Stranded With The Navy Seal. Susan Cliff

to matter to her body, which all but melted in his arms. It didn’t matter to her mouth, which let out a soft moan. Her nipples tightened, and her skin tingled with awareness. A greedy pulse throbbed between her legs. She rocked her hips back and forth against him. He groaned in response.

      He didn’t grind on her. He gripped her hips as if he wanted to slow her rhythm, or maybe move her up and down on him. But he didn’t actually move her. He continued to sway to the music, holding her close. She traced his shirt collar and felt the warm skin underneath. Then she threaded her fingers through his short hair. Putting her hands on him felt like heaven. She wanted to touch him all over.

      Then the song ended.

      People clapped.

      The band started playing a lively dance hall tune, totally killing the vibe. She felt like she’d been doused with cold water. Logan narrowed his gaze at the stage, as if the musicians had broken some secret guy code.

      Cady wasn’t sure what to do. She could either stay on the dance floor, sandwiched against him, or break apart and reveal his very obvious arousal. “Maybe I should turn around,” she said in his ear.

      He let out a pained laugh. “I don’t think that will help.”

      She did it anyway, twisting in his arms. There was a door nearby that led to the outside deck. He stayed close behind her as she walked toward it. His erection nudged her bottom with every step. It was an awkward exit, but seconds later they were gazing at the dark ocean, sucking in the cool night air.

      Then they were both laughing. She collapsed against the rail, giggling. She laughed until her cheeks hurt and her eyes were wet with tears. When she regained control of herself, she hazarded a glance at him. He was staring at her like she was a starry sky, infinite with possibility. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath hitched in her throat. She adjusted her bodice, which had slipped down an inch. He watched her movements with interest.

      “It’s the dress, isn’t it?” she asked.

      The corner of his mouth tipped up. “It’s not the dress. It’s what’s underneath the dress.”

      “Very little,” she admitted.

      He groaned, tearing his gaze away. “You’re killing me.”

      She grasped the cool aluminum, feeling giddy. She might fly away from happiness and excitement.

      Andrew who?

      She gave Logan a minute to collect himself. She needed a minute, too. She stared at the moonlit sea, in awe of its immensity. This was her first cruise, her first trip to Tahiti. She’d lived along the coast for years and never seen this much ocean. After a few deep breaths, she turned to face him. He looked calm and in control.

      “Better?”

      “Yes.”

      “You want to go back in?”

      He arched a brow. “The problem will surely arise again.”

      She laughed at his wry expression. “We can avoid the slow dances.”

      He glanced toward the bar. The music sounded too loud now, the lights too bright. Although he didn’t reply, she could read his thoughts. He didn’t want to dance. He wanted to take her to his room. She leaned against the railing, tempted.

      “Do you do this a lot?” she asked.

      “Do what? Get hard in public?”

      She flushed at the blunt words. “Pick up women in bars.”

      “I’ve done it before,” he admitted. “You?”

      “No.” She wasn’t that kind of girl...or she hadn’t been in the past. But she’d never felt this kind of chemistry before, either. “My friends keep telling me to try new things. Live a little. I always play it safe.”

      “Taking a job on a cruise ship isn’t playing it safe. Is it?”

      “I guess not.” She didn’t tell him that she’d done it to run away from Andrew, not to embrace adventure.

      “You don’t dance like someone who plays it safe.”

      She smiled in agreement. Dancing was her escape. It was the only time she felt totally free and uninhibited. When he smiled back at her, her stomach fluttered with awareness. He was incredibly attractive, and clearly into her. His admiration was like a shining beacon, lighting her up from the inside out.

      She was tempted to leave with him. Her gaze lowered to his hands, which were wrapped around the railing next to her. He had nice hands, with wide palms and long fingers. No ring. “Are you married?”

      He gave her an incredulous look. “No,” he said. “Hell no.”

      She flushed at his response, aware that her question revealed a distrust of men. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up his Facebook page. It showed a picture of him in combat gear. Relationship status: single.

      “You said you were in the navy.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Are you a sailor?”

      “I’m a SEAL.”

      It was her turn to gape at him. “You’re a Navy SEAL?”

      He put his phone away, shrugging. “I’m on injury leave right now, but yeah.”

      “How did you get injured?”

      His eyes became shuttered. “I tore a ligament in my knee.”

      She was curious about the details, but his expression told her not to press. He probably couldn’t share confidential information. He hadn’t told her who he was supposed to be guarding on this cruise. The fact that he was a Navy SEAL set off major warning bells for her. His job was the epitome of danger.

      Cady was risk-averse, for good reason. She was the daughter of a police officer. Her grandfather had died in a tragic accident right before her eyes. She’d developed a strong sense of caution as a child, and it seemed to grow stronger every year. She liked to feel secure at all times. She never drank to excess. She always wore her seat belt.

      Logan wasn’t the kind of man she would normally choose to date. He was too intense. He did terrifying things in the name of their country. Things she didn’t want to imagine. On the other hand, this wasn’t a date. This was a chance encounter. After the cruise was over, she’d never see him again. He might not be steady boyfriend material, but he was an excellent candidate for a night of pleasure.

      “We don’t have to go anywhere,” he said. “If you want to stay and dance, I’m game.”

      “No.”

      His face fell. “No?”

      “I don’t want to hurt your knee.”

      “Screw my knee.”

      She laughed at this, moving closer to him. Maybe she was drunk. Drunk off one smashed-peach mojito, a boatload of sexual chemistry and one devastatingly dirty dance. “What are my other options?”

      His gaze darkened with interest. “Anything you like.”

      “Let’s go.”

      He grasped her hand and walked back through the bar. She picked up her purse on the way out. Despite his injury, she had to hurry to match his stride. Which was fine by her. Now that she’d decided to “live a little,” she couldn’t wait to get started.

      His room was only two levels down, so they took the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her knees felt weak. His grip was strong and reassuring, his hands wonderfully large. When they reached the landing, her heel got caught on the carpet and she stumbled against him. His arms went around her waist to steady her. She felt secure and exhilarated at the same time. It was an intoxicating sensation.

      “Thanks,” she said, breathless.

      His