Born Wild

soon her expression smoothed. Because when Billy grinned like that, all playful and teasing, she could see remnants of that young petty officer she’d fallen in love with. She nipped his stubbled jaw for good measure before re-tucking her head beneath his chin so she could resume tracing his tattoos.

“Each of these tattoos represents an explosive device I successfully disarmed,” he told her. Which only had her pressing up again, her eyes skimming over his right arm where at least twenty-five colorful, multi-sized star tattoos ran from his shoulder to just beneath his elbow. The opposite arm sported what appeared to be the same amount.

Holy moly. Fifty times…at least fifty times, Billy put himself in the middle of an armed bomb…er explosive device, or whatever he calls them. Her mouth dried at the thought, at the magnitude of the danger he’d lived through, at the extent of what he’d accomplished, and the untold lives he’d undoubtedly saved.

“Geez Louise, Billy,” she breathed, searching his half-lidded, lazy eyes. “Were you—” She stopped herself, because the question she thought to pose sounded silly, even in her own head.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged her. “Ask whatever you want.”

“It’s stupid,” she assured him, shaking her head. “I already know the answer.”

“The answer to what?” he smiled, cocking his head on the pillow.

“To whether or not you were scared.”

“And was I?”

“Well, of course!” She threw a hand in the air. “You disarmed bombs for a living. A lot of bombs!” Her eyes flew over the myriad tattoos on his arms.

He grabbed her hand and flattened it against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart. “You might be the only one who believes I was scared,” he told her, and she frowned at him.

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I’ve been told that when I’m in the middle of a mission, or a bomb, or anything particularly hair- raising, I get really still. And really, really calm.”

“Well, that just means you’re internalizing your fear,” she told him. “Which is undoubtedly why you’re so good at what you do, steady hands and all, but it’s also probably why you swill Pepto-Bismol like it’s going out of style.”

He barked a laugh. “Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Phil?”

“Is it the wrong one?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“No,” he admitted, a half-smile playing at his wonderful lips.

“Hmm.” She nodded, once again tucking her head beneath his chin, reveling in the comforting sound of his heavy heartbeat. “And is that how you got your nickname? Wild Bill? Because you were crazy to have gone up against all those explosives?”

“Nah.” The word rasped in his chest and in her ear. “I got that name before ever shipping out. It was a hold-over from my last few months of SEAL training.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I went a little crazy there for a while. Drinking too much. Driving too fast. Pushing the boundaries with my superior officers. I was living on the wild side of life. Hence, the nickname.”

“But why?” she asked, wondering if, perhaps, he’d started to regret his decision to be a Navy SEAL. If he’d started to second-guess—

“Why do you think, Eve?” His voice was suddenly quiet, subdued, and her breath hitched in her lungs like she’d run out of oxygen on a deep dive.

“B-because of me?” she asked, pressing up to stare down at him. But she already knew the truth in her heart. And it killed her to think of the pain she’d caused him, to think of the career she might have caused him to lose had he ever stepped over the line as opposed to simply pushing it.

Well, that was just one more reason for her to hate herself for what she’d done…

When he opened his mouth to answer, she slapped her palm over his lips, shaking her head, tears pressing behind her eyes. “Don’t answer that,” she said. “I already know what you’ll say. And I’m sorry, Billy. I’m so—”

“Eve.” He moved her hand away. “Stop apologizing, okay?”

She shook her head. “Nope,” she sniffled. “I don’t think I can do that.”

He sighed, pulling her down to press her cheek against his chest. “Well then,” he said, “I’ll just have to distract you.”

“Distract me?” she asked, watching as he took her hand, curling all her fingers into a fist except for her pointer finger, which he straightened and used like a pencil, tracing one of the tattoos on the inside of his lean hip.

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, dropping a kiss into her crown as his rough palm smoothed over her hip. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

“The Grapes of Wrath?” she asked distractedly when he released her hand so she could continue the tracing on her own. She caught her lips between her teeth as his manhood twitched and swelled to throbbing, violent life.

“A bastardized version of it,” he whispered, reaching up to thumb her nipple. It sprang to instant, aching attention.

And though there was a part of her that still felt close to tears, a part of her that felt that even if she apologized a thousand more times it still wouldn’t be enough, there was another part of her that burned at the thought of Billy taking her again.

And he and John Steinbeck were certainly right about one thing. A man had to do what a man had to do. But a woman had to do what a woman had to do, too. So, lifting her head, she closed her mouth over his, breathing in his breath, reveling in his taste, letting herself get lost in him…

Chapter Twenty-three

Lake Michigan

7:15 a.m.

Kisses.

It was the most wonderful way to wake up. Sweet, delicate kisses drifting down Bill’s stomach toward the erection that was straining beneath the covers…

When Eve got to his bellybutton, she stopped, dipping her tongue inside, and his toes curled. He threw back the comforter, pushed her inky hair away from her forehead, and the soft light filtering in through the portholes highlighted the glint in her gorgeous sapphire eyes as she looked up at him.

“Good morning,” she breathed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Indeed it is,” he told her, grinning, loving the half-smile pulling at one corner of her mouth. “And it’ll be even better if you continue what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?” She lifted a brow, playing the coquette to perfection. “Oh, you mean this?” She opened her hot, wet mouth, and laved the tip of his erection with the soft, raspy pad of her tongue.

“Mmm-hmmm…” He fisted his hands in her hair, thrusting his hips upward just slightly. Sweet Mother Mary, have mercy. “That’s exactly what I m-mean.” And just as he was about to settle in— because, come on, the only thing better than waking up to soft kisses on his stomach was waking up to a blow- job; he was a guy, after all—the softly rocking sailboat suddenly rolled violently to the port side, nearly tossing them off the bed. Then, the vessel heaved to the starboard, and this time Bill did slide off the mattress, slamming against the teakwood decking on his back.

“Holy crap!” Eve yelled. He pulled himself to his knees in time to watch her jump from the rumpled bed and grab onto the doorframe separating the berth from the rest of the small cabin. A sizzle of white light blazed through the portholes followed almost immediately by a deafening crash of thunder.