A SEAL's Secret. Tawny Weber
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I’m not used to being ignored.”
Mitch’s lips twitched. Truer words were never spoken.
Shirtless, wearing buckskins and a feather behind his ear, Gabriel Thorne—call sign Romeo—was a man who thrived on attention. And he had plenty to thrive on. Mitch had served with the guy for six years off and on, and he’d never once seen him get shot down. Actually, Mitch wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Romeo make the first move. The guy was usually too busy fending off the women to need to.
“Since I don’t plan to go home with you tonight, I’m not worried about bruising your ego,” he told his friend, happy to gloss right over the temporary and mind-boggling fog of lust. Mitch wouldn’t let himself look toward the blonde again. Not until he’d had a chance to analyze what had happened and figure out how she’d managed to short-circuit his brain.
“My ego is Teflon,” Gabriel assured him, his black eyes dancing with amusement aimed at the both of them. Native American blood ran strong in Thorne, from the hint of blue in his close-cut hair to the gold of his skin and razor-sharp cheekbones. “Besides, it’s not just the ladies who pay close attention, my friend. I knock, the enemy listens.”
“Might have a little to do with the IED you’re aiming their way,” Mitch pointed out with a grin. A demolitions expert, Thorne could make a grenade dance around a corner, scurry down a hall or chase a man up a mountain. “But don’t let me rain all over your fantasy with my boring reality.”
“Bro, my reality is most guys’ fantasy.” Gabriel winked. “But then, so is yours. Navy SEAL, fast-tracking your way through the ranks with enough medals and commendations to cover a wall. And you’re not bad-looking, so you don’t scare away the ladies when they’re hitting on me. All in all, I’d say we’re a damned good team.”
“Yep,” Mitch agreed, draining his beer. Gabriel liked to say he kept Mitch around as a wingman because most guys couldn’t handle his success with the ladies.
Mitch knew better, but it didn’t bother him enough to correct his friend.
“So you wanna fill me in?”
“Not really.” Mitch didn’t have to ask what Gabriel meant. He’d known his little trip into the lusty fog wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“She came in with the brunette with the broken halo. They’re not connected with any of the team, so I figure Roz sent them. Either that or they’re enemy infiltrators, here to deliver food and steal our Halloween secrets.”
Impressed, Mitch grinned and shook his head. It was hard to be irritated with the guy’s uncanny insights when they were always delivered with a laugh.
“What? You don’t have her name? A detailed dossier on her likes and dislikes, contact information and bra size?”
“Hey, I’m in explosives, not intelligence.”
“Ahh,” Mitch said, drawing the word out.
In true Romeo fashion, the other man arched one brow and nodded. Challenge accepted.
“Five,” Gabriel said, referring to the number of minutes he guaranteed it’d take him to win the challenge.
“Bet,” Mitch confirmed, agreeing to their usual terms.
Five minutes was enough time to make sure he had control over his reactions—both north and south of his belt.
Gabriel stood, grabbed their empty beer bottles and sauntered across the room. He didn’t head for the blonde, though. Instead he lost himself in the crowd around the pool table.
Less than a minute later he was back with four beers, a slight frown and the brunette with the broken halo and a body made to tempt Satan.
“Mitch, this is Tessa. She was nice enough to bring our food since my hands are full.”
Mitch arched a brow. He’d had to resort to a lame excuse like that to get the woman over? Romeo was losing his touch.
Ignoring Mitch’s grin, Gabriel took the plate of egg rolls.
“These are great. But you’re too gorgeous to be with catering,” Gabriel said, leaning back on his heels and giving the angel an assessing look. “How’d you get roped into playing waitress?”
The brunette matched him look for look, then shrugged.
“Roz asked, so Livi and I delivered.”
Mitch glanced at his watch.
“Livi? Isn’t that Roz’s niece?”
Mitch almost rolled his eyes. Damned if the man didn’t belong in intelligence. Of course, the only way he’d be any good there was if the US needed to infiltrate a harem guarded by women on an all-female island. But that was beside the point.
“You’re wanting to meet Livi?” the brunette said slowly, giving Gabriel a long look before turning those assessing eyes on Mitch. He was pretty sure those baby blues garnered as much info on him in that single look as the Pentagon had in their last security check. The military had approved his clearance. He wasn’t so sure the angel would.
No big deal. It wasn’t like he needed a wingman—or in this case wingman and winged woman—to get the girl. Before Mitch could brush off the sultry angel, she turned and gave a low whistle, waving her friend over.
While she did, Gabriel lifted his wrist to show he was on minute three of five.
But Mitch wasn’t paying attention.
His focus was the Twinkie, who after a moment’s hesitation crossed the room to join them.
Mitch knew there were words being said.
He was sure he was missing out on the fun of watching Romeo strike out.
But the closer the blonde came, the deeper into that fog of lust Mitch fell.
Brown. Her eyes were the color of melted milk chocolate. Rich, warm and inviting. Up close her face was even more striking in its delicacy. Especially the contrast of those dark eyes and brows against her pale skin and golden hair.
Those rich, hypnotic eyes met his.
Mitch could see interest there. And heat. Oh, yeah. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. He recognized that heat.
He opened his mouth to introduce himself. Before he could, Romeo snapped his fingers.
“Olivia Kane.”
The blonde blinked, frowned and pulled her gaze away from Mitch to look at Gabriel.
“Yes?”
Mitch grimaced. He didn’t have to look at his watch to know it had been just under five minutes.
“I’m a big fan. I’d love to talk about your training programs. Excuse me just one second, though.” Gabriel glanced at Mitch and grinned. “Thirty-six bravo, and out.”
“I’M MITCH DONOVAN. And you’re Olivia?”
Unable to find words, Livi simply nodded and nestled her hand into Mitch’s much warmer, much larger one.
It was like grabbing a live wire. His touch zapped a shaft of hot desire through her system with so much intensity, Livi wanted to lie down. On the nearest flat surface, preferably with him on top of her.
She could run a four-minute mile, lead an advanced interval-training class for fifty women while giving detailed verbal instructions, or handle herself in the kickboxing ring against a toothless bruiser named Bubba.
And she could do them all with a big smile, an average maximum heart rate of 120, and absolute faith her training meant that even if she got distracted by talking, muscle memory would get her through the workout.
But right now her smile was as