Wicked Nights (2 page)

“Piper Clark,” he bit out, relieved to have something to
do.
Setting his gear bag down on the dock, he

moved to the edge where she’d tied up.

Retreat,
the inner voice demanded.
Stand your ground, sailor,
his body urged.

Piper was naked.

Okay, so, she wasn’t totally naked, but a man could dream.

Somehow, he’d timed his arrival at her slip for the precise moment she grabbed the zipper running up

the back of her wet suit. Undeterred by his presence—because surely she’d heard him snap her name—she

pulled, the Neoprene suit parting slow and steady beneath her touch.

Hello.

Each new inch of sun-kissed skin she revealed made certain parts of him spring to life.

If someone had asked him what the over-under was on his seeing Piper naked, he’d have bet heavily

against his spotting so much as a sliver of her bare flesh. If he’d expressed an interest, Piper would have

shot him down, hard and fast. After all, she didn’t like him any more than he liked her. Their shared past

was proof of that.

Even as he reminded himself she’d spent most of their early days trying to either torment or kill him, his

eyes were busy. Piper’s arms were spectacular, strong and toned from hour after hour of pulling herself

through the water and then back up into the boat. Diving wasn’t for the weak, and she’d had a professional

platform-diving career long before the accidental collision five years ago between his boat and her Jet Ski

had destroyed her right knee. After she’d rehabbed on the mainland, she’d up and moved full-time to

Discovery Island. Island gossip hadn’t shared with him the reasons behind the move, but since he’d come

back himself, he had to assume she simply loved the place as much as he did. Now she was looking sexier

than any stripper, uncovering skin tanned a rich golden brown from time outdoors. The way she’d braided

her water-slicked hair in a severe plait only drew his attention to the deceptively vulnerable curve of her

neck.

But this was
Piper.

So dragging his tongue over her skin and tasting all the places where she was still damp from her dive

should have been the
last
thing on his mind. He’d read her the riot act about her careless driving and say

his piece about tomorrow’s business meeting. Then he’d go his way and she’d go hers. After all, he’d been

back on the island for almost six months and had managed to avoid all but the briefest of interactions with

her. They said hello, goodbye (he suspected she preferred the latter), and nodded tersely at each other from

across the street. Life was much quieter that way, because Piper invariably did plenty of yelling when she

spent too much time around him.

The wet suit hit her waist.

Neither short nor tall, Piper had medium brown hair, brown eyes and a slim build. Those cut-and-dried

facts didn’t begin to do the woman in front of him justice, however. They certainly didn’t begin to explain

why he unexpectedly found her so appealing or why he wanted to wrap an arm around her and take her

down to the deck for a kiss. Or seven. He didn’t like Piper. He never had. She’d also made it plenty clear he

irritated her on a regular basis.

So why was he staring at her like a drowning man?

And...score another point for Piper.
Like many divers, she hadn’t bothered with a bikini top beneath the

three-millimeter wet suit. His kiss quota rocketed up to double digits.

“Piper.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.
Focus.
Adrenaline rushed through him, sweat

dampening his skin. He forced himself to breathe in, slow and easy. To push his heartbeat down and make

the sudden energy pumping through his veins work for him. This wasn’t a rapid rappel down to a crash site

to search for survivors or a midnight recon of a hostile-infested beach. Nope. This was Discovery Island, a

good place with good people. He was home.

Without acknowledging his greeting, she bent over, shoving the heavy suit down her legs, and his throat

went dry.
Game over.
Silver earbuds, which explained why she hadn’t answered him, flashed as she

shimmied, working the suit off. Like always, Piper was lost in her own world, marching to her own beat.

Ignorant of his presence, she gave him ample opportunity to admire the longest, sleekest legs he’d ever

seen. Her blue-and-white-striped bikini bottom was all practicality, although the conservative cut still clung

to her butt. Her water-darkened braid slid over her shoulder, and he wanted to fist her hair, holding her in

place as he ran his hands up those legs and parted her for his kiss. Which made him a first-class bastard,

even if he kept those thoughts to himself.

Yeah. But she clearly had more than one advantage on her own side.

He didn’t negotiate, he reminded himself. He acted. Decided, he approached the boat, knocking on the

side to draw her attention.

She jumped, her head swinging around toward him. “If it isn’t my favorite SEAL.” She flashed him a

grin as she popped the earbuds out, taking in his soaking-wet jeans and damp T-shirt. “Had a mishap?”

She knew precisely what had happened.

He dropped down off the dock, onto her boat. Deliberately, he let his feet hit the deck hard, savoring

her little flinch. She wasn’t as off balance as she’d made him, but it was something. He’d take every

advantage he could get because, Christ, she still wasn’t wearing a bikini top. Instead of covering her breasts

or grabbing for a towel, she glared at him as if this whole situation was his fault. She was lucky her slip put

her out of the line of sight of the other boaters in the marina and he was the only one who could see her.

Piper flashed him, and any thoughts he’d had of being a gentleman flew out of his head. He imagined

cupping her soft curves in his palms, rubbing his thumbs over the tips. He’d just bet she was a moaner, and

—

He jerked his gaze back up to her face. “We’ve got to talk.”

* * *

FEET BRACED, LEGS APART, Cal Brennan made himself at home on Piper’s deck, nothing but

challenge in his gaze as he waited for her to finish checking him out. He was magnificent. And mildly

pissed off, which was pretty much the usual state of affairs between her and Cal. Of course, her soaking

him when she’d buzzed past him into the marina might explain his foul mood. Faded jeans clung to a pair

of powerful legs, and an old cotton T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. Dog tags flashed as he turned

his head to track her. Cal had never needed power suits to scream, “in charge.” He moved smoothly,

confidently, as he came closer, his bare feet silent on the deck after his initial gunshot-loud landing. Behind

him, down the dock, she caught a glimpse of a Harley parked in the street near her dive shop. Cal’s black

low-rider bike screamed, “race me,” followed by, “take me.” And, while she’d never considered Cal as

dating material, she had to admit he was hot.

Really, really hot.

“We need to talk,” he repeated and his patronizing, self-assured tone did a great job dampening the

desire blazing a hot path through her belly. His eyes dropped briefly to her breasts again—
darn it
—then

returned to her face. Like he was taking inventory and nothing more.

Right. The words coming out of his mouth were perfectly pleasant, but he clearly intended to do all the

talking—while she did all the listening. That wasn’t how she lived anymore. She wasn’t six years old to his

ten, any more than she was still a teenage diver bombarded by coaching advice. She was a businesswoman

now. A
grown
woman.

Even if being near him made certain parts of her feel like a teenager.

“I’m listening,” she said neutrally because there was no point in pissing this man off before she had to.

Plus, gazing at him was no hardship. If she was objective (which she usually wasn’t when it came to Cal),

he looked every bit as sexy as his bike.

Not going there.
Swiping her bikini top from her dive bag, she got busy with the ties. While she didn’t

particularly care about the peep show she’d given him—you got used to stripping down on the dive boat

and skin was just skin—she didn’t need to introduce the whole male-female thing to this conversation or

tempt her hormones any further.

He approached swiftly, inserting himself into her personal space before she could protest. Big, callused

fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

“Lift,” he ordered. His low, sexy, I’m-in-charge-and-we-both-know-it rasp almost made her forget she’d

known Cal for twenty years and liked him for none of that time. She was in so much trouble.

Obediently, she lifted the wet tail of hair while she considered the merits of turning and kneeing him in

the balls. Which would be, she decided, a waste. Her body was screaming for satisfaction of a completely

different kind, which made no sense at all. She didn’t
like
Cal.

“You search me out for a reason? Or did you just stop by for the peep show?” She was proud of herself

for calmly getting the words out. She didn’t sound like her hormones were rioting at all.

“I’ll pick option A.” His voice rumbled in her ear as he bent his head and tested the knot he’d made in

her bikini top. “I hear you’re bidding on the Fiesta Cruise Lines contract.”

Fiesta Cruise Lines wanted a local dive shop to run trips for cruise ship clients. Since Fiesta put in one

ship a week at Discovery Island, and they’d promised a minimum of twenty divers to start with, the contract

was worth a significant chunk of change.

“My interest is no secret.”

“Business is booming?”

Her balance sheet wasn’t his business. She certainly wasn’t going to admit the dive shop she co-owned

with her former diving coach wasn’t precisely bringing in the bucks. “What do you think?” she asked,

turning away from him.

He was silent for a moment. Watching, of course, and probably plotting some terribly efficient course of

action. Whatever Cal thought he saw, however, remained a mystery to her.

“I think business has been down on the island overall,” he said finally, unfortunately coming to

precisely the right conclusion, like he always did. That was one of the most annoying things about Cal. He

usually
was
right.

He shifted until he was blocking her path to the dock, unless she crawled over him, which she hadn’t

done since she was seven. Or maybe nine. Their competitive moments blurred together. What she did know

was that she had no plans for full-body contact with him today.

Today.

Whoa. Wrong idea. More clothes would have been good or perhaps a suit of armor. She’d never had

the urge to think about Cal naked before. Cal’s family owned half the island, and he was the prodigal son

who’d come home six months ago after a glorious stint in the military. He’d fought the battles and had the

medals and the scars to prove it. She didn’t doubt his heroism, but his timing was rotten. She’d come back

to Discovery Island two years ago herself to do some starting over and having Cal around now wouldn’t

make her job any easier. Somehow, she rubbed him the wrong way and he returned the favor. The
last

thing she needed was his brooding self backseat driving or paying any attention at all to her plans for the

dive shop.

And he would.

She just knew it.

He’d never, ever cut her any slack, not since the time they’d met when she was six years old and she’d

first come to the island with her family for summer vacations in the cheerfully ramshackle, ocean-side

cottage that had belonged to her grandmother. The cottage’s three bedrooms barely afforded enough room

for Piper’s parents, her three brothers and herself, but the cozy camping had been part of the appeal. She’d

loved those summers. Now the cottage was hers, which was a good thing given how little money she made

as a dive instructor. Once she owned Dream Big and Dive outright, however, things would change. She’d

be able to expand and to implement some of the ideas she had. All she had to do was win the Fiesta

contract so she could convince the bank to loan her the money to buy out her partner.

Cal had driven her six-year-old self crazy. Twenty years later, he’d just gotten better at doing it. Of

course, she also knew how to return that favor.

It was strange, though, how much he looked like her definition of a hero. He was a big man, pushing

more than six feet. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw like he’d had better things to do than shave and didn’t

mind living rough. Cal owned the space around him and not merely because he was tall, his wide-legged

stance ensuring he easily rode the gentle swell and slap of the marina water against the boat’s hull. He was

the kind of man who controlled any situation.

She stared at him and he watched her right back. She had the sudden feeling he knew exactly what she

was going to do, before she did it. When she stepped away from him, however, his hand slid off her neck