Wicked Nights (3 page)

and he let her go.

“How are my business plans any of your business?” she replied. Not the politest of questions, but they

had a history. He nodded, like she’d just confirmed something he already knew, and she couldn’t help but

notice he didn’t smile. The fine lines around his eyes didn’t come from laughter, she realized, but from

hours at sea. This man was 100 percent warrior.

And hot enough that she wanted to take him down to the deck herself...

He leaned back against the edge of her dive boat. “Because I’m bidding, too.” His dark brown eyes were

unnervingly gorgeous. God had definitely not been playing fair the day Cal had been gifted with that

feature.

“Tell me you’re joking.” She kept her voice steady, when she wanted to scream. Unfortunately, she

wasn’t surprised. Of course Cal would go after the contract she had her eye on.

“Afraid not.” He said the two words calmly, as if he hadn’t just dropped the mother of all bombshells on

her. She needed the contract.
Had
to have it or give up her dream of buying out Del, her partner, because

every bank she’d approached so far for the loan had made increased cash flow a condition of borrowing

the money.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I run a dive center.” He made it sound so logical.

“You run a command center,” she countered, going on the offensive. “You handle all the search-and-

rescue ops for the sector. Why do you want to run dive trips for a cruise ship?”

“Look around you,” he said drily. “And then tell me how busy you think I am.”

“We’ve had one tropical storm this summer.” Which probably only underscored his point.
One
was

singular and nowhere near enough to base a business on. She understood—she just didn’t
like
it.

“I want to bring in more former SEALs to lead dive trips, and it was still a free country, last time I

checked. In order to hire more divers, I need to increase our revenue. When I win the Fiesta contract, I do

exactly that.”

He said it as if the contract was a sure thing.

Maybe it was. He was a veteran and a highly experienced diver. He’d trained U.S. Navy SEALs, the

same guys who ensured they
did
still live in the free country Cal had so mockingly mentioned, and there

was no way the executives evaluating the proposals wouldn’t weigh his military service into the equation.

Plus, his plan of hiring former veterans was unspeakably
nice.
Until he’d thrown his name into the ring,

she’d seriously had her competition beaten. She narrowed her eyes. Fortunately, she still had a card of her

own to play.

“You’re not the only one who needs to increase revenue.”

“So, business
is
down for you.”

It was, and at the worst possible time, too. She needed a beefed-up balance sheet to get her business

loan.

She gave him an assessing look. “For you, me and everyone else.”

He shrugged. “I heard several other dive shops had submitted a proposal to Fiesta.”

“The cruise line has plenty of choices.”
Unfortunately.
No, she’d think positive. She was good at what

she did and she’d win this one.

The other option wasn’t acceptable.

“That contract is mine,” she said. She’d visualized nailing each and every dive before she’d climbed the

tower in a competition, and she’d do exactly the same here. Cal might be a decorated veteran and combat

swimmer, but she was a U.S. national platform-diving champion and a heartbreak story. She didn’t like

playing the celebrity card, but she’d do whatever it took to win. After her accident, she’d spent two years in

the media spotlight, and her name on a dive roster would make people look twice.

He shook his head, shoving off the railing. “Again, it’s a free country. You can think what you like.”

His tone, however, made it perfectly clear
he,
at least, didn’t think she stood a chance.

“You bet.”

Dream Big and Dive was her dream and she wasn’t letting go. She might not have the cash to purchase

Del’s interest in the business outright and the banks might have labeled her a poor risk for a business loan,

but she’d never gone down without a fight, as Cal knew very well. If she won the Fiesta contract, she won

her funding and her shot at making Dream Big and Dive one of the best dive programs for novice divers in

California. She’d make it to the final round of bidding, and she’d be in it to win it.

She never lost. Ever.

* * *

PIPER CLARK WAS GORGEOUS. Objectively speaking, Cal knew that. What he admired more,

however, was the way she met his stare without flinching or dropping her gaze. She was a fighter to the

core and Cal’s instincts said she wouldn’t go down easy. The problem was, she was still his competition for

a job he wanted.

Hell.

“You won’t win this one,” she warned. She stood there, hands parked on her hips as if she owned this

competition, and he was certain she believed she did.

“I can.” He would, too. His business, Deep Dive, was hands down the best operation in town. Piper,

however, clearly believed
she
had the number-one, go-to place on the island. She also radiated an attractive

confidence, which would only help her sell it to the Fiesta executives. Her hair was starting to dry now, dark

streaks of wet giving way to lighter brown, and for a woman standing there in a bikini, she looked

remarkably sure. He definitely needed to date more—or
at all
—because he was fairly certain he was

staring. And that he’d noticed exactly where her bikini top had left pale white lines on her shoulders. She

had freckles, too, and lots and lots of bare, smooth skin.

Except for her right knee.

She took a step, staggered slightly when the wake from a passing boat rocked the deck, then righted

herself. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he’d have missed the lightning-fast correction. Her knee

was the only part of her that wasn’t tanned perfection. The ridges of scar tissue were nothing gruesome—

he’d seen far worse during his military career—and the lines were white. He put a hand out to steady her

and then pulled it back. Yeah. The look in her eyes said she didn’t want help. He’d seen the same look on

the faces of plenty of soldiers. He understood wanting—no,
needing
—to do things alone. It wasn’t as if he

didn’t have his own gremlins riding his back, which was one of many reasons he wanted to bring more

veterans and former teammates on board at Deep Dive. Sometimes, a guy needed a job and a place to work

through his shit.

“You can’t stop me,” she said, her hands tightening on her hips.

He shook his head. “Honey, that’s where you’re wrong.”

She smiled at him. “I’m going to win.”

“You’re so certain?”

“You like to be in charge.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly as she went off on one of those Piper tangents

he’d never been able to follow.
Jesus.
Yes, of course he did. The expression on her face said she did, too.

Which was too bad for her because, not only was he good at it, he held all the cards here. Instead of

responding, he shot her a look.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so, Cal.”

She said his name with the same tone of mocking disgust his SEAL teammates had used when trash

talking each other, except her voice held a note of sincerity. He’d seen her breasts. Hell, he’d touched her

skin, even if it was only the brush of his fingers against the back of her neck, so it was okay. She could call

him anything she wanted, because names didn’t bother him. Actions mattered. Not words.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Win,” she said so sweetly his teeth hurt. “That’s what I’m going to do, Cal.”

Not in his lifetime. “I’ve got you seriously outgunned here.”

“Bet me,” she said in the same tone.

He observed her cautiously. Trouble had just shown up on this mission. The playful sparkle in her eyes

telegraphed the message loud and clear. Since the only thing she had to be happy about was his leaving the

field to her, and he had no intention of doing that, she clearly believed she’d come up with an alternative

plan.

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in. “What are we betting about?”

“The outcome of the contract negotiations,” she clarified, smiling up at him.

“There’s only one possible outcome.” He dismissed her words with a quick nod. “Deep Dive wins.”

“That’s what you think.” She shrugged casually, clearly baiting her trap.

He’d play.

“It’s a fact.” Unexpectedly, he didn’t want to see her get hurt. If she pulled back now, quietly, she could

avoid the agony of defeat and all that. Hell, he almost qualified as a gentleman.

“Then, beat me, fair and square.” She shot him a fierce grin. “I’ll bid. You’ll bid.”

“I’m not betting you about this.”

“Why not?” She leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of him, on the edge of the dive boat.

She wasn’t a tall woman and she was careful not to touch him, but somehow she’d turned the tables on

him. Again not surprising. Piper had made a career out of shocking him. “Maybe you’re just chicken. Put

your money where your mouth is, Brennan. Bet me.”

“You’re not betting money.” He wouldn’t take her money anyhow. He was almost certain Piper’s cash

flow left something to be desired. He wanted to beat her, not bankrupt her.

She leaned closer. He tried to pretend her bikini-covered breasts weren’t brushing his chest, that her top

and his T-shirt were more than enough fabric to keep his imagination from rioting. Piper’s breasts were a

sweet handful, curvy tops spilling over the edge of her bikini. When she’d been a platform diver, her

swimsuit tops had been engineered to compress and create a smooth, sleek line. This top was something

else. Feminine. Tempting. And yet—this was
Piper.
He didn’t like her, he reminded himself. She didn’t like

him, even if she loved pushing his buttons. So where had this chemistry come from?

“You’re scared.” She sounded smug. “We both know I’m winning this one.”

And...buttons pushed. “Am not.”

Great. He’d regressed to being a three-year-old, except for the part of him that was clearly an adult and

wanted to show Piper how much he appreciated her bikini top. Which he wasn’t going to do.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He knew that smile. He was in so much trouble here.

“Are. Too.” She underscored each word with a not-so-subtle poke in his chest.

He captured her fingers in his before she could drill holes into his heart. The words flew out of his

mouth before he could think about it.

“Business, Piper. This is strictly business.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret and—he wasn’t sure, but did she check him out as

she pulled away? Getting a read on Piper was frustrating. “You keep telling yourself that.”

2

DISCOVERY ISLAND HAD bars for tourists (all with kitschy names like Devil’s Wine and Beer and

Skittles) and then there were the places for residents. Diver’s Haven was mostly a local scene since the bar

was tucked off the main boardwalk. It wasn’t precisely a hole-in-the-wall, but the place hadn’t exactly

earned a prime spot in the local food and wine department, either. It did, however, have cold beer and

satellite TV. Tonight, Cal appreciated both. Going head-to-head earlier with Piper had been the icing on a

frustrating day of broken equipment, canceled dives and a boat engine leaking enough oil to re-create the

Exxon Valdez.

The bar propping him up was made from salvaged driftwood, an artistic touch he’d always suspected

had been Big Petey, the bar’s owner, being cheap rather than fashion-forward, given the booths with

cracked vinyl seats. Neon lights in the window advertised brands Big Petey had no intention of stocking

and the jukebox worked intermittently, rather like its owner. Big Petey also extended credit to anyone and

everyone and had more dishwashers than he did bar glasses because he was incapable of turning down a

job seeker. Big Petey was a good man, and he’d never seemed to mind Cal wasn’t much of a drinker.

Cal had a one-beer limit. Alcohol wasn’t advisable when training, and he wanted his head back in the

game. Plus, he’d seen more than one good soldier lose himself inside a bar. So, for the moment, he settled

for just sitting at the bar, empty bottle in front of him. The game played on the big screen, and the clack of

balls from the pool tables in the back competed with the occasional groan as a batter struck out. Tag and

Daeg, fellow former rescue swimmers and current co-owners of Deep Dive, had moved on to the

backroom and a game of pool and talking trash. More words flew than balls when those two played, only

proving that nothing much had changed since their last tour of duty together. He still thanked his lucky stars

every day that he’d been able to convince them to move up here from San Diego and join him rather than