Alex and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. Alex and the way her voice got high with excitement when she talked about the hunt for the Santa Cristina. Alex and the way her cheeks flushed crimson during orgasm.
Alex and the way she was in danger. Again.
Maybe. Possibly. Because of him.
Or even if it wasn’t his fault precisely, it had to be tied to him or his teammates somehow. The men on the speedboat had specifically targeted them. And he didn’t delude himself into thinking that was because they were searching for a long-lost ghost galleon.
No. It had to be because of their time as SEALs.
It was further proof—as if I needed it, he thought—that his was nothing resembling a normal life. That his would never be anything that resembled a normal life.
Despite the asinine jokes his partners had been exchanging over the walkies, his heart had grown heavy as the hours wore on. So heavy he wouldn’t have thought the organ capable of quick movement. And yet it leapt sky-high when he climbed the beach house’s creaky, old stairs, opened the door to his bedroom, and saw Alex sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed.
The moonlight shining through the window made her pale skin luminesce. In fact, she gleamed so brightly that she looked to him as if she’d swallowed the sun.
“Alex,” he choked out. He’d intentionally come in through the front door instead of the back, where her daybed was located, so he wouldn’t have to see her. So he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye and be reminded of how impossible their situation was.
She gave him a shrewd glance over the frames of her glasses. “Mason McCarthy, you look like shit. Ruggedly handsome shit, but shit all the same. You should be recovering from yesterday’s blood loss, not traipsing around playing soldier boy.”
“Sailor boy,” he automatically corrected, shrugging his Colt’s strap over his head and leaning the weapon against his bureau. “And don’t hold back, Alexandra.” He kicked the door shut behind him. “Please, tell me how you really feel.”
“Come here.” She patted the bed next to her, and his heart rate went through the roof. “Let me rub your shoulders. I give the best massages. They’re not too soft. Not too hard. I give Goldilocks massages.”
“Just so you know”—he waggled his eyebrows as he stalked toward the bed—“the last thing a man wants rubbed by a beautiful woman are his shoulders.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about I start there and work my way down?”
Before he could agree—most wholeheartedly—his walkie-talkie crackled to life. “What do you do with a year’s worth of used condoms?” This from Romeo. “Melt them into a tire and call it a Goodyear.”
Mason winced. Unhooking the walkie-talkie from his swim trunks, he turned the volume down so that the laughter and ribald comebacks were nothing but a low buzz.
After setting the unit atop the bureau, he turned to Alex with a sheepish expression. “Please don’t judge me by the company I keep.”
She shrugged. “It’s a pretty good way to pass the time and keep everyone awake.”
He shook his head. “Does nothin’ offend you?”
In answer, she patted the bed again. “I’m willing to let you try to figure that out. After I work some of that tension from your shoulders.”
Who was he to argue?
Plunking heavily onto the end of the mattress, he moaned gratefully when she sank her fingers into his traps. For long minutes, she worked the tendons at the back of his neck, and knuckled the knots between his shoulder blades.
“Fuck me, woman. You should do this for a living.” His bones loss their ache. His muscles turned to putty beneath her talented fingers.
“How to give handies and blowies isn’t the only thing a girl can pick up off the internet.”
Just that easily, he was hard. Of course, having had her hands on him, he’d already been halfway there.
Maybe someday she’ll watch those videos with me.
The carnal thought made the head of his dick push against the waistband of his swim trunks. Then the rest of him stiffened when he remembered there would be no “someday.” Tonight was all they had.
“You ready for me to start working my way down?” Her voice was pure innocence. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he found her expression was pure seduction.
“Do I needa answer with words? Or does my raging hard-on speak for itself?” He motioned with his hand toward the pup tent in his lap. Seriously, a whole troop of Boy Scouts could camp beneath it.
Chuckling, she leaned forward and lazily paid homage to his mouth. Claiming it. Worshipping it.
Claiming him.
Worshipping him.
He withstood her soft, slow ministrations for as long as he could. Then he lunged and had her flat on her back, fitting himself between her thighs and growling his appreciation at the sultry heat he found waiting for him.
He’d never met a woman more naturally amorous than Alex. Her little body was made for love, so soft and wet and warm. His body answered in kind, burning hard and fast and hot.
“No.” She pressed at his shoulders. “You’re exhausted. Let me be on top this time. I have a few positions I want to try.” She began enumerating them on her fingers. “Reverse Cowgirl, the Louise, the Fantastic Elevator, and—”
He rolled her on top of him, wondering if now would be a good time to take off her panties and muzzle her with them. The more sexual positions she named—Fantastic Elevator? Is she for real?—the hornier he got. Which didn’t bode well for her if she actually wanted him to last through all of her experimentation.
“Don’t take offense,” he told her breathlessly, unable to stop himself from cupping her breasts through the cotton fabric of her tank top, delighting when her nipples pebbled under the brush of his thumbs. “But it’s time for you to shut up and kiss me.”
Her smile was one part bemused and two parts sex kitten. “No offense taken,” she assured him, removing her glasses to set them aside on the bedside table. “And kissing you would be my pleasure.”
This time when she touched her mouth to his, he would swear her lips and tongue plastered over the cracks in his heart. For that one sweet, fleeting moment in time, the organ felt blessedly whole again.
And it beat only for her.
* * *
12:21 a.m.
“Sex might be the best invention of all time. I feel like a note of thanks is in order, but who would I send it to?” Alex was sweaty and buzzing and completely content after two more educational bouts of lovemaking.
It was two bouts instead of one because when she’d come during Reverse Cowgirl, Mason had shouted her name and followed her over the edge. After catching his breath, he’d apologized.