he looked as if he liked what he saw.
Uh-oh.
* * *
WELL, WELL. Lt. Commander Mitch Donovan leaned against the wall and watched the gorgeous blonde dressed as a Twinkie talk to Sullivan’s wife. Mitch had never had much of a sweet tooth. But right now he had an intense desire for a taste.
A mellow grin played over his mouth as his gaze drifted down the length of her golden sponge cake−shaped body. How could a woman covered in that inspire lust at first sight? Then his eyes wandered lower, to where the costume ended at mid-thigh. Those were some damned sexy legs, from what he could see. His eyes lifted to her face again and his lust kicked up a notch.
As a man who was used to excelling in extremes of all kinds, he appreciated his body’s instant reaction. He just didn’t quite understand the Pavlovian intensity of it.
She was pretty. Her honey-blond hair was twisted back, leaving her face bare. Dark brows contrasted with the color of her hair and slashed over eyes that seemed to be taking in the entire room at once.
His gaze narrowed. Her expression was friendly, her body language relaxed. But the hand she’d tucked into the side of her costume clenched and unclenched, her fingers fluttering over the foam.
Intrigued by the contrast—always curious when confronted with even the hint of a puzzle—he glanced back at her face to search for other signs. Of fear. Of nerves. Of...
Mitch’s brain went blank.
He didn’t think it’d ever done that before in his life. But it was blank, so he couldn’t be sure.
All he could see were those eyes. Huge, filled with so many emotions he didn’t understand. Lashes so lush they cast a shadow around those eyes, giving her the look of a startled doe. A very sexy, very appealing startled doe.
“Irish.”
Who was she? He held her gaze, imagining those big eyes staring up at him as he poised over her body. Wondering if she’d keep them open after he’d plunged inside or if she’d close them and ride out the ecstasy.
“Yo, you want a drink?”
She blinked, those thick lashes brushing the delicate curve of her cheeks. The move should have broken the spell, but Mitch still couldn’t look away. She wet her lips, the pink tip of her tongue briefly sliding over the full cushion of her bottom lip. He was glad he’d opted for jeans with his costume instead of tights. The zipper didn’t offer much give against his sudden erection, but he was hard enough that he’d have ripped right through a pair of tights, superhero-issue or not.
What did she taste like? Hot and mysterious? Sweet and tempting? How long would it take before he could find out?
“Mitch. Donovan. Lt. Commander, dammit.”
Mitch blinked.
Frowned.
What?
He turned his head, meeting Chief Petty Officer Gabriel Thorne’s impatient stare.
Damn.
“That’s Lt. Commander, dammit, sir,” Mitch shot back. “And what’s your problem?”
“I’ve been talking, but you’re not listening. I’ve gotta tell you, Irish, I’m not used to being ignored.”
Mitch’s lips twitched. Truer words were never spoken.
Shirtless, wearing buckskins and a feather behind his ear, Gabriel Thorne—call sign Romeo—was a man who thrived on attention. And he had plenty to thrive on. Mitch had served with the guy for six years off and on, and he’d never once seen him get shot down. Actually, Mitch wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Romeo make the first move. The guy was usually too busy fending off the women to need to.
“Since I don’t plan to go home with you tonight, I’m not worried about bruising your ego,” he told his friend, happy to gloss right over the temporary and mind-boggling fog of lust. Mitch wouldn’t let himself look toward the blonde again. Not until he’d had a chance to analyze what had happened and figure out how she’d managed to short-circuit his brain.
“My ego is Teflon,” Gabriel assured him, his black eyes dancing with amusement aimed at the both of them. Native American blood ran strong in Thorne, from the hint of blue in his close-cut hair to the gold of his skin and razor-sharp cheekbones. “Besides, it’s not just the ladies who pay close attention, my friend. I knock, the enemy listens.”
“Might have a little to do with the IED you’re aiming their way,” Mitch pointed out with a grin. A demolitions expert, Thorne could make a grenade dance around a corner, scurry down a hall or chase a man up a mountain. “But don’t let me rain all over your fantasy with my boring reality.”
“Bro, my reality is most guys’ fantasy.” Gabriel winked. “But then, so is yours. Navy SEAL, fast-tracking your way through the ranks with enough medals and commendations to cover a wall. And you’re not bad-looking, so you don’t scare away the ladies when they’re hitting on me. All in all, I’d say we’re a damned good team.”
“Yep,” Mitch agreed, draining his beer. Gabriel liked to say he kept Mitch around as a wingman because most guys couldn’t handle his success with the ladies.
Mitch knew better, but it didn’t bother him enough to correct his friend.
“So you wanna fill me in?”
“Not really.” Mitch didn’t have to ask what Gabriel meant. He’d known his little trip into the lusty fog wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“She came in with the brunette with the broken halo. They’re not connected with any of the team, so I figure Roz sent them. Either that or they’re enemy infiltrators, here to deliver food and steal our Halloween secrets.”
Impressed, Mitch grinned and shook his head. It was hard to be irritated with the guy’s uncanny insights when they were always delivered with a laugh.
“What? You don’t have her name? A detailed dossier on her likes and dislikes, contact information and bra size?”
“Hey, I’m in explosives, not intelligence.”
“Ahh,” Mitch said, drawing the word out.
In true Romeo fashion, the other man arched one brow and nodded. Challenge accepted.
“Five,” Gabriel said, referring to the number of minutes he guaranteed it’d take him to win the challenge.
“Bet,” Mitch confirmed, agreeing to their usual terms.
Five minutes was enough time to make sure he had control over his reactions—both north and south of his belt.
Gabriel stood, grabbed their empty beer bottles and sauntered across the room. He didn’t head for the blonde, though. Instead he lost himself in the crowd around the pool table.
Less than a minute later he was back with four beers, a slight frown and the brunette with
