Page 9 of Tempted by a SEAL

Chapter 2

Emma’s heart raced as she walked toward the crowded bar, her palms slick as she clutched her leather backpack in both hands. Unlike the adrenaline she’d had coursing through her over the past few hours, though, her pulse was pounding in an entirely different way at the moment.

Awareness prickled over her skin as she felt the heated gaze of the man she’d nearly run into watch her walk away, and she was certain her face was flushed.

The curse of being so fair skinned, she thought in exasperation.

She certainly wasn’t interested in a man who’d bragged about the size of American men.

Good heavens.

American men were large all over?

There was certainly no doubt their egos were.

He was just cocky enough that he probably did have the goods to match.

Not that she ever intended on finding out.

She had enough to worry about without drawing undue attention to herself anyhow. Without having foreign men hit on her in crowded pubs. She’d barely been back in London a day, and she was already in trouble again.

The jaded police officer she’d spoken to earlier had told her to go down to the station with her information. Hadn’t seemed to understand or care about the documents she’d found. With the threat level in Britain at “severe,” you’d think he’d have been more concerned. But it’s not like she could wave them around in public where anyone could see.

She couldn’t go back to her flat—not after the way it had been ransacked this afternoon. When her neighbor had texted her mobile and let her know the police were there and that the entire place had been overturned, she’d fled. She hadn’t even gone back to investigate the damage or file a proper police report.

Not when she was being followed. When someone knew about the documents she had.

She was too afraid to even go to the police alone for fear of being caught. She didn’t dare walk around in public alone when someone was clearly after her. When she’d nearly been grabbed a week ago in Kabul and someone had found her back in London.

Still, her heart raced unexpectedly as her mind lingered on her brief encounter with the American man, replaying every moment in slow motion. As heat bloomed across her skin.

The guy she’d bumped into had towered above her, with a week’s worth of dark stubble on his strong jaw and multiple tattoos on his muscular arms. He was confident and arrogant. Brash. Practically oozing testosterone. A man like him was probably used to women dropping their knickers the moment he walked in. No doubt there were pounds of muscle beneath that soft, cotton tee-shirt he had on. And she’d felt his restrained strength as his fingers had grazed her forearm, as she’d brushed past him when she’d walked away.

A guy like him no doubt thoroughly knew his way around a woman’s body. What was that expression her American friend Lily was so fond of? Sex on a stick?

Emma had felt small and almost fragile beside him. Feminine. And that was unexpected, because she was fiercely independent. Content doing things on her own. Although she dated from time to time, so was so busy with travel and her research, she didn’t have time for a serious relationship. A commitment of any sort. She had her career to think of and refused to let a man stand in the way of her success. Not after everything she’d worked for.

No doubt he was here on a vacation anyhow, just visiting London, and she certainly wasn’t looking to spend one night with a man she’d never see again.

Never mind that he’d smelled like clean soap and a hint of some spice—cologne maybe? Not aftershave since he clearly hadn’t seen a razor recently. From his short, cropped dark hair to his broad shoulders and the way his jeans hung perfectly from narrow hips, everything about him was attractive.

Appealing.

Normally she was drawn to clean-cut men in button-down shirts and pressed trousers. The type of man who wouldn’t dream of marking their body with ink and were well-educated and well-spoken. Academics, like her. Who had attended prestigious universities and had their work published in esteemed journals.

That guy looked like he’d spent the afternoon at the gym, showered, and thrown on the first pair of clean clothes he’d found. Popped into a pub and tried out a few chat-up lines at the first woman he noticed.

She shivered as she recalled his searing gaze on her. No doubt he was already chatting up another woman by now, and it was for the best.

Emma had enough other things to worry about.

Steeling her nerves, she slid onto an empty barstool at the crowded bar, determined to put the American guy out of her mind.

Glasses clanked around her as the bartender lined up clean cups, and patrons talked loudly above the music. The greasy scent of fish and chips filled the air—so different than the open bazaar in Kabul. It had been only a week but felt like a lifetime ago—in that short span of time, her entire world had turned upside down.

But she was safe at the moment.

Unnoticed in the crowded pub.

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