Read Online Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) by Anne Marsh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Marsh
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her hair brushes my face when she leans in to inspect the board, and I can’t help but notice that she smells like honey. Sweet, sticky, lick-you-up goodness. She’s a beautiful woman, but I can’t figure out what she wants. I don’t think sex tops her wish list, although a guy can hope. Maybe she just likes the contact, the same way I prefer being alone most of the time.
I kinda let her words wash over me like a song on the radio. Periodically I tune in and pick out a few phrases. She’s got one of those older two-story houses painted the color of bad cupcake frosting. It’s the kind of pink and yellow you find in an Easter basket with loads of white trim and a bristly white picket fence. If you squint through the palm trees, you can see the ocean, and someone painted it bright blue about a million years ago. Regular upkeep, however, was apparently not part of the master plan. The house is rough around the edges, more rundown than not. Her deck, for instance, is a mess with boards rotted out all over the place.
“You’re lucky you haven’t put a foot through this.” I point to a particularly rundown board in case my cause for complaint isn’t perfectly clear.
“There’s no luck involved. I remember where and how to step.” She acts as if it’s perfectly normal to hotfoot it across the porch.
Which it’s not. “You been living here long?”
She shrugs. “Roddy and I used to come out here for vacations. When we got divorced, he got our house in Nevada and I got the cottage.”
What kind of a name is Roddy? He sounds like a dick. I mentally imagine him running around some huge McMansion frying in the sunshine while Marlee’s got the smaller, more used up place. Bet he doesn’t have to worry about falling through the floorboards—and that makes me burn. It’s none of my business as long as Marlee’s happy with the deal, but apparently my head doesn’t give a fuck about fair. I file that away to think about later.
“You married long?” Maybe she had a Vegas quickie wedding. Maybe they even did one of those Elvis drive-through ceremonies. I imagine Marlee getting married in one of those puffy white dresses—and Mr. Dick peeling it off her in their honeymoon suite. Why the fuck is my brain stuck on weddings and dresses? Or thinking about Marlee naked?
“Fifteen years,” she says, clearly clueless about my mental fantasy of undressing her.
“Guess he was a dick.” I sound hopeful. Shit.
She’s silent for a moment, which is surprising. “He was a fixer-upper man,” she says eventually. “He had great bones and he came cheap, but you kind of had to take him down to the studs to get to the good stuff. In the end, it was too much work and I let him walk.”
Sounds like she should have used my hammer.
“After I got over the shock of it,” she continues, “it was good. I went on a singles cruise and had sex for the first time in years.”
I hit my thumb with the hammer. Not sure what to tackle first—that Mr Dick agreed to a divorce or that she had sex on the high seas. I’m fucking happy for her. Not that I don’t kinda want to be the guy sliding into her hot curvy body, but I’m glad she got something she wanted.
Shit. She’s waiting for me to say something. I clear my throat. “Week-long cruise?”
The smile that spreads across her face is breathtaking. “Two weeks.”
Since she’s here on Angel Cay and single, guess her cruise hook up didn’t work out any better than Mr. Dick did. Or maybe she really was after only a vacation quickie. Some hot fling with another cruiser or the hot waiter or… Fuck me. I’m turning into a girl. It’s none of my business who Marlee gets it on with.
“Congrats,” I offer gruffly and slam the hammer onto the next nail. Drive it down in one blow, too. Wish I had something to say to her, really, because I like hearing about her life. Well, not her sex life, but I’m willing to entertain conversations, check lists, and demands about sex.
I kinda let her words wash over me like a song on the radio. Periodically I tune in and pick out a few phrases. She’s got one of those older two-story houses painted the color of bad cupcake frosting. It’s the kind of pink and yellow you find in an Easter basket with loads of white trim and a bristly white picket fence. If you squint through the palm trees, you can see the ocean, and someone painted it bright blue about a million years ago. Regular upkeep, however, was apparently not part of the master plan. The house is rough around the edges, more rundown than not. Her deck, for instance, is a mess with boards rotted out all over the place.
“You’re lucky you haven’t put a foot through this.” I point to a particularly rundown board in case my cause for complaint isn’t perfectly clear.
“There’s no luck involved. I remember where and how to step.” She acts as if it’s perfectly normal to hotfoot it across the porch.
Which it’s not. “You been living here long?”
She shrugs. “Roddy and I used to come out here for vacations. When we got divorced, he got our house in Nevada and I got the cottage.”
What kind of a name is Roddy? He sounds like a dick. I mentally imagine him running around some huge McMansion frying in the sunshine while Marlee’s got the smaller, more used up place. Bet he doesn’t have to worry about falling through the floorboards—and that makes me burn. It’s none of my business as long as Marlee’s happy with the deal, but apparently my head doesn’t give a fuck about fair. I file that away to think about later.
“You married long?” Maybe she had a Vegas quickie wedding. Maybe they even did one of those Elvis drive-through ceremonies. I imagine Marlee getting married in one of those puffy white dresses—and Mr. Dick peeling it off her in their honeymoon suite. Why the fuck is my brain stuck on weddings and dresses? Or thinking about Marlee naked?
“Fifteen years,” she says, clearly clueless about my mental fantasy of undressing her.
“Guess he was a dick.” I sound hopeful. Shit.
She’s silent for a moment, which is surprising. “He was a fixer-upper man,” she says eventually. “He had great bones and he came cheap, but you kind of had to take him down to the studs to get to the good stuff. In the end, it was too much work and I let him walk.”
Sounds like she should have used my hammer.
“After I got over the shock of it,” she continues, “it was good. I went on a singles cruise and had sex for the first time in years.”
I hit my thumb with the hammer. Not sure what to tackle first—that Mr Dick agreed to a divorce or that she had sex on the high seas. I’m fucking happy for her. Not that I don’t kinda want to be the guy sliding into her hot curvy body, but I’m glad she got something she wanted.
Shit. She’s waiting for me to say something. I clear my throat. “Week-long cruise?”
The smile that spreads across her face is breathtaking. “Two weeks.”
Since she’s here on Angel Cay and single, guess her cruise hook up didn’t work out any better than Mr. Dick did. Or maybe she really was after only a vacation quickie. Some hot fling with another cruiser or the hot waiter or… Fuck me. I’m turning into a girl. It’s none of my business who Marlee gets it on with.
“Congrats,” I offer gruffly and slam the hammer onto the next nail. Drive it down in one blow, too. Wish I had something to say to her, really, because I like hearing about her life. Well, not her sex life, but I’m willing to entertain conversations, check lists, and demands about sex.
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