Daring Her SEAL Read online

  And bingo...her polite can-I-help-you? expression morphed into one hundred percent pissed-off female as she straightened up.

  “I’m licensed to carry concealed. Don’t make me shoot you.”

  Concealing a weapon in her current getup seemed challenging, but Ashley liked her guns and he’d seen her produce firearms from beneath the smallest of bandage dresses out in the field. He had no idea how she did it, but he respected the hell out of it. He also needed her to listen to him for five minutes.

  She made a sound delightfully close to a snarl. How nice to know he still could get under her skin. Smiling at her, he said, “I need to talk to you. Take a smoke break.”

  Brown eyes narrowed. “It’s with and not to. And smoking kills.”

  She put the desk between them. And while he enjoyed the way her ass wiggled in the skirt as she sauntered to her chair in three-inch heels, he still needed to talk to her. With her. She never missed an opportunity to point out that he was wrong, did she?

  Of course, he also didn’t care much about getting it right, so he advanced on her, flattening his palms on her desk. Naturally, the surface was all neat and tidy, her office supplies arranged at right angles and the folders stacked precisely. She’d never liked messes. When he deliberately nudged a pencil out of its careful row, she glared.

  “We can do this the hard way. I can carry you out over my shoulder.” His dick twitched at that. Hell. This was Dixon.

  She didn’t sit down, just folded her arms over her chest and inhaled as though she was trying to find her patience or her balance or something. “Step inside and shut the door.”

  Huh. Who knew he’d find that order a turn-on? It was likely only because he hadn’t gotten laid in over a month. Lurking in foxholes wreaked havoc on a man’s social life, and he’d come straight to Quantico once he’d arrived stateside. Ashley might be annoying as hell, but she deserved to know about their marriage, just in case she had any wedding plans of her own. He was in outright Boy Scout territory, making sure she didn’t commit bigamy or mess up her taxes any. Maybe she’d even polish his halo for him. With her tongue.

  Or she just might kill him. He’d give it even odds at the moment. She leaned toward him, not intimidated in the slightest.

  She’d slicked her dark, glossy hair back from her face in a severe style that made her look all cheekbones. With less than two feet between them, he could smell her perfume, which was another first for him. She didn’t wear that stuff in the field, and apparently he’d been missing out. She smelled like warmth and fruit and some kind of flower thing. Damned if he knew what it was, but he liked it. He should get a bottle and spray the boys in the foxhole next time he had to camp out for a week in the jungle.

  She made a give-it-up gesture. “Some time this century, Brandon.”

  Given their eager audience—he’d counted ten agents and four secretaries plus a maintenance guy messing with a thermostat—he kicked the door shut with his booted foot. Probably not what she’d intended, but she should know by now that she needed to be specific with him.

  “How do you want me?” he drawled, keeping his eyes on her. Her lips tightened. She was wearing lipstick in a nice nude shade. No flashy come-do-me red for her in the office. Did the agents she worked with know the calm ice-princess facade was a front? She had a wild child hiding underneath that gorgeous face, and she was a demon in the field. She would have made an excellent SEAL.

  “Sit,” she snapped, as if he was some kind of trained poodle. News flash. He only pretended to be civilized. If she didn’t play nice, he didn’t have to, either. He definitely wasn’t planting his ass in a chair while she stood over him in the power position.

  Time to take charge.

  “If I sit like a good boy, will you park that pretty ass of yours on my lap?”

  * * *

  ASHLEY’S BRAIN SPLUTTERED to an outraged halt, because who said sexist stuff like that these days? Naturally, Levi used her momentary distraction to circle the desk between them. She hesitated a moment too long, distracted by the sexy SEAL prowling toward her. Dark hair buzzed short with military precision, brown eyes that crinkled at the corner when he laughed, and just the hint of a dimple in his right cheek...damn it. She’d seen him in action and the man was quick. He also fought dirty, and any words that came out of his mouth were just one more weapon. She should have remembered that.

  He pulled her toward him until her thighs were plastered against him, his muscular, denim-covered leg thrusting between hers as he danced her backward smoothly. Her back hit the wall, her heart simultaneously taking a nosedive toward her stomach. Darn it. Being close to Levi was too much like riding a roller coaster.

  A sexy, dangerous roller coaster with bad manners.

  His big body radiated heat and carefully leashed power as he boxed her in, and she didn’t know if she should take a moment to admire the sheer masculine ballsiness of the move—or knee him in the nuts on principle. She hadn’t known he was in town, although it wasn’t as though they shared social plans. They’d worked in the field together. Sometimes they’d killed together. None of which was drop-in-and-have-a-beer material.

  His mouth shifted, brushing her ear. “Hello again, Mrs. Brandon.”

  How much trouble would she get in if she pulled her gun in the office? Because the thought of plugging Levi’s fine ass with a bullet got more and more appealing by the moment.

  “That joke got old about the twentieth time you trotted it out on Fantasy Island after we did the beach thing. Do I look like a missus? Maybe I missed the part where you tattooed property of on my ass.”

  She bent her knees, ducked under his arm and pushed him hard against the wall. He let her slam him into the paint job and that pissed her off even more. Life was one big joke to Levi Brandon and she hated it when he played with her.

  “It’s not a joke, babe. We’re married.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell that one to the judge and back the hell off.” That was another thing about Levi—he could deliver a joke with a perfectly straight face.

  “You need to listen to me on this one.” He flipped her around smoothly, face to the wall, wrists pinned over her head. Since the man had to have almost a hundred pounds on her, she was at a definite disadvantage in close quarters.

  “Scared?” Sure, it wasn’t nice to taunt him, but around him her inner five-year-old came out to play.

  “Not exactly,” he said cheerfully. “But someone’s going to end up in the ER if we keep showing each other our moves. Plus kink’s not my thing. I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

  “So you’re manhandling me to be nice?” She didn’t bother hiding the disbelief in her voice. Truth was, Levi did what he wanted and he didn’t worry about the consequences. It must be nice. She was also fairly certain he had a much broader acquaintance with kink than she did.

  In answer, he kicked her legs wider, which was a challenge given the lack of give in her skirt. Heat hit her hard between her thighs, her panties dampening as she felt him against her back. Chemical reaction. That was all. Sure, it sucked that she got horny around Levi, but he came in a pretty package and looking at him had never been a hardship. It was when she had to listen to him that things went to hell.

  It took him less than fifteen seconds to find the gun tucked in the small of her back. He slipped it out of her waistband and set it on her desk. “Sexy.”

  “Back off and tell me why you’re here.” Had the Marcos brothers managed to shake the charges against them? If they’d been assigned a third mission together, surely the special agent in charge would have notified her.

  “You think I need a reason to be here? Maybe I had a couple of weeks of leave coming to me and just missed your lovely face.” He pressed harder against her, tucking his dick against her butt as if he had some kind of right to do so. Clearly, it had been too long since she’d had sex
—working undercover with SEAL teams had definitely put a crimp in her social life—because she couldn’t even work up much outrage at his erection. He was huge, he was turned on and apparently her sexual drought had lasted long enough that she was willing to cut him some slack. Sucker her brain crowed at her libido.

  “Well, I’m not helping you with that.” She wriggled her butt against his front just to make her point and he hissed.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Dick’s got a mind of its own and it really, really likes your skirt.”

  And that was the problem with Levi. The outside package was hot—hello, she’d never met an ugly SEAL—but then he opened his mouth. Too bad she couldn’t duct tape his lips shut and just admire the view.

  “Could you be more offensive? Is this your idea of a joke?” Because she didn’t feel like laughing and she was this close to kneeing him in the balls the next chance she got.

  “You hear a punch line coming out of my mouth?”

  “You want to know how many practical jokes I’ve been the butt of over the years? When you’re the only female on a team, you hear it all.”

  He whistled. “You work with some nasty people, Dixon.”

  She drove her head back, pulling free of his hold and swinging her elbow toward his cheekbone. If she accidentally introduced his head to her desk on his way down, she didn’t care. He hit the floor with a thud and a laugh, twisting to avoid her office furniture. Great. The agents on the floor below would be banging on the ceiling.

  Grabbing her gun, she loaded it with swift efficiency while he rolled lightly to his feet. “A vagina doesn’t make me stupid.”

  He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “I’ve never thought you were stupid.”

  Well. Okay, then.

  He grinned at her and kept right on running his mouth. Levi never had known when to quit. “Deadly. Irritating as hell. Adorably geeky when you get your computer on. Those adjectives all work for me, although after you seeing you in your skirt, I’m adding sexy because I believe in calling it like I see it. You should dress up for me more often, babe.” Chuckling with amusement, he added, “I have nothing but respect for your skills. I just give you shit because I give all my guys crap.”

  She pretended she didn’t feel a small spurt of warmth at his compliment. After all, she was still debating hurting him.

  “I’m just one of the guys now? Go away.” She dropped into her office chair and motioned toward her door with the gun. She’d left the safety on, which was more than he deserved. “That was fun. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  He leaned against the edge of her desk and fished an envelope out of his jacket. “We’re married. Read for yourself.”

  She opened it and pulled out a fancy-schmancy certificate with black calligraphy and plenty of gold foil. Once upon a time, the thing had probably been elegant as hell, but now it was full of creases from repeated folding. Hot sauce decorated one corner. Obviously, whatever it was, he highly valued it. Not.

  The letter was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Brandon and she got a bad, bad feeling in her stomach. “This is dated three weeks ago.”

  He shrugged. “I was in a foxhole. The postal service doesn’t deliver out there.”

  She read on and froze. “How can we possibly be married?”

  “I imagine it was that part where the minister asked us if we ‘did.’ Shoulda lied, babe.”

  “That was a fake ceremony.” She set the papers on her desk. Levi had to be joking for some sick, twisted, unfathomable reason. They couldn’t be married. They were the two least compatible people on the planet, not to mention she’d sworn off marriage after watching her parents’ union explode so spectacularly.

  And if those weren’t good enough reasons, she had a performance review in four weeks, and a congressional hearing to attend in two. She’d blown the whistle on a team of DEA agents who’d treated their Central American posting as party central under the mistaken assumption that they could do whatever they wanted with impunity, so it definitely wouldn’t look good if it came out that she’d been involved in a fake wedding ceremony in Belize. A ceremony where the real bride and groom were supposed to be a notorious drug kingpin and his girlfriend, but they’d been a no-show because they’d been arrested and carted out to international waters by an undercover SEAL team. She could practically see the headlines now: DEA Agent Is Wedding Proxy for Drug Lord.

  Levi lifted his broad shoulders in another shrug. “Apparently, the minister didn’t get the memo and someone in the registry department agrees with him—and sent us that commemorative piece of paper.”

  “It has to be a prank.” God knew, the SEALs loved a good joke. This one seemed kind of elaborate, but sometimes the guys had too much thinking time on their hands. “Did you call the registry department and verify this? Or do you believe anything someone writes on a piece of paper?”

  “The registry department,” Levi said tightly, “apparently had a close encounter with a tropical rainstorm two weeks ago. Most of the roof went and the filing system took a direct hit. No one is answering the phones because half the staff is on leave while the government rebuilds. The half of the staff that is still working has neither the time nor the inclination to wade through thousands of waterlogged pieces of paper looking for a certificate that might or might not be there.”

  Ouch.

  “Since it’s easy to blow someone off when there’s two thousand miles between you and them, I planned on going down there since I had some leave coming to me,” Levi continued. “Because I assumed you’d want this taken care of.”

  For once, she had to agree with him. “If this is true, I want a divorce.”

  Immediately. How fast could you get divorced in Belize?

  “I wasn’t looking for a life sentence, either.”

  No. It had to be a fake, a joke, anything other than real. “We can’t possibly be married. Whatever you did, fix it.” She slapped the papers against his chest.

  “How is this my fault?” He got that stubborn, badass look on his face, but to hell with him. He didn’t scare her and she was tired of his crap.

  “You’re here. You’re the one telling me we’re married. Prove it to me.”

  He yanked the hem of his T-shirt up, revealing flat abs and, God, a perfect six-pack. “You want to skip straight to the honeymoon? Good idea.”

  * * *

  “YOU PIG. DO NOT get naked in my office.” Ashley pokered up the second he flashed her.

  Ice queen didn’t like his approach? Too damn bad.

  She didn’t get to tell him what to do. This mess wasn’t his fault. Of course, if he was being honest, it wasn’t hers either, but he didn’t feel like being fair right now. Hell, he’d just discovered that he was married to a woman who wanted to murder him. It hadn’t been a good week.

  He leaned in and delivered his ultimatum. “Put in for vacation time, because we need to go down there and sort it out.”

  If looks could kill, he’d be dead, planted and decaying. Vacationing with him was apparently not on her bucket list, but she’d just have to get over it. If he had to deal with this, so did she.

  “It can’t be legal. We didn’t fill out an application or sign anything. This isn’t my fault.”

  And that automatically made it his?

  “You can’t make me go,” she continued petulantly. Fighting words. Yeah...she was pissed off, all right. He entertained the idea of unloading her gun, but he wasn’t suicidal.

  “I think I can.” He knew the look she got when she was thinking about taking him out, and chances were his teammates had been right. Given the right opportunity, she’d skip the annulment and go straight for the kill shot.

  “Really?” She drawled the question and his blood pressure soared. “Walk me through it, big guy.”

  Jesus. Maybe,
just once, she could lay off the sarcasm and admit that he was right. It wasn’t even like he wanted to be right about their just-married status. He’d have been deliriously happy to find out he’d been mistaken. “I’m not the one who has something to lose.”

  She smiled and, okay, it was probably wrong that the mean look she got right before she went after him turned him on so much. He had a kink in his think that he should work on. Later. After he was single again. “Did you ask permission of your commanding officer before you went and got yourself married on a mission?”

  “Nope, but I’m thinking the worst I get is an ass-chewing for being dumb enough to stand in for the groom.” His unit had already made it clear they’d never let him live the marriage down. They’d started calling him Wedding Ken and one wiseass had bought him a pair of matching his-and-hers ring pops. “But I can go out and announce to all of your colleagues that we’re married.”

  She didn’t back down. “Awkward, but I’ll live.”

  One of the useful things about Ashley was that she froze when she lied. She probably didn’t realize that she stilled, as if all of the brain cells in that downright enormous brain of hers diverted to creative thinking and forgot to keep her body in motion. The way she’d stopped moving when she’d dismissed his threat screamed concern. All he needed to do was push a wee bit harder and she’d be on that plane with him.

  “I’ll give them all the details, Dixon. With photos. You in a white bikini with BRIDE bedazzled over your perky little ass.”

  “You wore matching swim trunks,” she pointed out, her magnificent boobs rising and falling as her temper picked up steam. The top button on her blouse was in serious danger of blowing, a development that he’d enjoy as he had nothing but admiration for her breasts, but she’d care. Maybe he’d let her know. In a minute. Or six.

  “I passed your HR department on the way in.” He grinned, keeping half an eye on that button. “Shall I plan on making a pit stop there...?”

  “What are they going to do? Throw me a bridal shower?” The button didn’t budge, damn it, but a mocking smile curved her lips. Kissing the smirk away became his new plan B.