Page 1 of Stealthy Seduction (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #5)

H udson Steele tossed a poker chip into the pot and leaned back in his chair, shooting his teammate a lazy grin that dared him to fold.

The dining room of the SEAL base was thick with the scent of peanuts and the brand of trash talk that only happened in a break between ops.

Beside him, Sinclair gave an elaborate stretch, but Steele knew he was really trying to steal a look at his hand.

“Don’t even try it, Sinner,” Steele drawled in his smoothest Southern accent.

“Just trying to work this kink out of my neck.”

“Won’t work. You’re never going to un-kink yourself,” he jabbed.

Sinner flipped him the finger without looking up from his cards. “Funny coming from the guy who hasn’t blinked in five minutes. You guarding your hand or your reputation, Steele?”

Steele shifted in an attempt to ease the tension across his shoulder blades. Poker was about rules—knowing the odds, reading the man across from you, never letting emotion cloud the game. He was a damn rock. Unshakable. Always had been.

“Man’s a stone wall,” Mason muttered, shaking his head. “No poker face, just a poker soul. Cold, calculated…boring as hell.”

“Boring keeps you alive,” Steele shot back, pushing a neat stack of chips forward. “Without rules, there’s chaos. And chaos gets you killed.”

The table erupted in groans and jeers. It was just another night with his brothers, another hand…another pot to take.

“Steele does everything like a Southerner. Did you see how he leaned back in his chair?” Mason liked to trash talk during poker, but Steele wasn’t rattled. Ever. Besides, they were only trying to shake him because he was on a winning streak.

He didn’t glance away from his cards. “No point in moving fast until you need to. Conserve your energy.”

Mason snorted and slapped down his card with a force that couldn’t shake the heavy, expensive dining room table, one of the few pieces of furniture left over from the mansion’s previous owner after it was seized by the government and handed over to the Blackout Charlie team as their base.

The place was a fortress of tight security and routines like poker games and pizza nights. Steele liked it that way.

So when the adjoining kitchen flooded with women, he tried to forget that poker night coincided with hot tub and margaritas night for the women who lived on base with some of the guys.

Their voices grew louder as they crashed their poker game. All attention shifted to the women.

Sensing that their game was on pause until things settled, Steele glanced up—

At a pair of bare legs. Toned. The color of honey.

Slowly, he lowered his cards and let his gaze linger for a beat too long on those fine legs, before raking over the rest of the newcomer…ending in the black hood over her head.

The hood was protocol and must be worn by all newcomers to the base. But even with her face hidden, Steele knew every line of her as much as he knew the sway of her hips as one of the ladies led her into the room.

Then there was the telltale habit she had of tucking her thumb inside her palm.

“What’s Izzy doing here?”

Silence crashed over the group.

“Take the hood off her,” Con ordered.

Alyssa Vargas, who was living on the base under their protection after being targeted by a terrorist, reached up and pulled the hood off the guest.

Loose, glossy brown curls tumbled over Izzy Cruz’s shoulders. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the sudden light.

And her gaze fell on Steele.

Mason was staring at him too. “How did you know that was Izzy?”

Unruffled, he tore his attention from the stunning woman wearing what could only be a beach cover-up for hot tub night and glanced at his cards. “You guys were all trained the same as I was to profile a person.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. How did you know it was Izzy ?” Mason’s lips were quirked as if he suspected Steele was hiding something.

He tipped his jaw toward the woman. “Look at her.”

That body.

“Her height. Five-four. The scar on her left thumb.”

She tucked her thumb inside her fist once more and her amber eyes flashed to him.

For a beat, he soaked in the warmth of Izzy Cruz’s gaze.

It was like standing in a patch of late-afternoon sun after weeks of cold, the heat sinking through his skin straight to places he’d sworn were untouchable.

It was dangerous, that kind of warmth—tempting him to step closer when he should be holding the line.

“Hi, Izzy.” Steele’s South Carolina drawl sounded somehow thicker in his ear.

She gave him a flat look. “Special Operative Steele.”

A few of the guys said hello to her. He couldn’t help but noticed that she offered them smiles and greetings that were more personal than repeating their name and title.

In the kitchen, the blender started up.

Alyssa touched Izzy’s arm. “Come on, Izzy. Kennedy is making her famous margaritas.”

“Ooh, count me in.” Dante sprang to his feet at the mention of Kennedy, his significant other, but their leader, Constantine aka Con, pointed at the chair.

“You’re not going anywhere. And alcohol is off-limits while we’re on duty.”

Even though they all knew the rules, a grumble rippled around the table. Dante dropped back into his seat.

Steele couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking to Izzy’s legs as she followed Alyssa out of the room.

The game resumed, but they had to raise their voices to be heard over the blender and the talk of the women who were all gathered—Sophie, May, Alyssa and Kennedy.

And Izzy.

He’d only seen her once before, when one of the guys on the team tracked her down and brought her back into Alyssa’s life. While he knew the pair spent time together on occasion, he hadn’t crossed paths with her again until today.

The woman even looked good in a damn blackout hood.

She drifted into his view, framed by the doorway, that gauzy white dress that he knew was most likely covering a swimsuit floating around her curvy thighs.

A vision of Izzy in a bikini flashed through his mind. Tiny laces crisscrossing her bare skin, itty bitty triangles over each full breast…and lower.

His gut gripped at the private slideshow scrolling through his head.

May said something to her, and she swung around to answer, which put her in profile and gave Steele the chance to study her without her taking notice.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he told the guys he memorized everyone he saw in passing.

The skill had come in handy more than once in his career, but Izzy Cruz’s legs were pretty noteworthy.

The last time she’d been on the Blackout Charlie base, she had been wearing shorts, and he recalled every inch of those legs.

“Taking your time to study that scar on Izzy’s thumb some more?” Mason gibed from across the table.

“He’s taking his time, all right.” Dante grinned and then laid a card down.

“Conservin’ energy,” Mason added.

He got his head back in the game and made a good play that wiped the grin off Mason’s face when he was forced to fold.

He shot his buddy a smug glance.

The hand finished with the poker chips stacked in front of Steele. It helped a lot that Izzy moved out of view.

By the time the new hand was dealt, he was just hitting his stride. The ladies went off to soak in the hot tub, which meant they could really get down to business. Steele won two hands, and Mason one.

When the women filed in again, some sporting swimsuits with towels wrapped around them, his stare went straight to the only woman he didn’t want to see—yet couldn’t take his damn eyes off of.

It had been too long since he’d seen any action that didn’t involve a sniper rifle.

Izzy trailed in last, a colorful beach towel swaddling her hips, the end twisted and tucked in at the smallest part of her waist. And that bikini top Steele had envisioned.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but damn close. The bright orange color, almost red, made her skin glow. The cups weren’t triangles but still left little to the imagination.

Kennedy walked straight over to Dante and leaned over his shoulder. Alyssa passed behind Steele and he quickly lowered his cards so she couldn’t see his hand. But the next minute her lover, Julian Chase, won the round.

And Izzy stood on the outside of the group, margarita in hand and one hip cocked outward.

He always suspected the woman saw too much, could read undercurrents most people didn’t pick up.

She’d once been an investigative journalist. Her job was digging up dirt and spreading it out for the public to see no matter how filthy it was.

He stared at her for a moment too long, and Mason noticed. Of course he did.

“Hey, Izzy. You good at poker?” Mason called out.

“Yes.”

No boasting about her skills. Just yes.

Mason pointed to a vacant seat, which happened to be beside himself. “Deal her in, boys.”

As soon as she’d settled and had cards fanned in her slender fingers, Steele ripped his stare away from her bikini top long enough to catch her eye. “You can’t be good at poker.”

“Why is that?”

“You don’t have a poker face.”

But she did have freckles.

She gave a small toss of her head that sent her loose curls dancing along her sleek shoulders. “Are you kidding me? I paid half of my rent in college from poker winnings.”

“So you do have a poker face.”

She looked straight at him. “No. It’s my boobs.”

The table erupted in laughter, but more than one of the single guys were staring at her breasts.

Laughing, Alyssa returned to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

Kennedy slipped into Dante’s lap. When Kennedy leaned closer to whisper something to Izzy, Steele straightened.

“All right, y’all stop cheating. No whispering with the players.

Alyssa has walked behind me three times now.

She got a good look at my cards and everyone else’s. ”

Alyssa chuckled. “What reason would I have for looking at your terrible hand, Hudson?”

At her use of his name, Izzy’s eyes flashed to him.

“No one is cheating, Steele. You’re just on a losing streak.” Mason threw a look at Izzy.