Teasing Her Seal. Anne Marsh

a good look at her face when he’d confiscated her phone. Her eyes were dark blue, framed by long lashes. She had brown hair and fair skin, with no hint of a tan, so either she was a recent arrival on the island, or she was an overachiever in the sunscreen department. She’d pulled her hair up in a sleek ponytail that made him want to wrap the glossy rope of hair around his hand, hold her in place for his kiss. His touch. The arch of her brows and her stubborn jawline promised she didn’t take orders from just anyone, so the question was: Could he make her want it? She shifted uneasily, the ponytail sliding over a bare shoulder, teasing the freckle in the vulnerable hollow. Her eyes were authoritative and cool for someone who was waiting around naked.

      “Stay down. I’m not done with you.” He pressed his hand against her bare shoulder, encouraging her to roll over. Such a simple touch, his hand against her skin, but she didn’t shrug him away or tell him to go to hell.

      Instead, she flattened her palms against the white sheet. She had strong, capable hands, the nails neat and short. She’d eschewed polish, but a pale band of skin circled the ring finger of her left hand. She’d worn a ring until recently.

      “You haven’t started. You’re late. And I’m not feeling relaxed.”

      He could hear her mentally ticking off the reasons he’d failed her. It should have pissed him off but instead, her words were a challenge he wanted to rise to. It might be his first day on the job, but failure was never an option.

      The orders to infiltrate Fantasy Island and lay the groundwork for a takedown operation had been straightforward. SEAL Team Sigma operated off the books. Gray had two weeks to get his team on the ground and canvass the island before Diego Marcos touched down. Marcos was unethical, ruthless and moving more product through Central America than coca. The man shipped weapons with his drugs, and his arms pipeline threatened the political stability of the region. Uncle Sam had more than a few questions to ask Marcos, and SEAL Team Sigma had been assigned the task of bringing the man in.

      Alive.

      Sometimes the job description sucked. It would have been simpler and safer to take the man down when he landed. A well-placed sniper. A mined road. Hell, a midnight meet and greet in the man’s room. Any of those three options worked for Gray. Instead, he got a hostile extraction. Intercept Marcos and move him to US custody. Although selected resort staff was in on the mission, the island’s vacationing civvies needed to remain oblivious to what was about to go down—and that meant not blowing his cover. He was the masseuse. She was the client. End of story. So what if civilian life, five-star living and gorgeous, classy women were foreign territory?

      “Massage time.” The words came out more growl than not, so he added client banter to his growing list of skills to hone. Damn it. He needed to do some recon stat.

      She tapped her fingers on the sheet, waiting for something. Damn. Possibly...an apology? Because he didn’t apologize any more than he retreated. He was a take it or leave it man. She thought she was in charge right now. Unfortunately, she was partially right.

      “You start by introducing yourself,” she instructed. “And then you greet me by name and go over the paperwork I filled out so we can discuss any sensitivities or pain points I may have.”

      It was cute, the way she tried to put him in his place. But he’d been broken and rebuilt by SEAL instructors during BUD/S training, three of the most grueling and physically challenging weeks of his life. The thirty minutes she’d scheduled with him was nothing in comparison.

      “Gray. Laney. And you checked no boxes.”

      A smile tugged at the corners of her delectable mouth, and he wanted to lift the cloth off her eyes himself. See if the smile lit up her eyes like it did the rest of her face.

      “Good job.” She doled out the praise as if he were a toddler or a trainee. Boot camp and his military instructors hadn’t bothered with the carrot. They’d been all stick.

      And then she gave in and rolled over, presenting him with her back. She was all tangled up in her sheet, the wrapping dipping perilously low on her butt. She had a fantastic butt. He could see the soft indentations at the base of her spine. The urge to smile came out of nowhere, as did the sudden need to trace those delicate spots with his fingers.

      What the hell was he doing here?

      In what universe had Uncle Sam and his superior officers believed a team of SEALs could go undercover as resort staff? From the other side of the pool, safely positioned inside the towel hut, Levi flashed him a thumbs-up. Right. The bastard had slapped him on the back and announced, “Bring her some towels, man, and give her a massage.”

      She turned her head. “Clock is ticking. Chop chop.”

      Did she have some place to be? Apparently so, because she held out her hand. “Give me back my phone.”

      “The phone’s in time-out.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them over.

      She snorted. “Are you new?”

      “You could say that.”

      She nodded and then opened her mouth and proceeded to give him an unending stream of instructions. “I’ve indicated a preference for essential oils on my spa form. Medium pressure, but I usually have discomfort in my upper back that could benefit from deep tissue work. Start with the deltoids. Then the trapezius. If you can work my trigger points, I’d appreciate it. I can show you.”

      She twisted around, her fingers pressing against her back. The sheet slipped. “Lie down.”

      He resisted the urge to smack her butt. She was as tough as any drill sergeant he’d met at BUD/S but more than twice as pretty. She had that working in her favor. Levi laughed silently from across the pool, and Gray flashed him the bird, grabbing a glass flask of oil from the cart beside the bed. Cardamom and jasmine oil, per Her Royal Highness’s orders. He poured it into his hand, warming the slick stream.

      “I’ll show you.” She twisted on the bed again.

      “Down,” he gritted out. Were ropes allowed in commercial massages? A gag seemed like a useful option, as well. Before she could squirm away from him, he spread the oil over her shoulders. She had the palest skin, dotted with freckles but no swimsuit lines. He reminded himself that skin was just skin. It covered bones and muscles. He’d never thought about it before, but damn, she felt special.

      The instant connection he felt when he touched her was unexpected. She sucked in a breath as if she maybe felt it, too. At least he’d shut her up for the moment. Yeah. He was a horny bastard, because he immediately started thinking about other ways to make her hold still. Make her come.

      He drew his hands down her back in sweeping strokes, working out the visible tension in her neck and shoulders. He was no expert, but her back was a mess of knots. What the hell had she been doing? She was a woman on a tropical island. She was supposed to relax. He rubbed his thumbs in small circles, working out a particularly hard knot.

      She whimpered, a breathy bedroom sound he’d bet she didn’t know she was making. Better yet, she’d finally stopped issuing directions. He didn’t dare imagine whether she’d stripped off completely beneath the towel or if she had on just a pair of panties because he was already hard. He’d gone undercover in the worst biker bars in California, fought hard, ridden fast. A massage should have been easy, but he’d never been so hot for a woman before.

      She turned her head and muttered something. He didn’t give a damn what it was.

      He pressed his finger against her lips. “Not one word.”

      “Or...?” Sweet challenge filled her voice and, yeah, he wanted to show her. Instead, he worked his way down the straight line of her spine, headed for her ass.

      “I have my ways.” He sounded like a bad villain. He might as well have rolled over and showed his belly, because she ignored his answer and started talking again, directing him from one muscle group to the other so matter-of-factly that she probably didn’t even realize she was doing