Free To Dare a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) by Sara Jane Stone Page A

prize?” he asked.
    “If I win, you’ll spend the rest of the afternoon running errands with me. I need to pick up the body paint favors for the party and a few other things. You can carry the shopping bags.”
    Beside him, Cade shook his head and headed for the cabana. If his teammate mumbled a good-bye, Jack didn’t hear it. His world had narrowed down to three little words. Chocolate. Body. Paint.
    Yeah, he paid attention when she talked, remembering every damn word of their earlier conversation. And body paint? That sounded like his kind of shopping. He was willing to carry the bags straight up to her hotel room.
    “I’m game,” he said. “But if I win, you’ll join me for a swim at the topless pool. And you leave your top behind.”
    “Deal,” she said. “But I won’t lose.”
    “Me neither, darlin’.” He walked past her and stepped into the blackjack pool. Win or lose, he had a shot at claiming Natalie before dinner tonight—topless or covered in chocolate.

    T he sweet taste of victory was within reach. Natalie counted her chips. She’d won the first two hands, but she was still shy of the twenty-dollar mark.
    One more hand—maybe two—and then I’ll swim away from here the winner.
    Of course, Jack might get lucky. If dealt the right cards, he could steal away her win. And that wouldn’t accomplish her goal—Jack holding her shopping bags, bored to tears.
    But if she added a little distraction… She pursed her lips. Jack understood the basics of blackjack. Still, watching him play the last two hands, she had a feeling he was out of practice. It wouldn’t take much to make him forget all about the magical number twenty-one.
    She allowed her left foot to drift through the warm water and brush up against his calf. His eyes widened at the unexpected touch but stayed focused on his cards.
    “How did you learn to play?” Jack asked, glancing over at her.
    “One of my Thursday afternoon regulars.” She rocked her hips back and forth. The movement was slow and subtle, but it worked. Her opponent appeared to have forgotten about the cards in his hand.
    His brow furrowed. “Which regular?”
    Or maybe he was following the conversation, not the way the water lapped at her waist while she moved.
    “Jonathan,” she said. “He’s a former SEAL who was injured in Iraq. He comes in most weeks and we play cards if it is quiet.”
    “Johnny Smith?” Jack frowned and she abandoned the rocking. “The guy who received a silver star for saving half his team after he’d been shot?”
    Natalie nodded and focused on her cards as her foot ran up and down his calf. She signaled the dealer for another.
    “Didn’t you date him a while back?” Jack asked.
    “He asked me to dinner once or twice, but I said no.” She glanced up at him, drawing her foot away. “I don’t date my customers.”
    The blonde who’d mistaken the blackjack tables for a wet T-shirt contest leaned over from her stool at Natalie’s right. She glanced at the other woman. Now that was a distraction. But why would anyone bother wearing a white tank top into the pool? The see-through fabric clung to the woman’s mostly bare breasts. The blonde’s bikini top resembled pasties, barely covering her nipples.
    “You should try making him jealous if you want his attention,” the blonde said in a stage whisper. Natalie would bet all of her chips that the people at the neighboring table could hear her too. “Mack does it to me all the time, and I always fall for it. Afterward the sex is amazing .”
    “Who’s Mack?” Natalie had tended bar long enough to know that the best strategy was to steer the conversation away from her personal life and back to Ms. Wet T-shirt.
    “My boyfriend.” The blonde nodded toward a large, bald man by the bar. “He’s getting our drinks and then he’ll be right over. You can flirt with him if you want. To make your boyfriend jealous. I promise it will work better than footsy.”
    “He’s not my