrapped her palm around him, and the taut muscles in his stomach jumped in happy anticipation. Since she still didn’t have him quite where she wanted him, she pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. “Can I have my wicked way with you?”

“Don’t let me stop you. Please.” She could hear the smile in his voice, so she dropped to her knees between his legs and took him in her mouth.

He groaned, the harsh, needy noise thrilling her. When she looked up at him through her lashes, he was watching her take him, and the raw desire on his face was almost as big of a turn-on as the feel of him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding on and making her feel powerful and sexy.
Needed
...

Good behavior definitely deserved a reward. She sucked her way up his thick shaft, swirling the point of her tongue over the spot just beneath the head.

“I’m happy to paint with you anytime,” he rasped.

“Good to know. I have a big house.” She smiled against him, then licked him.

Once. Twice. She cupped him, rubbing him with the palm of her hand where she couldn’t cover him with her mouth. The move earned her a sexy growl from her man, so she did it again, exploring every inch of him with her tongue.

He fell backward onto the bed, tugging her with him.

“Hey.” She nipped his ear. “I was busy.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But I’m not going to last much longer.”

Fine with her. Together they rolled on a condom, and then he was flipping her underneath him, pinning her to the mattress. Kissing her mouth, her throat, her ear as he fitted himself against her opening and pushed slowly in.

“Tag?”

“Right here,” he muttered, sinking in deeper.

Oh, yeah.

“I—” She forgot what she was trying to say because he kissed her some more, and then he moved. She panted and twisted, and someone who sounded a whole lot like her was chanting
more more more
in a hoarse, whimpering voice that might have embarrassed her if he hadn’t made her feel so good. But this was Tag. Her friend. Letting him know what she needed was okay.

He lifted her up, cupping her bottom, and she grabbed his butt. Their hips slammed together, and then it got loud and messy and perfect. He stroked deep inside her body, until they were skin on skin, hip to hip, her breasts squashed against his chest, his dog tags tickling her throat. The delicious friction built, pulling her slowly apart with the pleasure of it until she came, and he followed her over the edge.

Afterward, she lay there in a boneless heap by his side. He curved an arm around her and fished for the sheet with his foot. She was pretty sure the roof of her new cottage could have caved in, and she wouldn’t have cared.

“Wow.”

“Right there with you.” He cleared his throat but then said nothing more. How did anyone find words to describe what they’d just done? Instead, he just held her close, and his touch was even better than talking.

When she was just drifting off to sleep, he ran a finger down her spine. “Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“What kind of a ring do you want?”

She tried to see his face, but now the room was getting dark. Picking out a ring for a fake engagement seemed over-the-top. “We don’t need a ring. Maybe I’m really, really modern and don’t believe in jewelry.”

“Or you’re the kind of woman who gets her man a ring, since if she’s wearing one, he does, too.” He stroked his hand up her back, his fingertips grazing her shoulders.

She kind of liked the sound of that.

“The whole island is taking bets on what kind of ring you’re going to be wearing. It’s easier to just get something now and let them find something else to talk about.”

She could feel his penetrating gaze on her. She didn’t know what he was looking for, what she was supposed to say. She didn’t mind wearing his ring, although it felt like a cheat.
Play it off.
They were friends with benefits. Nothing more.

“I should make you guess. Isn’t that a fiancée kind of thing to do?”

“If you want something ugly, sure. What do
you
like?” He rolled over and propped his head on his hands.