Lori Wilde - Born Ready

Briefly, he closed his eyes, licked his lips, struggled for control.

She raised her head from the floor, turned her face upward, squinted into the light.

Terrified that she would get a glimpse of his arousal, Scott commanded, “Face down!”

She obeyed, planting her chin back on the Astro Turf.

Scott wasn’t sure what to do next. He couldn’t let her up until he’d resolved his body’s unwanted involuntary response. He swallowed hard.

Quick, think of something libido crushing.

But all he could think about was how long and sexy her legs looked in those cutoff blue jeans.

Scott clenched his jaw. Global warming. The state of health care. The national debt.

“What have I done?” she asked. “What laws have I broken?”

He didn’t know what to do. Let her up? Go put on his clothes? But if he stopped to put on his clothes, she could make another run for it. Not that she could escape, but he didn’t want the hassle of chasing her down again.

Scott shone the light around her boat, looking for something to restrain her with, spied a rope coiled in the corner. It was too big and thick, but it would have to do.

“The least you could do is answer me,” she said. “This is pretty outrageous. You chase me down, pull a gun on me—”

“You pulled a gun on me first.” He retrieved the rope.

“I didn’t have a gun.”

“I didn’t know that.” He settled his SIG Sauer P229R and the flashlight on the short bow and leaned over to tie her up.

“Are you sure you’re Coast Guard?”

His fingers skimmed her soft skin as he looped the rope around her slender wrists. He could feel her breathing in angry gulps of air. The erection he thought he’d conquered stirred again.

Dammit!

Scott tugged on the ropes, making sure they were secure.

“You’re rude, you know that? How am I supposed to know you’re Coast Guard? You don’t identify yourself. You’re not in a Coast Guard cutter. You’re in your underwear—”

“Lieutenant Commander Scott Everly at your service,” he said. “And I’m on leave.”

“So if you’re on vacation do you even have the authority to manhandle me?” she seethed.

“I am when I see a crime being committed.”

“What crime?” she yelled.

“Easy there, mermaid.”

“Don’t patronize me.” She chafed.

He straightened, turned, moved away.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To solve the underwear situation.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ignoring her, he picked up his duty weapon and flashlight and stepped back onto his boat.

“What are you doing? You’re not just going to leave me tied up here!”

In spite of himself, Scott smiled. She was a feisty one. He’d grant her that. He dressed quickly, finally feeling fully in control again, holstered his duty weapon, retrieved the cylinder he’d found attached to the Kevlar cable and returned to her skiff. He reached down, hauled her to her feet and played the beam of his flashlight over her.

She sent him a blistering scowl. “I demand to know what I’m being charged with.”

“Have a seat,” he said mildly, indicating the captain’s chair.

“No.” Defiantly, she raised her chin.

He gave her his sternest military officer glare. “Do you really want to go there?”

“Bully.” Petulantly, she settled onto the seat.

“You’ve got some mouth on you.” He sank onto the small bench seat opposite her.

She narrowed her eyes, stuck out her tongue.

“Height of maturity.”

“Just tell me what the hell you want.”

He planed his palms over the tops of his thighs, felt the crisp material of his navy blue uniform. He held up the cylinder. “What is this?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Now is not the time for flippancy. You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“For what?”

“This for one thing.” He waggled the cylinder under her nose.

“Stop it,” she spat through clenched teeth. “You’ve messed up everything. I’m going to have to start all over.”

“What is it?” he pressured.

“The ADVOcean-Hydra.”

“What does it do?”

She rolled her eyes. “It uses Doppler technology to measure 3-D water velocity in a wide range of environments including surf zone, open ocean, rivers, lakes and estuaries. Know any more than you did before you asked?”

Scott studied her in the light from his boat’s headlamps. Either she was telling the truth or she was a superb liar. “Just who are you, Jackie Birch?”

She pulled herself up straight. She glowered as if she wanted to deck him. He was glad he’d tied her hands. “I’m a college student.”

“You seem a little old to be a college student. Slow learner?” Okay, so he was baiting her.

“PhD candidate, Skippee.”

Skippee? He suppressed a smile. He had no right being intrigued by her. For all he knew she was DeCristo’s drug mule. “PhD in what?”

“Marine biology. Not that it’s any of your business.” She wriggled against her restraints. “What am I being charged with? I have a right to know.”

“I’m the one asking the questions.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“Who are you calling?”

“Running a background check. Got your driver’s license on you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “No.”

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. You should carry ID on you at all times. Do you know your license number off the top of your head?”

She huffed out a breath. “I’ve got a confession.”

Confession? His gut tightened. She was going to admit she was working for DeCristo. “Let me guess, you’re not really a marine biologist wannabe.”

“My name’s not really Birch.”

“Aha, now we’re getting somewhere.” An exquisite sadness washed over him thinking that this woman had gotten entangled with scum like DeCristo. Don’t cut her any slack. She’s old enough to know what she’s doing.

“Yeah, down a freakin’ rabbit hole, Alice,” she snapped.

“Not really proficient in people skills, are you?”

“As if you’re a regular Benjamin Franklin.”

“Cacti have friendlier personalities than you.”

“Ouch,” she said sarcastically. “You are so mean. How will I ever survive a cut like that? There’s a reason people give cactus a wide birth.”

Scott leaned forward. This was bad. He liked her spunk. “What’s your real name?”

“Jacqueline Birchard.”

“What?”

She repeated her name.

An odd relief pushed out his sadness. She wasn’t working for DeCristo? Why did he so want to believe that was the case?

“Any kin to Jack Birchard?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed. “He’s my father.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. Happy now? You’ve discovered my big dark secret.” Her nostrils flared.

This was the renowned oceanographer’s daughter? Chagrin poked at Scott. His desire to stop DeCristo had led to a grave error in judgment.

“Wow,” he said, “I’m a big admirer of your father’s work.”

Her sigh deepened. “Yes, yes, he hung the moon and milked the stars. Your fan worship is adorable.”

“Don’t get along with the old man?”

“My, you are astute. The Coast Guard must be so proud.”

“It’s gotta be tough living in Jack Birchard’s shadow.”

“You know just how to make a girl feel special. I bet women fall all over themselves to see you in your BVDs.”

Scott ran a palm over his head, blew out his breath. “We got off on the wrong foot.”

“Through no fault of mine.”

He let the sarcasm pass. He deserved it. He’d jumped to conclusions. He wasn’t normally so trigger-happy, but DeCristo’s latest exploits had hot-wired his emotions. “What are you doing out here alone?”