Anne Marsh - Daring Her Seal

“After I pay a visit to Human Resources, you’ll be drowning in paperwork. I’ll be on your life insurance, your 401K beneficiary form, and your DNR. You’ll spend years untangling our lives. Plus, it’s not like we eloped to Vegas on our downtime. We got hitched on a tropical island that promotes kinky sex.”

She treated him to another eye roll. “I’m trying not to remember that part.”

Then she was going to love what he had to say next.

“I read the news this morning. The DEA is in the middle of a sex scandal, babe, and some of your agents in a South American country that shall not be named? They liked to attend cartel-sponsored sex parties and Fantasy Island won’t look good in that light. When you take the stand in the Marcos case in two weeks, the defense lawyer will have a field day with you.”

He watched her gorgeous face as she chewed his words over. If Marcos’s lawyer found out she and Levi had gotten married on a tropical island known for sex games, the headlines wouldn’t be good. At best, her reputation would be shot. At worst, she’d be looking at a demotion or getting fired.

“You’d get in trouble too,” she countered. Right. They’d covered his lack of permission from a superior officer—and his lack of concern. His wasn’t a career-ending move even if Command wouldn’t be thrilled. He hadn’t been on leave and he sure hadn’t asked permission—but he also hadn’t thought he was really tying the knot.

“And I’ll get a slap on the wrist. You want to risk your next promotion? Because I heard you had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that you’re over the moon about.”

“This is blackmail.”

He shrugged. Having had some experience with skirting the grayer edges of the law, he knew better than to admit anything out loud.

“You’re willing to commit a felony to force me to accompany you?” Her voice rose, and the button on her blouse slipped further.

In answer, he blew her a kiss.

“You suck,” she bit out.

“One hundred percent, babe.” He definitely had her now. “I get the pleasure of your company for one week on Fantasy Island. You get radio silence about why we’re headed out there and a bonus vacation at a swank resort.”

“Two things.” She held up a finger. “One, I always get even.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Two, blow my credibility with my team, and I will kill you.”

“Hey, you want me to go away.” Christ, she’d felt good pinned beneath him. Marriage didn’t have to be all bad. “Well, in order for that to happen, you got to give me something, starting with a divorce. You’re coming with me, babe,” he said, because he loved needling her and damned if this wasn’t the first time in a long time he’d come out the clear winner in their battle of wits. Fighting with Dixon was tricky business.

She slammed her head against the back of her chair, fingers digging into the armrest. “Fuck.”

He winked at her. “Only if you ask nicely.”

3

FANTASY ISLAND LOOKED GOOD. Or maybe that was Ashley’s unwilling company.

Ashley had pointedly ignored him on their flight from Virginia to Belize. They’d hitched a ride on a military carrier, so it hadn’t been the kind of flight with peanuts and mile-high sex, which was too bad. She looked even better than the island, although he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud with any degree of sincerity. She still wanted his head on a platter for the we’re-married-for-real revelation he’d laid on her in Quantico. And, yeah, she was also sore about his making her come down to Belize. Too bad for her, because he liked pushing her buttons. She was cute as hell when she got mad.

She’d braided her hair back in a no-nonsense twist. The severe do, combined with her white T-shirt and khaki flight suit, shouldn’t have been sexy. Unfortunately for him, he appeared to find everything about her attractive. She was like fire and he couldn’t not touch.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this kind of curiosity about anything, but he felt it in spades around Ashley and never mind that dragging her out here topped the list of stupid things he’d done in his lifetime. Sure, he probably could have handled all this himself via a couple of quick phone calls—even if the registry department was waterlogged and sans roof—but what fun would have that been? So, instead, he’d blackmailed her onto the military transport and then called in a few favors for a helicopter to make the hop from Belize City to Fantasy Island. He must have left his brain in his last foxhole or stood too close to a mortar round. That was the only explanation.

As soon as the bird hit the landing pad and the rotors stopped, Ashley was out and striding down the path. She hadn’t even bothered grabbing her bag. He knew she didn’t want to be here, but he hadn’t realized she’d literally be running to check out their marriage ceremony. She was breaking all known speed records for tracking down a divorce and he didn’t think it was because she only had a week’s vacation time to spend on the island.

“You left your stuff,” he hollered after her, ignoring the resort staff already moving in to grab their duffels. Problem solved, although he usually preferred to handle his own gear, and not just because he usually packed ammo instead of swim trunks.

She tossed him a saucy look over her shoulder. “Make yourself useful, Brandon.”

“You want me to be your porter?” Like that was happening.

Screw it. He grabbed his own bag and hoofed it after her. He’d keep his stuff where he could see it, especially since he had a Glock and a few other toys cozied up with his skivvies. Fantasy Island should be safe as Fort Knox, but he hadn’t survived this long by taking chances. He owed Ashley that much, at least. The helicopter started back up. Guess their pilot wasn’t planning on sticking around.

She was already halfway down the path, speed walking as if she was competing for gold. Or maybe she just wanted to beat him to the front desk. Didn’t matter. She could win all the minor skirmishes she wanted, but he’d won their war. She was here. He fell in beside her.

“You’re a bad penny,” she announced, not taking her gaze off the path in front of her. It was getting close to sunset, and the sunlight was filtering through the palm trees. Monkeys chattered away overhead, and the birds yelled back. Kind of like him and Dixon really. Plenty of noise but no real conversation.

He shot her a grin. “I do keep turning up, don’t I?”

“What?” She gave him a hard look and he figured she was seconds away from elbowing him.

“Just thinking aloud,” he said, because that was the truth. “So you think they got the bloodstains out of the gravel yet?”

They both looked at the road where they’d taken down Marcos. Everything seemed normal.

Ashley didn’t stop her mad dash for freedom. “You’d better hope they don’t remember your pretty face or connect it with the disappearance of the Marcos bridal party.”

He honestly didn’t expect it to be an issue. The staff had been rotated out since their last covert visit and people tended to see what they wanted to see anyhow.

When they made it to reception, naturally Ashley wasn’t done fighting him. Since he’d booked the reservation, he ponied up his credit card—and she promptly whipped out hers. While they argued over who got the privilege of paying the bill, the stuffy guy at the front desk shoved wet towels and champagne drinks with ridiculous red cherries in their direction, as if cotton and alcohol could fix their relationship problems.

Not a chance in hell.

And honestly? It kind of bothered him that Ashley wouldn’t let him take care of her. Fantasy Island’s room rates were sky-high, and he didn’t know if she had that kind of cash. He’d planned on blackmailing her—not bleeding her dry.