Teasing Her Seal. Anne Marsh

There were nods of understanding from around the circle. The FBI had a long list of questions for Marcos, and a dead man didn’t do any talking. If the mission went according to plan, however, they’d take down Marcos and then have a week to interrogate him before any of his associates realized he’d been compromised.

      “Is the advance party inbound by air or water?” Levi asked.

      Gray didn’t hesitate. “Two helos, both of which are scheduled to be met by the resort’s jeeps. We’ll put SEALs into the driver’s seats. Marcos will be told his advance team is securing the resort. We need to minimize the risk to the island’s civilians. Thoughts?”

      Ashley picked up the ball and ran with it. Gray was fairly certain there wasn’t anything the woman didn’t know. “It’s low season and the resort is running at about thirty percent of capacity. There are twenty bungalows. Six are occupied, but three of us are singletons. Eight guests are currently in house.”

      Good. Fantasy Island would be clear before Marcos made his grand appearance. If Monday’s arrivals vacated in a week, that meant Laney Parker would be okay and not in the line of fire. She hadn’t signed up for this particular battle, and he wouldn’t pitchfork her into the middle of it.

      As the meeting wrapped, Gray did a last inventory of his team. They were ready, but that had never been in doubt. Despite the teasing and good-natured bickering, every man there would lay down his life for the team. They were organized, well trained and efficient as hell. Marcos wouldn’t know what had hit him.

      When Ashley stepped past him, however, he snagged her wrist. “I’ve got a question.”

      “Anytime.” She dropped onto the pile of duffel bags next to him. “Ask away.”

      “You ever heard of a cocktail menu? A special one?” He took a shot in the dark, because Laney’s tone had held a certain something. He needed to know what she’d really meant.

      Ashley laughed. “So you’ve heard about the infamous drinks menu?”

      “Give me details.” The way she was smiling, he was in trouble. He definitely didn’t know enough.

      “Well, the next time you boys decide to go undercover at a resort, you might want to pick one that doesn’t specialize in kinky sex.”

      “I’ll give my boss a heads-up,” he said dryly. “I hadn’t planned on having kinky sex on this mission.”

      Absolutely not. Hell, even plain old vanilla sex was pretty much off-limits. While there weren’t hard-and-fast rules about personal activities while undercover, bedding a civilian who could blow his cover was definitely pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable. He couldn’t and wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

      Or Laney’s life.

      “Maybe you should rethink your position.” She elbowed him, eyes twinkling at the pun. “Because apparently the resort staff can be more than a little adventurous, as can the guests. The names of the drinks are code for various fantasies you might want to act out. It’s all secret and hush-hush, a way for guests to discreetly communicate their desires to each other.”

      Fantasies about sex. That sounded pretty damn erotic, but he’d seen how other people’s kinks played out when he’d worked undercover as a biker. M-Breed’s members had engaged in frequent sex, often public, and never nice. On the pool table, up against the wall, in a bathroom stall. Take your pick, do whatever the hell you wanted to do. Gray had managed to avoid the gang’s groupies, because no way he wanted a woman who was into him only for the drugs or position she thought accompanied sleeping with him. His fantasies were different.

      He frowned. “How did she know about the menu?”

      Ashley raised a brow. “Which she on this island propositioned you? And did you turn her down flat or take her up on it and she shocked your delicate sensibilities?”

      “I gave one of the guests a massage,” he said gruffly. “She said something to me at the end.”

      Ashley whistled. “You must give a really good massage. Give me a name.”

      “Laney Parker.” Why was he so reluctant to give up her name?

      “She was your client? In that case, I may have told her about it.”

      “And how come I wasn’t informed?”

      Ashley winked at him. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. Not your kind of scene.”

      He wondered when he’d started coming across as uninterested in sex.

      “I don’t like surprises,” he said. Although he’d definitely liked Laney. If he’d known what she was asking him, he would have followed up. He definitely wouldn’t have let her run off on him.

      Ashley’s eyes flashed. “You’re not exactly vanilla.”

      Neither were most fantasies.

      She poked him in the chest. “Do you even know how to flirt?”

      Shit. Did he? “I know how to play games,” he grumbled.

      Levi smacked him on the shoulder. “Ashley’s the best. You can take notes.”

      “This from you.” Disapproval radiated from Ashley’s voice. “You’re the team man whore.”

      “And you’re not on the prowl? I’ve watched you hanging out by the pool.”

      “I’m undercover.” She jabbed a finger into Levi’s chest. “I’m playing a part. Someone has to get in there and keep an ear to the ground.”

      “Duly noted,” Gray growled. “Don’t make me put the two of you in time-out. Break it up, move it along.”

      Ashley blew Levi a kiss and headed back to the beach and her kayak.

      “That girl is trouble.” Levi shook his head. “Maybe that’s why we don’t let women join the SEALs.”

      Gray grinned. “They’d kick our asses, and we like being in charge.”

      “True.” Levi made a face at Ashley’s departing figure. “She’s damned good at it.”

      * * *

      SLIPPING INTO THE water was like coming home. Diving had been one of Gray’s favorite parts of BUD/S training. The world seemed different beneath the surface, everything more buoyant and streamlined. The bay was mostly sandy-bottomed and dotted with coral heads. Butterfly fish swarmed him as he dove toward the bottom, bright yellow and black sides flashing. Any closer and the fish needed to buy him dinner first, one particularly bold specimen bumping against first his mask and then his dive gloves.

      He’d grabbed the tank ostensibly because someone needed to map the bay’s bottom. He could do it, so why not? He was restless. That was all. He preferred to be on the move, to be doing something, and the riskier and faster that something was, the better. Not that checking out the bay scored high in the adrenaline category. The entry was shallow and the water almost currentless. That would change, of course, as he pushed around the promontory and into open ocean, but for now it was easy money.

      Swimming out of the bay and around the island’s coastline produced no surprises. As he swam, he checked the ocean floor for obstructions, booby traps, anything that would hinder a Zodiac or a landing party. Fantasy Island, however, was as pretty below the surface as it was above, all white sand and the occasional coral head. He was all clear if the second team infiltrated by water.

      The last time he’d done this hadn’t gone as well. He’d led an amphibious operation to select possible beach landing sites. The aerial pics had shown mangrove, swamp and jungle, none of which made their potential targets vacation destinations. Worse, the nautical charts were one hundred fifty years old and missing major terrain features. Swimming through the surf and the reef to make the inner lagoon had been like diving in a washing machine with blades. Fantasy Island definitely won in the looks department.

      When