Page 11 of Covert Temptation (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #4)

S ince his first day at boot camp, Dante always woke at five a.m. sharp. He rarely broke routine. But this morning, it wasn’t so easy to jump out of bed.

A beautiful woman lay next to him, her legs tangled with his. Her just-had-sex hair was spread across the pillow, the locks transformed to icy blue from the early morning light streaming through the window.

He studied her face for a long beat, drinking in the peace on her stunning features. A peace he didn’t feel inside.

Everything about their night together was wrong—a mistake.

So why didn’t it feel like it was?

Emotions looped through Dante’s chest, and he didn’t do emotions, especially not where Kennedy Bloom was concerned.

He was her security detail and his watch. He was protecting her from any unseen threat while ensuring she didn’t run when they finally figured out what she was hiding.

He let a sigh trickle out and slowly shifted out from under her knee thrown across his thigh.

His bare foot didn’t even hit the floor before Kennedy’s groggy voice reached him. “Where are you going?”

“It’s time for my workout.”

She didn’t open her eyes. “I thought I gave you your workout.”

Lips quirking at one corner, he disentangled himself from her limbs and swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

After a quick shower in the main bathroom—he took a cold one, telling himself it was only to wake up—he dressed in loose shorts and a black T-shirt.

Quietly, he moved through the house, checking everything.

Doors, windows, and through the app on his phone, he studied the security footage from the cameras set on the perimeter.

Safe houses like this were planted all over the world, and there was a reason they were sent to a remote spot away from the public eye. Kennedy was a prominent figure, a personal assistant to an ambassador. Photos of her would be easy to find, if someone was looking.

A worm of unease slithered through him. He didn’t want to think about somebody finding her, even as another wave of guilt rolled through him.

He shouldn’t have gotten close to her.

Thinking back on their last few hours together, he couldn’t find a single moment where she seemed fake. The only thing she’d ever asked for was pleasure—pure, unguarded and real.

But that didn’t mean he could let his guard down again. Going forward, he’d have to stay sharp. No matter how tempting she was, he couldn’t afford to be swayed by someone the team didn’t quite trust.

Dante moved in silence, his body working through his routine on muscle memory. Push-ups, mountain climbers, holds and squats. The living room wasn’t exactly spacious, but there was just enough room between the beat-up couch and the narrow coffee table to accommodate his need to burn energy.

Kennedy’s words rolled through his mind. I thought I gave you your workout.

The woman had no damn idea what he was capable of—or how long he could last. Though he recovered quick enough to perform almost back-to-back the previous night, that was far from typical for any man. Seemed a year-long dry spell did have its benefits, especially when it came to pleasing Kennedy.

The windows were dark with stillness, and the snow outside cast a faint glow. He powered through another set of push-ups, counting each in his head the same way Kennedy counted the number of steps to reach the front door or the bedroom.

The question of why she did that circulated through his mind, mingling with other questions regarding his research on Daniel Sheen. He had a lot of work ahead of him today.

His shoulders flexed as he dropped into another plank hold. He hardly noticed the way his core engaged because another muscle had memory—of bracing himself between Kennedy’s sweet thighs right before driving into her slick, tight heat.

He gritted his teeth and continued to hold for thirty seconds…a minute…before rolling out of it and performing a quick succession of sit-ups, hooking his feet under the edge of the couch.

Routine was everything. He needed this. Every morning, without fail, he woke early and worked his muscles in the base gym until they ached and his head cleared.

In the field, that balance kept him alive. But last night had wrecked his equilibrium, and not only because of the sex.

The way Kennedy had burrowed into him like she belonged there, warm and pliant and trusting, made him feel like he was home, something he hadn’t experienced in far too long.

It hadn’t felt like a one-night mistake. That was the problem.

He was halfway through the circuit again when he heard a soft footstep on the floor. He faltered for a brief second but held his plank, more than his body rigid as she came close enough that he caught the scent of her shampoo.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He just had to keep his head down, retain focus.

Then he made the mistake of looking up at her…and instantly regretted it.

The woman stood in the doorway, wearing the same nightshirt he’d stripped off her the night before. Now that it was daylight, he saw it was striped with blue and white like it belonged to a man.

And he did not like that. At fucking all.

The faint light coming through the kitchen windows outlined her body beneath the thin cotton sleepwear, leaving nothing up to his imagination. She stood with her legs parted, and he just knew she wasn’t wearing panties again.

And his cum was still inside her.

His balls tightened against his body, prepared for another round of play.

She stood there with no bra, no shame, just long, sexy legs, mussed hair and that half smile that told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Morning.” Her voice still rasped with sleep.

Or from her screams of ecstasy.

He ground his molars.

“I’ll make coffee.”

He said nothing. What was there to say to a woman so goddamn sexy she made his balls as blue as the morning light cast on the snow?

When she drifted into the kitchen, he tried to focus on his workout, going into a set of burpees that would end a man who wasn’t trying like hell to work off his sexual frustration.

She puttered around the kitchen making coffee. Every once in a while, she passed through his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of the ripe curve of her ass as she reached up to the shelf for a mug.

“Christ,” he bit off, and lost count of his reps.

If she was going to ruin his concentration like this every morning, he would have to carve out a new time for his workout.

She filled the kitchen doorway again, mug in hand. She’d run her fingers through her hair, making it wave off her face. And she wore a soft smile.

He jumped to his feet and strode up to her. “Excuse me. I’m going to get some coffee.”

“Sure.” She shifted to the side, allowing him to inch past her. The hair on his nape prickled with awareness as he felt the heat of her body stroke across his skin.

When he returned to the living room, he found Kennedy had taken a seat on the couch, legs crossed as she sipped her steaming coffee.

A beam of light highlighted the smoothness of her shin.

Those damn legs.

He took a seat at the desk and opened his email. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her shifting positions, propped up on a pillow with her legs stretched out in front of her.

He flicked his gaze away from her legs—long, bare—to her face.

And found her already watching him.

The soft bow of her lips curving into a knowing smile hit him square in the chest. A teasing gleam danced in her dark eyes. “Why are you giving me that scowl, Dante? You seemed to like me just fine at three a.m.”

The mischievous lilt in her voice told him that she knew, maybe better than he did, how unbalanced he stood on that fault line of desire.

He jolted to his feet. “I’m going to shower.” For the second time that morning.

This time, he’d make it cold enough to sting.

* * * * *

The bathroom door clicked shut, and thirty seconds later she heard the low rush of water. Kennedy pictured Dante without meaning to—the spray striking his sculpted back, water sluicing down his strong hips and that carved ass that had driven her wild the night before.

Her brain skipped backward, mentally tracing the ridges of his abs all the way down to his impressive, straining, stiff cock, and the way his eyes darkened as he pulled her beneath him like she belonged there.

She curled her toes into the edge of the old couch and tucked the blanket tighter around herself in an effort to feel less exposed, physically and otherwise.

Besides the occasional splash of water hitting tile and the never-ending whisper of the wind, the house was silent.

She let her head fall back on the cushion, staring up at the ceiling. The plaster had soft swirl patterns common in older houses, and she traced them while her mind took a trip backward to the night she shared with Dante.

She was still buzzing. On a scale of one to ten, she would rate the sex as mind-blowing. And the way he didn’t tell her to leave afterward, brushing his fingers over her skin and pressing an occasional kiss to her temple, left her with all the fuzzy feels.

But what made her feel warm and fuzzy was waking up to the wall of muscle that was Dante’s body, a shield between her and the door.

And now he was in the shower for the second time in an hour, probably not even thinking about her as he rinsed the soap from all those muscles.

Her gaze drifted to the desk at the far corner of the room. A low electrical hum came from the laptop, and she realized with a small start that the screen was still glowing.

For all his discipline, like waking up at five a.m. for a workout, he didn’t take the precaution to turn off his equipment.

He’d left it where anyone—namely her—could access it.

She shifted on the sofa. Curiosity flooded her veins, mingling with the afterglow she was still experiencing. Dante didn’t make mistakes. Did his leaving the laptop on and unattended mean he trusted her, even a little bit?