Still Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 10) Read Online Free Page A

Hindi’s a jumper. She runs, yodeling and screaming, toward the edge and launches herself into space with her arms thrown wide.
    She’s fucking gorgeous, flying until she falls. I’m sure she’d do it over and over again too, because Hindi doesn’t know how to hold back. Where I’m more a platform diver, synchronized and practiced as hell, she’s all in, balls out. I’m not surprised I fell in love with her back then because she was something special. Of course, she was also something different, something dangerous, and something fickle, but those are details now.
    And she’s reaching for me again. I’m pretty sure she’s playing with me, because her mouth curves up as she bites her lip. Whatever. I’m over her and we’re so not doing this again. I increase the distance between us with a well-timed step to the side.
    “Boundaries. Behave.”
    She mock-pouts. “You’re still no fun.”
    This is nothing I haven’t heard before. I’m sure you’re shocked that as the commander of an elite SEAL team, I’m not known for my gleeful participation in reindeer games. I go in, I get the job done, I get out. I’m the guy you pass the puck to when the clock’s run down and there’s one shot at the goal left, the player who faces off against the goalie in overtime and kicks the ball in hard. The winner. The deal closer. Uncle Sam’s not-so-secret weapon thanks to the woman bouncing up and down on her heels in front of me. Life’s a game for Hindi as well, but she’s more of a piñata smash-and-grab.
    “Why are you here?”
    Hindi waves a hand toward the ocean. “The Florida Keys are a well-known vacation destination, Ro. Maybe I was in the mood for some sand and sun action.”
    “I’ve got two words for you: private island. Now tell me why you’re here on my property without an invitation.”
    Something flickers in her eyes, but it can’t possibly be hurt. Yes, Hindi all but grew up on this island and it was her childhood haunt. She has memories, I have memories, we all win, right? But she sold it to me and moved on (fucking literally), so she doesn’t get to pop in here for a sentimental walk down memory lane whenever the mood strikes her.
    “We need to talk,” she announces.
    Great. Those words all but guarantee I won’t enjoy whatever comes next. I wave a hand for her to continue.
    “Can we go to your place?” Does she sound a little wistful?
    No. I should be marching her back to her car (surely, she drove here and didn’t swim, walk, or fly). Hindi hasn’t so much as spoken to me since I signed the divorce papers. It’s not like I was expecting a yearly Christmas card, but the complete and total radio silence was a surprise.
    “We can talk here.” I give Jack the hand signal to stand down and he lopes off happily to explore the surf. Chewing on a good stick is way more appetizing than biting Hindi’s ass. Me, on the other hand? Yeah. I fucking drool imagining what I could do to her ass. Kiss it, lick it, nip the soft undercurve. My list is endless.
    Oblivious to her danger, Hindi looks around dubiously. “Here?”
    Just to be contrary, I drop down on the sand and pat a nice, seaweedy mound next to me. “Pull up a chair, princess.”
    She doesn’t sit. “I’d rather do this inside.”
    I’ll just bet she would, but her wish is no longer my command. I shrug and slap Seaweed Mountain again. Flick some of the green stuff on her too, but she doesn’t notice. With a sigh, she drops down—on my other side. Points to her. For a long moment, she watches my dog playing. Then her gaze moves to the sea. Up to the seagulls. Pretty sure she’s about to do an inventory of the palm trees next, which will keep us here all night as Angel Cay has an overabundance of the family Arecaceae.
    “So,” she says, nudging her sunglasses back into place. She’s so goddamned pretty, sitting here on my beach. The wind teases her hair around her face, making it look like she’s just tumbled out of bed. She