Daring Her Seal

“Imagine what I’ll be like after fifty years of marriage.” He grinned at her. “I’m like fine whiskey. I just get better with age.”

“More like old produce,” she muttered. “You stink and you’re slimy.”

“I’ll put my trunks on. We can get some honeymoon shots. Or—” He grabbed his beer and discovered it was empty.

“Or what?” she asked impatiently, signaling the bartender for a refill for him.

“Or you could just strip my trunks off of me. I’m flexible that way.” Coming on to Ashley Dixon, DEA agent and sometime-SEAL-team partner. Was that really what he intended? His dick was definitely up for it—she was a gorgeous woman—but his head also had zero problems with it. Betrayed on all fronts.

The bartended picked that moment to return with Levi’s fresh beer. Ashley promptly swiped it. Apparently they’d already moved into the splitting-community-property stage of their breakup.

The bartender’s head swiveled between them as he took in the tension. “Everything okay here?”

“See?” Levi snagged the beer and took a swallow. Since they were married, she could share. “Even the bartender thinks you’re going to lose it.”

Ashley made the teakettle noise again, the bartender beat a hasty retreat, and Levi mentally adjusted the guy’s tip up. One of them needed to get something out of the situation.

“Murder is now a definite possibility,” she growled.

He wasn’t sure why she thought he was an ogre or Bad Marriage personified, but he hated it when she started slinging stereotypes around. Just because he’d never chosen to get married didn’t mean he’d screw it up if he did. “If we’re married, I’ll fix it.” He would, too.

Her eyes narrowed. “How? By killing me?”

And this was why they could never have a conversation. She was stuck on felonies and bloodshed.

“You’re awful menacing for a newlywed on her honeymoon.” He fought to keep his temper under control. So she’d been surprised by their newlywed status. He had been, too. Didn’t mean she had to be a bitch about it.

“I’ve had provocation,” she said darkly and knocked back his beer. Her throat worked as she polished off his drink and he made a note to order two beers in the future.

“And I paid for that,” he said mildly.

She looked down at the empty bottle. “Sorry.”

She wasn’t. Not even remotely based on the satisfied smile she gave him, but that was okay. If she wanted a beer, he’d get her a beer. The whole reason for coming down here had been to take care of things. Dragging her along had been an impulse, but he still couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

If they were married, he kind of liked the idea of having this week to themselves. It was no honeymoon, but it felt right. Almost as right as the unexpected urge to take care of her, which was stupid. Dixon was about as cuddly as piranha-cactus cross. She’d sooner cut his balls off than accept a helping hand from him. Honestly, he didn’t see what the big deal was if he gave her an assist, but she’d always been funny that way.

“I’ll fix it,” he repeated. “You just tell me what you need.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s an open-ended statement, Brandon. You might want to rephrase.”

Hell. Was he supposed to get turned on? Probably not, he decided, although he blamed her. She was the one who’d brought up sex in the first place. Not him. He was positively an angel. Really, he’d be doing her a favor to disabuse her of the notion that there was anything nice about him.

“I treat you to an island vacation and now you’re giving me grief?”

She stared at him like he’d just crawled out of a foxhole after two weeks in the sand with no shower. “Is the word romance not even in your vocabulary?”

Sure was. He kept it in a list that included marriage, peacetime and disarmament. Those were all good words—just not for him. He knew his limitations.

“I know how to romance a girl.” The words probably would have sounded better if his voice hadn’t come out all gruff, like her question was a challenge that pissed him off.

“Not sex her up,” Dixon snapped. Jesus. Did she ever slow down and not take offense? Or was it just him that irritated her so badly? “I mean real, bona fide romance.”

“Maybe you better give a for example. Are we talking flowers and candles, or do you want me spouting poetry?”

She snorted. “I’m not anti-flower, but that’s not what I meant. You’ve got flowers and candles covered right here in this bar, and we’re about as far from romantic as it’s possible to get.”

He made a give-it-up gesture with his hand. “You’d better educate me then, Dixon. As a public service.”

“Tell me about the first girl you dated seriously.”

“Gonna have to define seriously.” Candlelight was a good look for Ashley. She smelled good—he’d noticed that as soon as he sat down. If pretty had a smell, it was Ashley. Fruit, flowers, maybe both. Hell if he knew, but he liked it. She smelled edible, and he wanted to lick her from head to toe, even though it would be a seriously bad idea. He had no doubt at all that she’d throttle him.

“Are you serious?” If her grip got any tighter on her beer bottle, she might shatter the glass. While he found her strength kind of sexy, he also found it frustrating. Her opinion of him was about as low as opinions could get. Kinda made him feel like he was the dog turd stuck to the bottom of her mental sneaker.

Whatever. Ashley kept right on yelling at him, which was also familiar territory. “You dated the girl for more than a single night. You did things that did not involve a bed, a wall, the floor, or your penis poking her. You exchanged nonpornographic words, and if pressed, you could come up with a list of at least five things you liked about her that did not involve sex acts.”

“You realize that, by that definition, we’re dating seriously, babe.”

Her forehead got the cutest little crinkle in it when she was thinking. Since his logic was solid, he tugged the beer out of her hand and stole a swallow. Beer always tasted better when it belonged to someone else.

“Arresting drug lords doesn’t count as a date,” she protested eventually. She knew he had her.

“I brought you to this gorgeous tropical island.” He waved a hand around the beach bar. “You’ve got sand, stars, and unlimited alcohol.”

Double gotcha.

She grabbed her beer back. “You don’t like anything about me.”

“That’s not true either.”

She pointed the beer bottle at him. “Prove it. If we’re dating, tell me what you like about me.”

“Might want to rephrase that, babe. Narrow your terms a little.”

Honestly, he didn’t know where Dixon had gotten the idea that he didn’t like her. She was part of his team. He had nothing but respect for her job skills. So what if they rubbed each other the wrong way and gave each other shit? That didn’t mean he didn’t like her. Liking didn’t come into it at all. The sidelong look she sent his way drove him crazy. Also made him want to misbehave, since she so clearly expected the worst from him.

“If you want an ode to your left boob, I’m happy to give it a shot,” he continued. Yeah. That did it. Ashley’s lips tightened, and her mouth flew open. She’d achieve nuclear detonation in three seconds if he didn’t start talking fast. Since coming up with haiku about her breasts on the fly actually did exceed his capabilities, he gave her the truth.

“You’ve got killer skills with hardware. That’s one. Two? You can break down and reassemble an M4 as fast as any of the guys on the team.”

“Dating isn’t a job interview,” she said dryly. “And that’s the kind of crap I put on my résumé. I’m not feeling the romance here.”

“Shut up. I’m in charge of the list. Three? You’re not afraid of anything. You got something to say? You say it. Doesn’t matter if it’s just me, or the SEAL team commander, or half of Congress. If it’s on your mind, you’ll say it.”

She laughed. “Yeah. I’m blunt. I’ll give you that.”

He hadn’t realized his list was up for discussion. “You’re happy. That’s number four. I’ve never heard you bitch about field conditions or wanting something different. Not saying you’re Suzy Sunshine, but when we’re on a job you don’t bitch just to bitch. You roll with what life hands you.”