Page 8

TRENT

I ’ve seen Sara in a bathing suit.

Sara with her top unbuttoned, her lush breasts spilling into my palms.

I’ve even seen Sara come apart with my fingers stroking her through damp satin, her head tilted back as she whimpers with pleasure.

But I’ve never seen anything more stunning than Sara with her legs spread wide, screaming another man’s name.

“Freeze, asshole!”

There’s a shout from behind me and the dull thud of footsteps. I brace for the impact, unable to tear my eyes off the woman I love.

These guards have been chasing me from the moment I stepped off the boat. If I hadn’t spent eight years training my body to maneuver in crisis, I wouldn’t have made it to this room.

Which would have been a shame because my God .

“Sara.” It sounds like a prayer, like a whisper of reverence. Maybe I’m dreaming and that’s why no one’s tackled me yet. Why Sara sits frozen in shock, just like the shirtless guy on his knees between her legs .

His sculpted chest rises and falls, my girlfriend’s arousal slicking his chin like a badge of honor I’ve never felt worthy of. This guy got the pleasure of tasting her there.

What a lucky fucking bastard.

“Right now!” Another shout echoes behind me. “Hands in the air, buddy.”

I could probably fight my way out of this, but I find myself raising my palms in surrender. Whatever it takes to keep my eyes glued to the sight right in front of me.

“Trent.” Sara blinks like she might be hallucinating.

The guy on his knees snatches his shirt off the floor, flinging it over her body. He’s glaring at me and I can’t really blame him. “What the fuck?”

Sara covers her breasts as she looks down at him. “Oh,” she breathes, like she’s remembering he’s there. Like she’s only just noticed how hard she came on his face.

I noticed everything. Every detail is seared in my brain forever.

When she looks back at me, I get the strangest sensation she’s about to introduce us. Like maybe I’ll walk in and shake the guy’s hand.

The hand I watched moving between Sara’s legs as she cried out and came on his fingers. As his tongue lapped that soft little swell I’ve only been able to tease through her panties.

Someone grabs me and wrenches my hands behind my back. I don’t bother fighting or looking over my shoulder. I just sink to my knees, letting some unseen force cuff my wrists.

My gaze stays glued to the guy who’s now using his body to shield Sara. As he pivots his back to the door, he flashes a U.S. Marines tattoo on one shoulder. He opens his arms, making a buffer of his broad back and biceps. As he’s craning his neck to glare at me, his eyes flash with familiar fire.

“Touch her and die.” That’s all he says, and some caveman part of me surges to fight him .

But someone behind me yanks my bound hands by the chain that’s connecting the cuffs. “You’re in so much trouble, buddy,” a guard snarls in my ear.

No kidding.

“Wait!” Sara leaps to her feet, clutching the shirt to her body as she pushes her way past the hulking Marine. “Stop! I know him. Let him go.”

The big guy follows, clenching his jaw in an expression that reminds me what SEALs call Marines. Jarhead stomps toward me, muscles bunching with menace. He looks like he’d love to pummel me into the ground.

I’d like to see him fucking try.

“Go ahead,” I growl, jerking my wrists in the handcuffs. “Having me cuffed is the only way to get a fair fight between a frogman and a jarhead.”

The Marine jerks to a halt. “You’re a SEAL?” That doesn’t stop him from coming at me. He’s not taking any chances on me getting loose and laying my hands on Sara. With a few steady steps, he’s between us again, shielding my girl with his half-naked body.

The guy folds his arms and glares. “I don’t care who the fuck you are, but that’s no way to treat a woman. You owe her a goddamn apology.”

I owe her a lot more than that.

I wish I could hate him, but I’d do the same in his shoes.

He’s protecting the woman I love, so I owe him the shirt off my back.

Also a punch in the jaw.

Behind the big shield of his frame, Sara drags his shirt over her head. Moving around him, she starts for the door and pleads with whoever just cuffed me. “It’s okay,” she pants, though clearly it’s not. “Please, just let me talk to him.”

Glancing behind me, I see three uniformed guards looking more than a little bit pissed. They’d probably hoped she’d ask them to drag my ass to jail. Is there even a jail on this island?

“Ma’am.” One of the guards clears his throat. “No unauthorized guests at this resort.”

Another guard pulls out his phone. “I’m calling Mr. Holyfield right now.”

“Good,” I grumble. “Tell him Trent James says hi.”

The guard looks surprised, then pauses a second before repeating my words into the phone. I can’t hear the response, but ten seconds later, he’s pressing the phone to my ear. “He wants to speak with you.”

I can’t use my hands, so I’m stuck on my knees with Sara standing over me in another man’s shirt. The man in question—the jarhead—just stands there scowling, his massive arms flexing.

I look into his eyes as I speak into the phone. “Hey, Holyfield.” I brace for the yelling. “I can explain.”

There’s a long, tense pause. “I sincerely hope so.”

That makes two of us.

“Uh, see, I found out Sara came here.” This isn’t sounding as smooth as I’d hoped. “And I wanted to talk to her.”

I can practically hear the man’s teeth grinding. “You’re aware there’s a device called a telephone,” Ashton Holyfield says stiffly. “Or email, perhaps, or an old-fashioned letter?”

“Yeah.” I think of the story I heard about Ash and Camille. How he fucked up and knew it and went after her. “You know what it feels like to screw up and then go crazy chasing after your girl?”

There’s a sound like he’s choking, then the man clears his throat. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Sara holds out her hand. “Let me talk to him.”

The guards just stare. One of them swallows with an audible click. “You want to speak to the owner of the resort?”

Another guard scoffs. “Ashton Holyfield is a very busy man.”

Sara scoffs right back. “He’s probably busy banging my bestie, Camille. Give me that.” She snatches the phone from his hand, leaving the wide-eyed guard gaping.

“I’m okay,” she says to Holyfield. “Please, can I just have a few minutes to speak with Trent and find out what the hell he’s thinking?”

I don’t hear the answer, but no one looks thrilled with that plan. Jarhead keeps glaring, while all three security guards stay glued to my side like I might get up and run.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I sound like a petulant ass. “I just need to talk to Sara.”

Jarhead growls low in his throat. “If I’m not mistaken, you had plenty of time for talking before you left her.”

I narrow my eyes, wishing like hell he’d put on his goddamn shirt. The shirt Sara’s wearing, which means she’d be naked and that would be…bad?

Fuck, I can’t think straight.

“This doesn’t concern you,” I snap at Jarhead.

“Oh, I think it does.” Dropping his arms, he bunches his oversized hands into fists.

Sara gives us a look as she wraps up her phone call with Holyfield. “Okay,” she says. “I promise. He’s a dickhead and I’m so mad at him, but Trent would never hurt me.” As her gaze drops to me, there’s a flicker of pain in her eyes. “Not physically, anyway.”

That doesn’t appease the four angry guys who surround me. Jarhead holds out his hand for the phone. “May I also speak with Mr. Holyfield?”

Sara hesitates.

“Please,” he adds, and she hands him the phone.

“Holyfield.” He’s staring at me as he speaks. “With all due respect, this asshole came barging in on a guest in a compromised position. I don’t really care who he is. No woman should be violated like that unless she’s specifically requested it as part of an enchantment.”

Violated?

Fucking violated?

Okay, yeah…maybe I see his point.

Glancing at Sara, I will her to look at me.

She’s watching Jarhead and a violent ache wracks my body.

Her cheeks are still flushed and her hair looks like someone’s been running his hands through it.

Did Jarhead touch her like that? Did she like feeling his fingers sifting through those silky-soft strands?

Did she love his big palms coasting down her body, touching her breasts, her hips, her?—

I witnessed the answer already.

She fucking loved it.

Like she’s hearing my thoughts, she looks down at me. She stares like we’re strangers, like she’s not sure what to do with me.

“Sara,” I croak, needing to say something. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Save it,” she snaps. “You’ve got a lot to apologize for. It’ll take a helluva lot more than sorry .”

As Jarhead wraps up his call, he hands the phone back to the guard. His eyes drop to mine and I watch his jaw clench. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

I’m hardly in a position to argue, but that doesn’t stop me. “You’re calling the shots now?”

Jarhead crosses his arms again. “I’m certainly in a better position to do so.”

I open my mouth to snarl that his most recent position was on his knees in front of my girlfriend, but that’s not a point in my favor. Or is it? I’m enraged and a little bit dazed. Maybe it’s jetlag, or maybe the mindfuck of watching the woman I love ride another man’s face.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, like an absolute asshole. “I hardly think meeting her two hours ago qualifies you to know what’s best for Sara.”

Jarhead claps back without missing a beat. “And stringing her on since she was fourteen makes you an expert?”

“I love her.” I sound fucking pathetic, but it’s true.

“I love Sara a thousand times more than I love anyone else on this planet, including myself.” Especially myself.

“Love’s messy sometimes, and I’ve messed it up plenty.

” I focus on Sara, done with addressing a stranger who has no stake in this.

“Please, Sar. Give me a chance to explain. To talk things over in private.”

Tears fill her eyes and she nods. “Okay.”

Jarhead frowns, touching her shoulder with one of those oversized hands. “I know you think you want to talk with him alone, but a man who’d treat you like that shouldn’t be trusted.”

I wait for Sara to argue. To insist that I’m safe, that she loves me and everything’s fine.

But she waits for the guard to hang up the phone before speaking. “I want everyone out of my room right now.” She looks from one guard to the other. Then her eyes drop to me. “Even you.”

“But—”

“I’m going to shower and get dressed.” She glances at Jarhead, who still has his hand on her shoulder. “And I need a few moments to say goodbye to my guest.”

A sour slosh of rage fills my chest. I hate that he’s winning this round. He doesn’t look down at me to gloat, which feels like another big point in his favor. We might be roughly the same size, but Jarhead’s being a bigger man than I am.

“Logan,” she says, as her brown eyes swing to his face. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll speak privately with Trent, but we’ll do it downstairs at Halcyon Bistro. Mr. Holyfield is arranging for a table in a private room with guards standing by.”

So Jarhead is Logan. I figured as much, but knowing his name makes him human.

I hate that.

And I want to hate him , but?—

“I want you happy and safe,” Logan says to my girl. “It’s your choice, and I respect women’s choices.” He pauses to fix me with a glare. “But I’m going on record as saying you deserve to be treated better than this.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks get a little bit pinker as the guards haul me up to my feet. She watches three uniformed men start dragging me out through the door.

Logan starts to follow, probably planning to punch me once Sara’s not watching, but she catches his arm, drawing him back to the room.

“Wait,” she says softly. “I need to give back your shirt.”

“Keep it,” he says, bending to kiss her flushed cheek. “I’m hoping I’ll see you again.”

Nibbling her lip, she nods. “I’d like that.”

I should hate it. I should punch his goddamn lights out.

But all I can think as he storms out the door is how fucking perfect she looked coming all over his face.