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

tucks the white sundress she’s wearing beneath her knees, wiggling her toes deeper into the sand. There are tiny pink and white daisies on those toes, and I try—and fail—not to remember how sensitive her feet are. Run my thumbs up those arches and she fucking melts.
    Her sunglasses make it impossible to see her eyes, and I don’t like that. I gently tug the glasses from her face and toss them onto the sand.
    “Hey.” She snaps a finger in my face. “Neanderthal much?”
    “My beach, my rules.” And rule number one is that I get to look at her.
    Her hair is longer and less colorful than it was six years ago, but her eyes are exactly as I remember. They’re brown and full of challenge as she slowly focuses on my face. Our kiss hello seems to have scrambled something in her head, but I’m sure it’s only temporary. She’s never at a loss for words—she’ll bounce right back like the ball Jack loves so much. Hindi’s my Kryptonite. I fucking happy-quiver when she’s near, like a search dog scenting explosives.
    “Rules aren’t my thing. We should have met for coffee,” she decides.
    As if we’re barely acquaintances. As if I haven’t had my dick in her, my balls slapping against her ass as I ride her hard and she screams my name. As if I can sit here, this close to touching her, and not remember. Thinking about her may not make my top ten list of preferred activities, but she’s permanently tattooed on my small head. And yeah—that’s as painful as it sounds.
    “Talk.” I force my hand to stop its irritated drumbeat on my thigh.
    She eyes me dubiously. “Are you familiar with a little word called please ?”
    “Six letters. Generally prefaces a request—which that wasn’t. Talk, Hindi.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” She mutters something else under her breath that I can’t quite catch and then her eyes narrow. “You’re still bossy.”
    I should let it go, but I’m not feeling nice. There was only one place I told Hindi what to do and that was in our bed. I lean toward her, deliberately invading her space. She’s taken over my beach, so it’s really only fair. “And you liked it.”
    Her spine stiffens, practically levitating her ass over the sand. Okay. So the truth isn’t a hit with her, but her patent dislike doesn’t make it any less true. Hindi fucking loved taking orders in bed.
    “Good thing you’re my ex-wife.” Somehow, my mouth brushes her hair as if it’s perfectly natural for my lips to be so close. I should work on reestablishing the distance between us.
    “About that?” Yeah. That’s a question mark at the end of those two words. I do some straightening of my own, and not the dick-in-my-pants kind, either.
    “Hindi.” Her name is pure growl and I don’t give a fuck.
    She shrugs, half-covering her face with all that gold-brown hair. It’s the color of caramel and for one too-long moment I want to fist it, draw her head back and lick a path from the soft valley between her tits to her mouth.
    Focus, sailor, focus .
    “Explain yourself,” I snap.
    Hindi sucks in a breath and drags her skirt closer around her. She’s always loved that floaty material stuff. It’s as hard to pin down as she is, and for just a moment she looks fragile. Then she inhales a second time, exhales (which shoves her tits against the flimsy bodice), and explodes to her feet.
    Then she launches a verbal strike at me with unexpected precision. “We’re still married.”
    Bet you didn’t see that one coming. I lean back on the sand, braced on my elbows. While she paces back and forth in front of me, trying to explain what did or did not happen with our divorce, I try to make any kind of sense of her words. How do you file for divorce but not actually get the damned thing? Given that over half of all marriages in the US of A end in divorce, marital endings are not uncharted territory. I’ve known plenty of divorced people, too, and not one of them has up and said, “Oh yeah—I thought I was