Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

a hot guy and orgasm options?”

      “You think about sex too much,” Darby said dismissively.

      “You never think about it because it doesn’t exist in your world. How long has it been?”

      Since she’d had sex? Nine months, nineteen days and—Darby glanced at her watch and calculated the time difference—eight hours.

      Since she’d had good sex? Tack on another three years to that tally.

      Not that she was counting.

      “A man isn’t necessary for happiness or success,” she pointed out instead of answering.

      “You’re young, gorgeous and single,” Grace argued. “If you don’t get some soon, people are going to start giving weight to Paul Thomas’s whining.”

      “Okay. That’s a valid counterargument.”

      Darby pursed her lips as she reached the lower lanai and found a seat. Despite the cliché touches of bamboo and palm fronds, it managed to be elegant and welcoming at the same time. A dozen cozy tables with shells under the glass were scattered over the glossy wood floor. Two sides were flanked by unlit torches, with the ocean claiming the third and a well-appointed bar the last.

      Heat fluttered in her belly when she noticed the man she’d seen earlier was still seated at that bar.

      Gorgeous. He looked even better from here than he had from a distance. Tall, a few inches over six feet she gauged, noting the length of toned legs in khaki cargo shorts. His dark hair was fashionably short and a sculpted goatee emphasized sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. And sexy in a take-charge, man-of-power kind of way that made her tingle.

      Talk about a change. She was definitely thinking about sex now.

      “Call coming in,” Grace warned, her tone shifting to all business. “I’ll touch base later and expect a progress report.”

      “I’ll spend my time availing myself of every possible option for fun and relaxation in order to prepare for my pending quiz,” she promised with a laugh.

      Not a bad closing statement, she decided as she watched the man toss a handful of macadamia nuts in his mouth. Solid hand-to-mouth coordination could be a good thing, she noted with a smile.

      Suddenly, Grace’s plan held a certain appeal.

      Darby missed sex. At least, she missed good sex, which was something she hadn’t had in at least three years. Since focusing on her career wasn’t going to cut it as an excuse for the next eight days, she might as well explore her options.

      Maybe. Darby leaned back in the cushioned chair, the soft evening air dancing over her skin. The setting sun glinted gold off the man’s profile as he checked his cell phone.

      She skimmed her fingers over the rim of her glass as she watched the man tip back his beer. Who knew swallowing could look so damn sexy?

      He turned on the stool to take a quick scan of the lanai.

      Wow. The full-on face view was even hotter. His impatient frown didn’t put her off. She was practically made of impatience. But the hint of vulnerability in his eyes? Caution signs triggered in her mind. Then he blinked and power replaced pain.

      Enough power to make her breath lock in her throat.

      The tingles in her stomach turned to heat, flaming hot and high. High enough to burn caution to cinders. Darby shifted in her chair, arched her back and breathed in the warm ocean air.

      Oh, yeah. She’d found the perfect way to get through this vacation. The only question was, where did a hot guy like that land on the quiz? Because as she looked him over, she had to admit that relaxation didn’t seen to be the word that popped into her mind.

      * * *

      “ANOTHER BEER, MR. SAVINO?”

      It took Nic a moment to realize the waiter was talking to him. He was so used to being addressed by his rank that the civilian term threw him.

      “Yeah. Another one, please.” Normally, he’d stop at two. As a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy, he could be called to duty at a moment’s notice. As the leader of Team Poseidon, a select Special Ops group within the Navy SEALs, he had a reputation for always maintaining control. And as a man who valued the ability to clearly see his way through whatever was thrown his way, he rarely let anything fog that vision.

      But as soon as it was set in front of him, Nic tilted the bottle, letting the icy beer wash away the dregs of bitterness coating his throat.

      Because Mr. Savino was on mandatory leave. So Mr. Savino didn’t have to worry about being called to duty, holding true to his reputation or clear insights.

      Mr. Savino didn’t have a team of men depending on him, trusting his judgment. He didn’t have to face those men when his judgment failed. When, for the first time in his career, he wondered if their trust was misplaced.

      His knuckles whitened as his fist clenched tight around the beer bottle.

      Mr. Savino didn’t have a damn thing to do but relax and enjoy the forced vacation his Admiral decided he needed. But it was hard to relax when tension was spiking down his spine like a harpoon gun.

      He hitched up one hip and snagged his cell out of his back pocket.

      “Yo, Lansky here,” greeted the voice on the other end.

      “It’s Savino,” Nic said, since even on vacation, his cell transmission was scrambled and wouldn’t show a name or location. “Status report.”

      “Aren’t you on leave?” A heartbeat later, he added, “Sir?”

      “When was the last time I was on leave?”

      Nic took a couple swallows of his beer while he waited for his Lieutenant to figure that out. When he’d downed half of it, he put the guy out of his misery.

      “Four years,” he said, answering his own question. “That’d be four years ago, when you and I, Torres, Danby and Powers went to Spain to take those bulls for a jog.”

      “We ran with bulls. Danby missed out because he was holed up with that pretty Spanish dancer,” Lansky reminisced with a laugh. “Time before that was when six of us did the Everest climb. Before that was Brazil for Carnival.”

      The tension in Nic’s spine slowly disappeared as he listened to Lansky recite their various trips over the last decade. Each trip was accompanied by the memory of one of the team’s adventures with the opposite sex. By the time the man got to the Vegas trip the twelve of them had taken to celebrate earning their tridents, Nic had found his place in the zone again.

      “Now that we’ve had that little trip down memory lane, how about that status report,” Nic said with a laugh. His tone was light. But the command was clear.

      “Reporting, sir. Ward, Torres and Danby are due back from Yemen in two days. Word on base is that their training mission went well. They had three platoons doing night maneuvers to the tune of Maroon 5’s ‘Don’t Wanna Know’ and adding ketchup to their field rations.”

      “Nice,” Nic replied with a laugh.

      “Prescott and his lady are still debating whether to do the wedding thing the second time around or just hit up a justice of the peace. Ava’s trying to be practical with the no-fuss angle, but you know Rembrandt. He’s all about the romance. He’ll have her decked out in a fancy dress, carting pretty posies while they say their second ‘I do.’”

      Lansky paused to crunch into what sounded like an apple before continuing. “On your orders, Louden, Rengel and Kane are retracing Ramsey’s contacts, talking to everyone in the Navy they can find who knew him. They’ve tracked down some interesting stories. You want the deets?”

      “I’ll debrief them when I get back. Anything else?”

      Nic finished his beer while Lansky filled him in on the rest