Page 12 of Tempted by a SEAL

A hint of a blush crept over her cheeks again, and he cleared his throat.

“No one’s forcing you to sit there, princess. But I have to admit, I don’t mind. Didn’t mind when you bumped into me earlier, either.”

“I already said—”

“Are you from London?” Mason asked. “Maybe you can show us around later. Tell us the best places to hang out. I got lost on the damn subway system last night.”

“Not originally, but I work here now. And I’m sure you can convince some other woman into showing you two around the city.”

“Fair enough,” Mason said with a smile. “So what do you do?”

Emma seemed to relax slightly, but the men Hunter was listening to were animatedly talking now, and he narrowed his gaze in concentration, occasionally stealing a glance her way.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?”

Mason shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m in the U.S. military—same with Hunter, here. We’re on a vacation of sorts—R&R.”

“And you decided to come to London?”

“We were flying back from a deployment,” he said without elaborating.

Although the woman seemed innocent enough, there was no need to go around advertising in the middle of a British pub that both of them were Navy SEALs. They couldn’t exactly hide the fact when they were back in Little Creek, but in Europe? Letting her know they were U.S. military was more than enough.

Especially considering they’d never see her again.

“And you’re the only two men in the pub who ordered a soda instead of a pint?” she asked, brushing some of that long, red hair back behind her shoulders. “Seems somewhat strange, doesn’t it?”

Her hair fell back into place, a strand teasing the swell of one breast again, and Hunter’s groin tightened.

He suddenly imagined her riding him in bed—her flaming red hair wild as she bucked on top of him, those soft, full breasts bouncing up and down, her mouth forming a perfect “o” as she cried out in pleasure.

Hell.

He’d been with a hundred women.

What was so special about her?

She was sexy as hell but far too observant for her own good.

“We’ve got a strict training regimen,” Mason explained. “So are you going to tell us what you do, or do I have to guess? Model maybe? Trapeze artist?”

Her gaze flickered over to Hunter.

“You’re awfully quiet considering you were nothing but talk earlier,” she said in her smooth British accent.

Hell.

Got him every time.

No sense in telling her he’d bugged a nearby table and was currently conducting surveillance of two operatives who possibly had ties to terrorists in the Middle East. Or that she was probably in over her head just be sitting here beside them.

“Quite observant, aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Especially since you’ve told me several times you’re not interested.”

His mouth quirked up as she flinched.

“Like Mason already said, we’re military. U.S. Navy. We’re just here in London for a few days on R&R. Might as well see the sights while we’re in town. And what do you do aside from looking gorgeous while following men around pubs?”

She flushed, much to his amusement, the slight pink on her cheeks arousing as hell. Hunter imagined she’d look like that as she came—with all her fair skin, she’d probably flush all over. Her cheeks, her breasts.

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