Page 9

LOGAN

“ H old up,” I call to the guards. Glancing behind me, I make sure Sara’s already shut the door. “Let me talk to him a sec.”

The guards shift uneasily, looking at each other for direction. The one who’s in charge squares his shoulders. “We have instructions from Mr. Holyfield to have him delivered to the private dining room at Halcyon.”

“I’ll call Holyfield now.” We already spoke a few minutes ago, but this time I’ll do it without Sara listening. I know that’s a little bit douchey, but the dickhead in cuffs set the bar low.

My billionaire boss answers on the first ring. “Holyfield.”

“It’s Logan again.” The boss man and I have had several long chats about personal stuff. He trusts me as more than an employee. “The guy who burst in on the guest in room sixteen is an operator.” I should probably clarify I don’t mean telephone. “Spec Ops—a SEAL.”

“Yeah, I know,” Holyfield mutters. “Kinda wondered if Trent James might’ve gone off the deep end.”

Busting in on your girlfriend riding a stranger’s tongue might qualify. “I can confirm that, sir. ”

“You’re worried he’s dangerous?”

“I’d like to assess that myself.” I glance at the dickhead—a fucking frogman—who’s glaring at me with a guard gripping each of his shoulders. “I’d like fifteen minutes alone with him in The Hole.”

The asshole’s eyes flicker, which was kinda my reason for saying that.

A couple months back, Holyfield built us a luxury space for our support group of ex-military consorts.

It needed a name, and a consort from Singapore’s Special Operations Force suggested The Pit .

It was meant as an ironic hat tip to someplace he’d been as a prisoner, so we called it The Hole in honor of Holyfield.

Also because it’s hilarious to call any room The Hole at a sex resort. But Dickhead here doesn’t need to know that.

I want him a little bit scared.

But the guy doesn’t scare easily. He just gives me an unflinching stare as the boss man considers my request.

“That’s fine,” Holyfield says. “I thought I knew Trent well, but maybe not since he went AWOL on Sara. I trust you’ll assess things better than I could.”

“Thank you, sir.” I can’t help shooting a triumphant look at Frogman. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thank you, Logan. I’ll text security and let Sara know you’ll deliver Trent to the private dining space at Halcyon.”

“I’ll have him there at eighteen-hundred hours.” I hang up the phone and nod to the guards. “I’ll take him from here. Holyfield’s sending you a text.”

Their pagers all ping at the same time and the guards glance down at the screens.

I look at Frogman. “Let’s go.”

He darts a grim look at the guards. “Any chance you can un-cuff me first?”

“Nope.” I grab hold of his arm, which feels like wrapping my hand around a tree trunk. I’m a big guy, and Frogman’s about the same build. “Not until I know our guests and the staff are safe from you flipping your lid.”

He grumbles a little but allows me to lead him down the walkway and past the pool deck to the oceanfront room where I meet three times a week with consorts from various branches of the military.

We’ve got SAS guys from England, a paratrooper from Poland, even a badass female helo pilot from the Rwanda Defense Force.

I shove open the door and a cool blast of a/c hits us both in the face. Frogman scans the room like he’s checking for landmines. I watch as his smooth forehead furrows. “This is The Hole?”

“Yep.” I nudge him toward the big conference table, letting the door slam shut behind us. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’d rather not take off the cuffs just yet.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters. He stares at my face for a second, his gaze zooming in on my mouth. “Could I at least get you to, uh?—”

“Wipe your girlfriend off my chin?” Goddammit, that was gauche. This guy brings it out in me. “Yeah, gimme a sec.”

I scrub up at the sink in the corner as Frogman chooses a chair with a view of the door.

I do the same after drying my hands and checking to make sure the handcuffs are secure.

Most Special Forces guys are trained to pick locks, and it’s not like these cuffs are top-notch.

They’re the same ones we use for our bondage enchantments, so each consort has their own key.

We don’t see a whole lot of crime on this island.

“So.” Folding my arms on the table, I stare down the dickhead at the other end.

He stares right back, unruffled and dead in the eyes. “Is Logan your real name?”

“Yes.” I don’t love that he’s asking questions. “You’re Trent James? ”

“Yep.” His rugged jaw clenches. He’s clearly been trained to handle himself in an interrogation.

So have I. Aside from being my team’s demolition guy, I specialized in counterintelligence and elicitation techniques. While I don’t plan to rough up this dickhead, I do intend to get information.

“How did you find Sara?”

“Educated guess.” There’s the tiniest tick at the edge of his jaw. “Her best friends both came here and enjoyed their experience.”

Pretty sure he’s lying, or at least leaving something out. But that’s not my biggest concern. “Why did you come here?”

“To see Sara.”

I can’t help poking the bear just a little. “Did you get the eyeful you expected?”

He doesn’t react. Just sits there in stone-cold silence.

I wait him out, meeting his stare with a blank one of my own. I’m almost surprised when the dickhead caves first.

“I’m no danger to Sara,” he says. “I’ve known her since we were kids.”

“With all due respect, women don’t generally come here unless somebody hurt them somehow.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen the man flinch. He lets out a long, ragged breath, dropping his eyes to the table. “I know I fucked up,” he says softly. “But I never meant for things to happen like this.”

What the hell does that mean? “What did you expect? And you still haven’t said why you’re here.”

He raises those weird golden eyes. “I don’t owe you an explanation. Not until I’ve talked to Sara. I owe her the dignity of having that discussion in private.”

It’s a fair point. “How do I know you’re not some wife-beating prick who came here to finish the job?”

He blanches at that, looking sick to his stomach. “I’d rather die than hurt Sara. Hurt any woman, ever. I’d—I’d never do that.” His tortured expression tells me he means it. “I’ll admit I handled our breakup poorly, but I’d never intentionally harm Sara in any way.”

For some bizarre reason, I believe him. “Why did you wait until she came here to try and win her back?”

“I didn’t come here to win Sara back.” His big shoulders slump as he looks out at the sea. “I don’t deserve her, and I know I can’t make her happy in the long run. That’s—that’s non-negotiable.”

“Okay.” He’s not making sense, but I’m guessing the explanation falls under the heading of details this dickhead doesn’t owe me. “So why did you come?”

Closing his eyes, he sighs. “We grew up religious, believing sex is something that should be saved for marriage.”

Wait.

Is this fuckhead saying he’s a virgin?

“No,” he says, opening his eyes. “To answer the question you’re thinking, I’m not a virgin. But Sara is.” He frowns. “ Was . Fuck, I don’t know.”

I don’t owe this guy any details from Sara’s enchantment. What happened in that room before Frogman showed up is between her and me. If she wants to share, she can tell him herself.

But the nature of what Frogman’s saying bugs the shit out of me.

“Let me make sure I’m understanding this right. You believe she’s a ruined woman if someone else touches her p?—”

“No!” He practically shouts his response. “Absolutely not.” He hesitates there, like he’s gauging how much to tell me.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, glancing out the window again.

Maybe it’s a love of the sea like the one that drives most SEALs, but I don’t think that’s it.

He can’t meet my eyes for some reason. “We almost had sex a few times, but I always held back. I know Sara’s family.

I know how she was raised, and I knew she’d regret not waiting, so I forced myself to be strong.

To hold out and give her the white wedding she’d wanted her whole life. ”

“Okay.” Purity culture goes over my head, but I get that it matters to some people. “So once you split up, you found out she’d ditched the white wedding plan?”

He takes a long time responding. “I made her a promise,” he says. “When I was eighteen and went off to BUD/S.” He frowns. “That’s Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL trai?—”

“I know what BUD/S is. I’ve got a buddy who’s part of the Teams.”

“Right, yeah.” He takes a second to regroup. “We agreed to split up for that stretch of time. We took several other breaks over the years—the long-distance thing gets tough, you know?”

“Uh—”

“So yeah, we broke up a few times. And Sara made me promise I’d never tell her what happened when we were apart.” His mouth presses into a thin, fretful line. “She asked me to swear that no matter what happened, we’d find our way back to each other. That I’d be the man to take her virginity.”

I blink. “Pretty sure she didn’t expect you to stick to that once you called off the wedding.”

Dickhead looks down at the table. “I keep my promises. It’s the reason I can’t get married.

” That doesn’t make sense, but he glosses right over explaining it.

“I thought she’d still stick with her plan.

She’d move on with her life and find some nice guy to marry.

That her husband-to-be would still be the first guy to have her.

” He swallows hard, looking like a guy who’s hoping the floor opens up and swallows him.

“I never in a million years thought she’d come here . ”

“I see.” In a weird way, I do. “So, now that she’s hell-bent on getting laid outside wedlock, you’d like to do the honors.”

Fury flares in his eyes. “Don’t talk about Sara like that.”

I study his face, confused by the reaction. For all this guy’s faults, he hasn’t once slut-shamed the woman for what he witnessed when he walked into that room.

And while he’s taken a few jabs at me, he’s not as pissed as he could be that I had my tongue in her pussy.

That sweet, tight, perfect little?—

Fuck.

A fierce throb of need pulses through me. That’s…unexpected.

Don’t get me wrong, I love sex. I’d have to, given my job.

But for the first time in more than three years, a guest got under my skin. Something about Sara feels different. From the moment I saw her in that sexy little skirt with her sweetly shy smile and her dark hair loose around her shoulders, I wanted her in a way I don’t usually crave guests.

I still fucking want her, if I’m being honest.

Trent’s eyes narrow. He’s watching my face like he knows what I’m thinking. “You gonna let me go?” He tips his chin toward the clock on the wall. “It’s almost eighteen-hundred hours. Time for me to meet Sara.”

“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my chin. “All right. You’ve convinced me you don’t intend to hurt her.” The guards will be watching in any case, and I plan to stick close by. “But if you break her heart?—”

“I won’t.” His mouth presses into a thin line. “I’ll be clear from the start that I’m not in this forever. That I’m only here to hold up my end of our bargain.”

“If that’s what she wants.” I need to be sure he’s clear on this. “Everything at Crystal Bliss is about what she wants—not you. Is that clear?”

Frogman stares for a few loaded seconds. “Crystal,” he says, and I believe him.

“All right.” I don’t know Sara, but the odds seem slim she’ll let this guy touch her after what he just pulled. “Guess you’d better get over there. ”

There’s a twitch in his jaw as he watches me get up from the table. “You gonna uncuff me, or is picking the lock part of my test?”

“I’d like to see that, actually.” Plucking a key from my pocket, I come around to his side of the table. Trent gets to his feet, presenting his broad, ropey back.

His tense shoulders bunch, forearms flexing as I fumble the lock. My thumb presses into his wrist and the thrum of his pulse sends a strange, heated shockwave up my arm.

The handcuffs fall free and he pivots to face me. For a few breathless seconds, we stare into each other’s eyes. His are deep gold, and I have the oddest sensation we’ve met in some other lifetime.

That makes no sense. I don’t believe in past life bullshit.

But I’m convinced we’re linked in some way. I just haven’t figured it out yet. “What’s your nickname?”

He blinks. “Nickname?”

“Don’t all SEALs have code names, call signs, whatever the fuck you call them?”

I don’t expect him to answer. I’m not even sure why I asked that.

“Take a guess.” He still hasn’t looked away. Just stares right into my eyes with his eerie gold ones. “It’s not a tough one.”

I consider what I know about Trent James. Not much. “TJ.”

One edge of his mouth quirks. “Bingo.”

He drags his gaze off mine, turning to head for the door. “No offense,” he mutters as he shoulders his way past me. “But I hope I don’t see you around.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Frogman.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jarhead.”

As he walks out the door, I catch the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

I watch as he walks toward the restaurant, not asking anyone for directions. The dickhead probably memorized a map before setting foot on the property. Fucking SEALs.

Speaking of which, I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts until I locate Marine Sergeant Scott Heath, a teammate I haven’t seen in a few years.

From the moment I saw Trent James in that doorway, the clang of alarm bells rattled my skull. Something about Frogman sets me on edge, and it might be a crazy-nuts hunch.

But I type out a text to my pal just in case.

Yo, Skeet. Call me when you get this. Got some questions about what happened in Somalia.