Daring Her SEAL (2 page)

2

H
IS
WIFE
WAS
fucking gorgeous.

Not that Levi deserved any kind of credit for Ashley's good looks, but if he had to end up accidentally married to a woman whose dislike for him made ISIS and the President of the United States seem like cozy besties, at least he'd scored a hot bride.

The assessment officially made him shallow, but he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that they were legally married. The woman bent over her desk, working a cable behind the computer monitor while she sweet-talked the hardware, would rip him a new one when he shared the news with her. In the meantime, however, he might as well enjoy the show.

Husky phrases drifted to him.
Come on, baby. Work with me.
Yeah, he might get something out of this little field trip. Taunting Ashley was a helluva lot of fun.

He leaned against the doorframe. “You got computer woes too?”

The DEA's office sure wasn't Sexyville. After he'd breached the security at the front desk, he'd followed directions and ridden a beige elevator, taken two equally beige corridors, and then forded a sea of chest-high gray cubicles occupied by suits of both the male and female variety. Heads turned as he passed, because his off-duty jeans, motorcycle boots and black leather jacket weren't standard office wear. He hadn't come here to give a fashion show, though, so he kept moving.

After infiltrating third-world countries, locating Ashley's office was easy. Plus, the scenery was motivational. The way her skirt hugged the curves of her ass fed his Victoria's Secret fantasy, and her blouse wasn't half bad, either. The silky material draped over her boobs and he'd bet the fabric was as soft as the skin it only partially concealed. When she delved further into the tangle of cables, she flashed him the shadow of a black bra strap.
Hooyah.

“Dixon?” he prompted, when she didn't look up from the mess of cables she was untangling.

She glanced his way automatically, a polite smile pasted to her face. Naturally her smile disappeared real quick when she realized who'd knocked on her door.

“You.” Her voice held a wealth of disapproval, but that was nothing new. Frankly, he had a hard time imagining welcome, pleasure or anything remotely happy painted on her puss. She didn't like him, and he never seemed to get things right as far as she was concerned. Too bad, so sad. Wait until she heard what he had to say.

“In the flesh.” He stepped into her office because he didn't need to attract any more attention from her floor mates. She had ten feet by ten feet to herself, along with three pieces of battered office furniture, a dusty plastic plant and a series of action figures suspended from the ceiling by what looked like fishing line. Stepping closer and blocking her access to the room's only exit, he offered her a lazy grin. “I didn't recognize you wearing clothes.”

She'd rocked a very nice string bikini on their undercover mission to Fantasy Island, and...what? He was supposed to pretend he hadn't noticed? Hello. Parts of him were biologically incapable of
not
noticing, no matter how much vitriol she shot his way.

And bingo...her polite
can-I-help-you?
expression morphed into one hundred percent pissed-off female as she straightened up.

“I'm licensed to carry concealed. Don't make me shoot you.”

Concealing a weapon in her current getup seemed challenging, but Ashley liked her guns and he'd seen her produce firearms from beneath the smallest of bandage dresses out in the field. He had no idea how she did it, but he respected the hell out of it. He also needed her to listen to him for five minutes.

She made a sound delightfully close to a snarl. How nice to know he still could get under her skin. Smiling at her, he said, “I need to talk to you. Take a smoke break.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “It's
with
and not
to.
And smoking kills.”

She put the desk between them. And while he enjoyed the way her ass wiggled in the skirt as she sauntered to her chair in three-inch heels, he still needed to talk to her.
With
her. She never missed an opportunity to point out that he was wrong, did she?

Of course, he also didn't care much about getting it right, so he advanced on her, flattening his palms on her desk. Naturally, the surface was all neat and tidy, her office supplies arranged at right angles and the folders stacked precisely. She'd never liked messes. When he deliberately nudged a pencil out of its careful row, she glared.

“We can do this the hard way. I can carry you out over my shoulder.” His dick twitched at that. Hell. This was
Dixon.

She didn't sit down, just folded her arms over her chest and inhaled as though she was trying to find her patience or her balance or something. “Step inside and shut the door.”

Huh. Who knew he'd find
that
order a turn-on? It was likely only because he hadn't gotten laid in over a month. Lurking in foxholes wreaked havoc on a man's social life, and he'd come straight to Quantico once he'd arrived stateside. Ashley might be annoying as hell, but she deserved to know about their marriage, just in case she had any wedding plans of her own. He was in outright Boy Scout territory, making sure she didn't commit bigamy or mess up her taxes any. Maybe she'd even polish his halo for him. With her tongue.

Or she just might kill him. He'd give it even odds at the moment. She leaned toward him, not intimidated in the slightest.

She'd slicked her dark, glossy hair back from her face in a severe style that made her look all cheekbones. With less than two feet between them, he could smell her perfume, which was another first for him. She didn't wear that stuff in the field, and apparently he'd been missing out. She smelled like warmth and fruit and some kind of flower thing. Damned if he knew what it was, but he liked it. He should get a bottle and spray the boys in the foxhole next time he had to camp out for a week in the jungle.

She made a give-it-up gesture. “Some time this century, Brandon.”

Given their eager audience—he'd counted ten agents and four secretaries plus a maintenance guy messing with a thermostat—he kicked the door shut with his booted foot. Probably not what she'd intended, but she should know by now that she needed to be specific with him.

“How do you want me?” he drawled, keeping his eyes on her. Her lips tightened. She was wearing lipstick in a nice nude shade. No flashy come-do-me red for her in the office. Did the agents she worked with know the calm ice-princess facade was a front? She had a wild child hiding underneath that gorgeous face, and she was a demon in the field. She would have made an excellent SEAL.

“Sit,” she snapped, as if he was some kind of trained poodle. News flash. He only pretended to be civilized. If she didn't play nice, he didn't have to, either. He definitely wasn't planting his ass in a chair while she stood over him in the power position.

Time to take charge.

“If I sit like a good boy, will you park that pretty ass of yours on my lap?”

* * *

A
SHLEY
'
S
BRAIN
SPLUTTERED
to an outraged halt, because who
said
sexist stuff like that these days? Naturally, Levi used her momentary distraction to circle the desk between them. She hesitated a moment too long, distracted by the sexy SEAL prowling toward her. Dark hair buzzed short with military precision, brown eyes that crinkled at the corner when he laughed, and just the hint of a dimple in his right cheek...damn it. She'd seen him in action and the man was quick. He also fought dirty, and any words that came out of his mouth were just one more weapon. She should have remembered that.

He pulled her toward him until her thighs were plastered against him, his muscular, denim-covered leg thrusting between hers as he danced her backward smoothly. Her back hit the wall, her heart simultaneously taking a nosedive toward her stomach. Darn it. Being close to Levi was too much like riding a roller coaster.

A sexy,
dangerous
roller coaster with bad manners.

His big body radiated heat and carefully leashed power as he boxed her in, and she didn't know if she should take a moment to admire the sheer masculine ballsiness of the move—or knee him in the nuts on principle. She hadn't known he was in town, although it wasn't as though they shared social plans. They'd worked in the field together. Sometimes they'd killed together. None of which was drop-in-and-have-a-beer material.

His mouth shifted, brushing her ear. “Hello again, Mrs. Brandon.”

How much trouble would she get in if she pulled her gun in the office? Because the thought of plugging Levi's fine ass with a bullet got more and more appealing by the moment.

“That joke got old about the twentieth time you trotted it out on Fantasy Island after we did the beach thing. Do I look like a
missus
? Maybe I missed the part where you tattooed
property of
on my ass.”

She bent her knees, ducked under his arm and pushed him hard against the wall. He let her slam him into the paint job and that pissed her off even more. Life was one big joke to Levi Brandon and she hated it when he played with her.

“It's not a joke, babe. We're married.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that one to the judge and back the hell off.” That was another thing about Levi—he could deliver a joke with a perfectly straight face.

“You need to listen to me on this one.” He flipped her around smoothly, face to the wall, wrists pinned over her head. Since the man had to have almost a hundred pounds on her, she was at a definite disadvantage in close quarters.

“Scared?” Sure, it wasn't nice to taunt him, but around him her inner five-year-old came out to play.

“Not exactly,” he said cheerfully. “But someone's going to end up in the ER if we keep showing each other our moves. Plus kink's not my thing. I didn't come here to hurt you.”

“So you're manhandling me to be
nice
?” She didn't bother hiding the disbelief in her voice. Truth was, Levi did what he wanted and he didn't worry about the consequences. It must be nice. She was also fairly certain he had a much broader acquaintance with
kink
than she did.

In answer, he kicked her legs wider, which was a challenge given the lack of give in her skirt. Heat hit her hard between her thighs, her panties dampening as she felt him against her back.
Chemical reaction.
That was all. Sure, it sucked that she got horny around Levi, but he came in a pretty package and looking at him had never been a hardship. It was when she had to listen to him that things went to hell.

It took him less than fifteen seconds to find the gun tucked in the small of her back. He slipped it out of her waistband and set it on her desk. “Sexy.”

“Back off and tell me why you're here.” Had the Marcos brothers managed to shake the charges against them? If they'd been assigned a third mission together, surely the special agent in charge would have notified her.

“You think I need a reason to be here? Maybe I had a couple of weeks of leave coming to me and just missed your lovely face.” He pressed harder against her, tucking his dick against her butt as if he had some kind of right to do so. Clearly, it had been too long since she'd had sex—working undercover with SEAL teams had definitely put a crimp in her social life—because she couldn't even work up much outrage at his erection. He was huge, he was turned on and apparently her sexual drought had lasted long enough that she was willing to cut him some slack.
Sucker
her brain crowed at her libido.

“Well, I'm not helping you with
that
.” She wriggled her butt against his front just to make her point and he hissed.

“Yeah. Don't worry about it. Dick's got a mind of its own and it really, really likes your skirt.”

And that was the problem with Levi. The outside package was hot—
hello
, she'd never met an ugly SEAL—but then he opened his mouth. Too bad she couldn't duct tape his lips shut and just admire the view.

“Could you be more offensive? Is this your idea of a joke?” Because she didn't feel like laughing and she was this close to kneeing him in the balls the next chance she got.

“You hear a punch line coming out of my mouth?”

“You want to know how many practical jokes I've been the butt of over the years? When you're the only female on a team, you hear it all.”

He whistled. “You work with some nasty people, Dixon.”

She drove her head back, pulling free of his hold and swinging her elbow toward his cheekbone. If she accidentally introduced his head to her desk on his way down, she didn't care. He hit the floor with a thud and a laugh, twisting to avoid her office furniture. Great. The agents on the floor below would be banging on the ceiling.

Grabbing her gun, she loaded it with swift efficiency while he rolled lightly to his feet. “A vagina doesn't make me stupid.”

He gave her a look she couldn't interpret. “I've never thought you were stupid.”

Well. Okay, then.

He grinned at her and kept right on running his mouth. Levi never had known when to quit. “Deadly. Irritating as hell. Adorably geeky when you get your computer on. Those adjectives all work for me, although after you seeing you in your skirt, I'm adding sexy because I believe in calling it like I see it. You should dress up for me more often, babe.” Chuckling with amusement, he added, “I have nothing but respect for your skills. I just give you shit because I give all my guys crap.”

She pretended she didn't feel a small spurt of warmth at his compliment. After all, she was still debating hurting him.

“I'm just one of the guys now? Go away.” She dropped into her office chair and motioned toward her door with the gun. She'd left the safety on, which was more than he deserved. “That was fun. We've got to stop meeting like this.”