Page 8 of Tempted by a SEAL

Preferably without the jeans.

The woman he’d bedded the other night had some naughty lingerie on under her casual clothes. Did all British chicks wear stuff like that? Because he sure as hell might need to give up the Navy and become an Ex-Pat in London if that were the case.

Holy hell.

Forcing himself to look away, he continued toward the men’s room and shoved open the door. He adjusted his earpiece a minute later when he re-emerged.

Mason’s voice was suddenly in his ear, laughing.

“American men are big all over? Who gave you that Hallmark line?”

“It was damn poetic, right?” he asked. “Not sure why she didn’t immediately wrestle me to the ground right then and have her wicked way with me.”

“Yeah, in your dreams,” Mason chuckled. “I’ve never seen a woman move so fast—in the opposite direction.”

“I bet she’s wild in bed. Redheads always are.”

A few men sitting at a table beside him chuckled, and Hunter muttered a curse as he wove his way back through the growing crowd. He was drawing attention to himself all over the damn place.

By the time he’d crossed the pub back toward the bar where he’d been sitting, his gaze was drawn to movement outside.

Hunter’s gaze narrowed as he saw two Middle Eastern men lingering on the sidewalk, animatedly talking with hand gestures. A woman walking by stepped away from them, frowning, and a beat passed before they turned and pushed open the pub’s door.

Even amongst the after-work crowd they stood out.

Expensive suits. Slicked-back hair.

The shorter one carrying an expensive leather briefcase.

He’d memorized the photographs of the men he was seeking earlier. Knew every detail of their faces, from the small scar on the cheek of one to the angular jaw and slightly crooked nose on the other.

Bingo.

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