She sorted through excuses halfheartedly. Maybe she’d been checking out the sand or—hey—a fish. A quick, sideways peek at Tag’s face was plenty of warning. Whatever story she cooked up, he wouldn’t buy it. Because he understood, damn him.
* * *
THE LOOK ON Mia’s face was one Tag had seen on many others he’d served with. She was so busy proving she was independent and in charge that he hadn’t even thought about the possibility she’d brought home some mental baggage from her tours of duty. Or that the bang of his wrench hitting the toolbox would be enough to send her back to another place and time. Another battlefield. He didn’t know how to fix the situation or what she needed, but he couldn’t disregard her distress, either.
“Hey.” He crouched next to her, ignoring the water seeping through his jeans. He’d dry. Her eyes quartered the beach as if she fully expected a United States Marine Corps AAV to emerge from the surf and open fire. He was thankful every day Discovery Island wasn’t that kind of place, but right now Mia’s head didn’t understand that truth.
“You’re home,” he murmured, not sure what words would bring her back. Carefully, he curled his fingers around her shoulder, feeling warm skin through the black cotton. It was sexy as hell. “There’s no danger here.”
Long lashes swept down, and she released her breath with a shudder. Had he noticed how long those lashes were when he’d had her underneath him? Or on top of him? Hell. There weren’t too many positions they hadn’t tried out during their one night. He’d thought she was simply a pleasant memory, but apparently he’d been wrong.
She grimaced, her eyes snapping open. She was back from whatever mental hell she’d been visiting. He dropped his hands to grip her elbows before she butt-planted in the surf. Unless she’d had a personality transplant, his Mia would want to leave with her dignity intact.
“Memories,” she explained, and they both mentally added bad to her one-word explanation. Yeah. For one deceptive moment, she’d looked soft and vulnerable. But now, she squatted there beside his boat, ready to defend him and everyone else on the beach from invisible bad guys and...he respected the hell out of her commitment to getting the job done.
“Come on.” He stood up, bringing her with him.
She’d angled herself between him and the beach like a good officer. He didn’t need her to protect and defend him, but he appreciated the offer. And other things. He definitely appreciated Mia’s body. Her butt brushed his front. Any closer and she’d be fully aware of his interest. Although she only came up to his shoulder, she looked competent and in charge, her hands on her hips as she surveyed her surroundings. Wispy strands escaped from her braid as if she’d just rolled out of bed, softening her edges. And Mia had a great many edges.
“Let me buy you a drink,” she said. He didn’t know whether she wanted to deflect any more questions or make sure they were even.
But did her motives matter? He could do one drink. It was hot. And he could really use a glass of water because he’d been wrestling with the damn boat motor for over an hour now. It would have been nice, though, if Mia had actually asked. Instead, like always, she was all tell.
And assumptions.
Not waiting for his response, she strode away from him, laying in a course for the beach bar, and the possibility of his refusing orders was clearly not an option she’d entertained. But...he’d worked around her need to be in charge four years ago. She was simply Mia and a woman he’d like to get to know just a little bit better in the very limited time he had before he shipped out again and she...got on with her own life.
So he followed her pink-and-rhinestone backside up to the beach bar. His thoughts should be illegal. Sweep his thumbs beneath the edge of her bikini. One good tug and she’d come undone.
To his chagrin, the scene at the beach bar was worse than he’d anticipated. The bride high-fived Mia as if she’d scored a hat trick and won the game for the home team, while five other women in pink rhinestone bikinis eyed him assessingly. Hell. This was not a drink with an old Army buddy. This was an interrogation. Or the dating version of musical chairs.
“Sit there.” Mia pointed at the single empty seat beside a blond bridesmaid who looked as though she’d just won the lottery. At least they were color-coded. Pink for available and white for completely off-limits. He sat down in what he was fairly certain was Mia’s seat, but he wasn’t completely sure how he’d ended up here.
Mia made the introductions, then waved down a waiter and placed an order for another round of drinks. The two of them were the only ones going with iced tea today. He watched her effortlessly organize her bridesmaid troop. In some ways, she was just the same as before, giving orders, arranging things. With the best of intentions—he’d give her that. She wasn’t bossy just to be take-charge. It was simply that she was a planner and not afraid to assume command. Ever. In under five minutes, she had the drink orders marshaled, seats rearranged, and the conversational train headed in a pleasant direction.
“You’re active duty?” The bridesmaid next to him toyed with the dog tags around his neck. He put a few more inches of space between them, although there wasn’t much room to retreat. His leg bumped the bare thigh of the bride on the other side. Coward he mouthed at Mia. She’d stuck to her post on the far side of the group.
She grinned, a gleeful smile illuminating her face at his discomfort. Whoa. Her happiness was a one-two punch to his gut. Don’t think about what it felt like to be deep inside her. Good luck with that. Maybe she’d acquired mind-reading skills in her last deployment, because her smile widened. Instead of being all serious and take-charge, Sergeant Dominatrix had a fun side. Who knew?
“I’m helping out a buddy on the island. He’s launching a dive business and needed a few extra hands on deck. I’m active duty in six weeks.”
Which he hadn’t planned on doing when he’d first come out to Discovery Island. Not re-upping had been a done deal. And then he’d gotten a call from his team leader, asking for one more mission, one more deployment. He’d thought he’d picked a spot, decided to settle down. But he was...bored. His feet itched to go somewhere, anywhere. Air Rescue Swimmers didn’t just rescue the drowning. They also conducted surveillance in drug ops and ran recovery missions. Their CO needed someone with his skills—and Discovery Island didn’t need him. Daeg Ross could hire any other vet and that was the truth. He’d stick it out until the replacement guy showed up, and then he’d haul ass back to San Diego and his real job.
“Doing what?” His pink-and-rhinestone inquisitor scooted closer.
Keep it simple. “I’m a Navy rescue swimmer.”
Mia leaned across the table. “He picked up our pieces. If a pilot went down, Tag and his unit went in. They fished us out of the water. Bad storm, tsunami, sinking boat—they were our go-to guys.”
College had been as far out of reach for his eighteen-year-old self as a trip to the moon or Outer Mongolia. A week after his high school graduation, he’d enlisted. He’d completed two years of training in advanced swimming and lifesaving techniques, then deployed to his first squadron. He knew his weapons and tacticals, but his job had been rescuing people. He’d never been a combatant.
Unlike Mia.
She’d been fierce, a fighter in bed and out. The night they’d met, she’d been a fish out of water, sending him drinks at the bar and then looking insulted when he returned the gesture. Normally, he would have avoided
