Free Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) by Anne Marsh Page A

alone, okay? If I need some, I get some.”
    Fuck. Now I’ve been reduced to using euphemisms .
    “It’s all about sex to you.” She narrows her eyes, and I scan the deck for tools. Now is not the time for me to leave a hammer, a chain saw, or any other implement with teeth in her vicinity. “You don’t want someone to care about? Someone who can love you back and make you feel special?”
    “I don’t do emotions, but I definitely like sex. So no.” I drive the last nail in with slightly more force than necessary. “Plus, I’m good at sex. My complaint total stands at zero, which is more than we can say about Roddy Dearest.”
    I stand up and point myself toward the exit. The deck’s gonna hold now, so I’m out of here.
    Marlee’s not done with me, however. She follows. “There’s more to a relationship than sex,” she insists.
    I’m shaking my head before she can finish. “Sex is what keeps us coming back, sweetheart.”
    I’m actually not trying to be an asshole. It’s just that guys like women. We really, really do. We’re just not good at showing you how we’re feeling. Words, gestures, thoughts—we’re keeping all that shit bottled up inside, and it’s not until the clothes come off and our fingers and tongues start doing the talking for us that there’s any kind of meaningful communication.
    Marlee makes a noise like an overheated teakettle. This is why I don’t bother with talking. It leads to misunderstandings.
    “Men. You’re all alike!” She actually throws up her hands, and that’s the red flag to my inner bull. I capture her wrists with my hands and pin them to the wall.
    “Don’t compare me to the dickhead,” I growl back. For one thing, all of my equipment’s in working order and I’d be happy to show her. Marlee’s fucking gorgeous, and she has to know how I feel about it because my front’s pressed against her front and I’ve got a raging hard-on.
    “Try and stop me.” She wriggles, and I can’t tell now if we’re playing—or fighting.
    Immediate clarification is called for, right? “Are we fighting?”
    She glares up at me. “I’m just trying to help!”
    I lean into her until my nose is practically brushing hers. She squeaks. “You want to help me with my dating life? Get naked and we’ll call it even. I haven’t gotten laid in months, and my fantasy rotation is getting stale.”
    I figure that’s gonna scare her off. Piss her off. Possibly both. But holy fuck … she shoves free and yanks her T-shirt over her head. White cotton has never, ever looked so sexy—especially when she tosses it over her shoulder and it hits the deck. Marlee has spectacular tits, and her bra is like the best kind of picture frame. Not that you go to the art museum to admire whatever’s hanging around Rembrandt, but you get the idea. Her bra holds her up and makes me look right at her goods.
    She’s not done, though. She unbuttons her cut-offs and shoves them down her thighs, revealing the happy, happy news that the bra is part of a matched set. Her panties are high-waisted, high cut, with black mesh on the front that I can almost see through. Taking them off her with my teeth seems like an excellent plan—which makes me wonder what her plan was.
    Or if she even has one. Possibly, she’s all temper and no forethought.
    I step in front of her, blocking her from view. “You’d better tell me what the next step is, sweetheart.”
    “Oh my God,” she squeaks and her hands flap. Yep. Temper.
    “You’re cute when you’re pissed.” Makes me wonder what else will get her going enough to start ripping her clothes off. It’s the kind of challenge that’s downright irresistible.
    “I’m naked,” she hisses, yanking me nearer. I don’t think this is because I’m irresistible—it’s because I’m big, I’m present, and I’m far, far closer than her clothes.
    Thank God.
    I take a moment to appreciate the expressions marching over her face as she takes in the inescapable