mark of a great leader is the impact he leaves on his troops,” Cade agreed.
Blake didn’t have to look at him to know that beneath his social tone, his buddy was smirking.
“And speaking of legacies,” the admiral said, pulling on that social smile again, “Landon, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
“Sir?” Shit. He didn’t want to meet anyone.
“My daughter. A lovely young woman. Articulate, bright and gainfully employed. Top-security clearance, a solid portfolio, and being my daughter, she’s well versed in what’s required to support a military household.”
Obviously Pierce didn’t play matchmaker very often.
And Blake wished like hell he wasn’t doing it now. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what game the admiral was playing. The old guy liked Blake’s story. SEAL, linguist, decorated soldier triumphing over a pathetic childhood. The son-in-law ad practically wrote itself.
Except Blake wasn’t in the market.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Blake said. “I’d be happy to make your daughter’s acquaintance, but I won’t be asking her out. I’m seeing someone.”
It wasn’t until he saw the shock on his superior’s face that Blake realized this was the first time he’d said no. His shoulders twitched again. It wasn’t as if he’d refused an order, he told himself. All he’d done was sidestep the questionable honor of being dangled in front of the admiral’s daughter.
“Elliot, darling,” Mrs. Pierce said, giving Blake an apologetic smile before dismissing him with a tilt of her head. “It’s time for the toast.”
“Excellent,” Pierce said, arching his brow at Blake. “You’ll wait, of course. I’d like to finish this discussion.”
Blake almost saluted out of habit.
“I’m a soldier, not a lapdog,” he muttered instead as soon as the old guy was out of earshot.
“What’s the big deal? You meet his daughter, play nice, then skip out to hook up with that hot redhead again.”
Blake frowned.
“What? You didn’t think I could figure out why you’ve been mooning all night?” Cade laughed. “Dude, it’s practically written on your face. I’m surprised you can drink that beer with the hook stuck so tight in your lip.”
Like feeding jackals, denial was pointless. Besides, Blake shifted uncomfortably, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t hooked good.
He was spared the need to think of a comeback thanks to a chiming crystal bell.
First time he’d ever been grateful for a speech.
The gratitude lasted about five minutes.
“I hate politics,” Blake decided under his breath, not for the first time.
“You want to get anywhere, get anything done, you play the game.” Cade shrugged as though it didn’t matter. But his lips twisted, a bitter indication that he, too, thought the game sucked.
Blake ignored the droning accolades, letting his mind wander back to Alexia. As soon as this toast was over—regardless of who the admiral wanted him to meet—he was outta there. He wanted to see her. To talk to her. To taste and touch and have her.
No surprise, really, since he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Except the wanting to talk to part. That could probably be filed under shocking.
But as hot as things were between them, he knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just sex much longer. She’d already been pushing, hinting. He remembered the aggravation in her eyes that morning. She wanted more, and if he wanted her, he was going to have to pony up.
He shifted, his uniform suddenly tightening like a straitjacket. Sharing his past wasn’t an issue. Admitting his job? It was going to take a whole lot of charm to get her naked after he fessed up to being not only navy, but a SEAL, too.
He was pretty sure he had enough, though.
“Well, now...” Cade murmured, his grin wicked.
Blake followed his gaze.
He recognized the man first. Strawberry-blond hair fashionably tousled, alligator tuxedo lapels indicating not just custom, but way-out-there custom, and a ruby pinkie ring that glinted as he waved a friendly greeting to the crowd.
Michael?
What was he doing here? Was he a part of the entertainment? Blake wondered what he’d missed while he was obsessing over Alexia.
He watched the younger man reach out to assist someone onto the raised dais. His hand closed over slender fingers. It took an obvious tug to get the rest of the woman’s body to move. Despite his confusion, Blake grinned. Somebody didn’t like the spotlight.
Then, as people shifted, he saw who Michael was trying to drag onstage.
Her hair tumbled in loose curls over one bare shoulder, the red so deep it was almost black in places, so light it shone gold in others. Something black draped a tall, willowy body, the effect saved from elegance by the slender rose tattooed on her bare shoulder. The fabric was deceptively loose, but wrapped in a way that drew his eyes to the sweet curve of her breasts, the slender indention of her waist.
Breasts he’d tasted just hours before. A waist he’d gripped as he’d held her body over his, watching as she slid in a glorious rhythm, up and down his straining erection.
Alexia.
His sexy temptation.
His gaze shifted from her to the man of the hour, suddenly seeing the resemblance in the shape of their faces, the arch of their brows.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck that warned of trouble stood on end.
Alexia was the admiral’s daughter?
Shit.
* * *
STANDING ON DISPLAY, Alexia kept her expression neutral and her shoulders erect. She hated these things. Her mother was as social as the admiral was bossy, which meant growing up there had been four over-the-top fancy functions a year.
Since Margaret Pierce came from money—lots and lots of money—that meant the parties were not only boring, but super-upscale boring. The only upside was that events on this scale meant that other than assuring themselves their offspring were in attendance and properly behaved, the admiral and Mrs. Pierce were too busy to do anything but ignore them all night.
When it came to her parents, Alexia usually believed that being ignored was best. But she’d forgotten how hellishly boring it was.
“Hide the ennui,” Michael whispered. Thanks to her heels, he only had to lean sideways, so the exchange wasn’t that noticeable. Good thing, since their mother was a stickler for social protocol.
“I’m
