Page 32 of Boomer (SEAL Team Tier 1, #7)

She waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. I wasn’t thrilled about you running in there again. There were plenty of professionals who could’ve done the job.”

Boomer exhaled through his nose, throat tight. “We don’t leave anyone behind, no matter what, darlin’. That’s what I just told Bash.”

Her head tilted slightly. “You talked to Bash? Like, an actual conversation?”

He nodded, still half-shocked himself. “Maybe he’s a somewhat decent guy.”

Her smile was soft, wistful. “He is a decent guy, and I’m sure it didn’t go unnoticed that he wanted a second chance.”

Her hands moved again, slow, deliberate. She reached for the tie around his thigh holster, fingers brushing his hip, then his waist. The belt loosened. The weapon clinked softly on the table.

She was disarming him, piece by piece.

He was helplessly letting her.

She lifted her gaze again, and it felt like a switch flipped behind his ribs.

“We had a relationship,” she said quietly.

“In university. He was fun. Charming. But closed off in all the ways that mattered. After graduation, he ghosted. The next time I saw him was on a joint training op with GSG 9. He apologized, but I’ve been cautious since.

I think I hurt him. But it couldn’t be helped.

” She stepped closer, her palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulders.

“I can’t do that again. I don’t want anyone else.

I don’t want to see anyone else but you, Carter. ”

His heart thudded against his ribs so hard it felt like detcord winding tight through his chest. Bash had let her down and she cut him loose?

His whole body locked up with what he was keeping under wraps.

Not sure if he could give her anything more than Bash had.

No, that wasn’t true. He could. But he was afraid.

Opening those wounds about Mike, about what it cost him, about how broken he felt underneath the humor and control.

Bash was Boomer’s proof that Taylor didn’t tolerate emotional silence.

He would have to be open or lose her. What would that cost him? What would that cost her?

Then she smiled. A slow, sensual smile that affected him like a blow right to the gut. Just that easily, just that quick, he ached to kiss those tantalizing lips of hers, wanted to eat her up, inch by delectable inch and taste her in every hot, sweet, womanly place.

He was at his limit. His fucking limit.

With a low, torn sound, he grabbed her and yanked her against him, arms wrapping around her as his mouth found hers. Rough. Starved. Hungry like he was finally taking what he’d denied himself too long.

She groaned softly and kissed him back like fire, her mouth devouring his, her hands clutching his shirt, her body arching into his like she couldn’t get close enough.

Her lips parted as she sucked in a quick, startled breath, and he shoved his fingers into her hair and held her head in his hands, rendering her immobile as he delivered a demanding, opened-mouthed, tongue-tangling kiss she couldn’t escape.

He shifted closer and poured everything into the hot, ruthless kiss, aggression, dominance, and the desperate need to purge her from his mind, his dreams, his entire system. Fire pooled in his belly and lower, his frustration mingling with an undeniable need to possess her in every way imaginable.

She didn’t resist him as he continued to consume her mouth the same way he wanted to ravish her body, with his lips, teeth, and tongue, and the craving for her grew stronger, a ravenous heat and hunger he was hard-pressed to keep at bay.

His thick erection nudged her mound, and he slid a muscular thigh up between her legs until his knee pressed against her sex, forcing her to ride him. God, he’d never, ever needed a woman as badly as he ached for Taylor.

He wanted to worship her with his hands, taste her everywhere with his tongue until she begged him to let her come. Then he wanted to fuck her until she screamed with the pleasure of it, and he finally gave himself over to the hot, pulsing release he’d denied himself for too long.

She shuddered and moaned, and it was the pressure of her fingers digging into his arms that snapped him out of his carnal thoughts. He reached down, cupped her ass, ground himself against the heat of her. Christ . He was going to lose it if he didn’t get her naked, slick, his .

Then came the knock. Breakneck’s voice, muffled, “Debrief in five.”

Boomer broke the kiss like someone had detonated cold air between them.

He immediately let her go so that he wasn’t wrapped so intimately around her.

They stared at one another, both of them breathing hard, panting.

Her blue eyes were wide and dilated, her expression stunned.

He’d never treated a woman so roughly before, not that she’d tried to stop him.

His hands were still on her hips. Hers were still curled in his shirt.

“We better go,” she whispered, but her eyes tracked his face like she was memorizing every angle. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her hands released him last.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Not until she reached the door, and even then, he was half afraid that if she looked back, he’d drag her to the bench, bury himself inside her, and risk Ice’s ire.

It would be a miracle if he survived this deployment, and it wasn’t the drug dealers he was worried about.

The hallway was cool, but it did nothing to stop the heat simmering beneath Taylor’s skin. She pressed a hand to her stomach, fingers trembling slightly as she turned the corner, the buzz of voices rising ahead.

Her mouth still burned. Her heart was still thudding like a war drum. She could still feel his thigh between her legs.

Christ.

She’d nearly come apart in the damn cages. Carter Finley hadn’t just kissed her. He’d consumed her. Taken her mouth like he’d been starving for it. For her.

And the worst part? She’d let him. Wanted him. God needed him.

She took a breath, then another just before stepping into the debrief room.

The lights were harsh, fluorescent. The room smelled like coffee, bloodied gear, and sweat. Iceman was already seated, arms crossed, impassive as ever. SBS Captain Lockhart stood to the side, conferring quietly with his men. Bash was in the back, posture stiff, his eyes already on her.

Boomer came in a few seconds after her, expression shuttered, calm. If not for the mess of his shirt and the raw look he hadn’t quite managed to hide in his eyes, no one would’ve guessed what had just happened between them.

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Instead, she locked onto the item on the table.

A black binder.

Charred around the edges. Metal spine warped. Laminated sheets peeking out from inside.

“Where did this come from?” she asked, voice steady, clipped.

Boomer answered, voice low. “Bash and I found it while clearing the northwest corner of the warehouse buried under collapsed steel. The whole thing nearly went unnoticed.”

Taylor stepped forward and opened the cover. Her blood chilled as her eyes scanned the columns.

Port codes. Cargo manifests. Transit dates.

But not just any manifests. These were ghost ship routes.

They were current. She flipped a page and another.

Multiple European ports listed: Lisbon, Marseille, Cagliari, Constan?a.

One in Tangier. Another that raised alarm bells instantly —Porto de Aveiro. Not even on MAOC’s high-alert radar.

Her pulse stuttered.

“These are live movements,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Some of these vessels are already in transit, and we haven’t interdicted a single one yet.”

Lockhart stepped in beside her, grim. “They’re rotating ships and identifiers. Dead captains. Disposable crews. Every one of these could be rigged with mobile labs or worse.”

Taylor looked up, her throat dry. “This changes everything.”

Bash spoke, voice hoarse. “The shell company’s name was on the last page. I flagged it before bringing it in. Cross-border financial chain, loosely tied to a logistics firm operating out of Dubrovnik. No hard links to Arkan Holdings, but it smells like the same sewage.”

Boomer’s jaw ticked. “They’re testing us. Using ghost ships as floating trials. Maybe even distractions.”

Iceman leaned forward. “How many on this list?”

“Seven,” Taylor answered. “Three of them flagged to arrive within the next ten days.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

The weight of it settled like sandbags across the room.

She closed the binder gently, knuckles white. Then looked right at Boomer.

Not a flicker of anything crossed his face, but she felt him watching her in return. Not just professionally. Not just like a man listening to a mission brief.

Like a man waiting. Waiting to see if she would fall apart. She wouldn’t. But God help her, she still wanted to kiss him again. Hard.

Iceman exhaled, slow and deliberate. “We’re not touching this tonight.”

Taylor looked up. “You want to stand down?”

“I want my men alive and sharp,” he said, eyes flicking over to Boomer, then back to Lockhart.

“We’ve been running hard for two ops back to back.

This notebook’s a gift, but it’ll wait a few hours while we sleep off the last engagement and hand it to the analysts who get paid to sift through logistics code. ”

Lockhart nodded once, his gaze going to Bash who looked about ready to collapse. “I agree. My team needs to regroup.”

Taylor considered the intel again. It was hot but not in danger of going cold overnight. They’d need fully operational teams to start planning multiple interdictions.

She gave a nod. “I’ll get it couriered to the MAOC intel cell and loop in the CIA liaison. We'll prioritize follow-up at 0800.”

Iceman stood. “Good. Everyone clean up, rack out. We hit this fresh.”