Page 26 of The All-Inclusive

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 whatshewants—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 anyonefor 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.

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