Page 35 of Hot SEAL, Under Pressure

Where was that alcohol Shelly had promised him?

He glanced around looking for a cooler he could pilfer when the action around him picked up and the conversation died down.

A camera followed the dark-haired man he’d seen talking to Shelly that first day by the O-course. Clay, was it? This time, the guy was with a hot chick.

“Who’s this now?” he whispered.

“That’s Clay and his fiancé Tasha, fromHot House. They agreed to host our show.”

Host. What did that even mean? Stefan guessed he’d soon figure out what a host did as lights flipped on and the camera closed in on the two.

“Welcome to San Clemente Island. I’m Tasha,” she said with a smile as she looked to her male counterpart.

“I’m Clay,” the guy grumbled.

“And we’re your hosts forUnder Pressure, the show that asks the question, could you be a Navy SEAL? During the following weeks these eight civilians will find out, as they are put to the test, performing many of the tasks their SEAL teammates had to master to earn that coveted Navy SEAL trident. We’ll explain more about the competition and the challenges later. But first, Clay.” Tasha turned the focus over to Clay.

“During BUD/S, as trainees we don’t get to rest or eat without working for it first.The same goes for here,” Clay said looking a bit too cocky that he wasn’t one of the participants, just the host delivering the bad news. “Since there’s no challenge today, the workout to earn your place at tonight’s barbecue is sugar cookies, followed by twenty-push-ups in the sand.”

“SEALs, take your civilians down to the surf and demonstrate the proper sugar cookie technique. No one eats until all of you are sugared and have counted off twenty push-ups,” Tasha yelled.

She’d had to raise her voice to be heard over the grumbling of the SEALs and the whispered questions of some of the civilians who had no clue what sugar cookies were.

But there was one civilian who definitely knew what they were. The person who was in charge of planning these stunts.

Stefan shot Shelly a glare. “Sugar cookies. Really? So now we have to sit in wet sandy clothes to eat?”

“That was Jonas’s idea. Not mine. I didn’t even know what sugar cookies were except for, you know, a cookie, until he told me. The damn kid’s brother must be a SEAL or something because he knows way too much about all the shit that comes with your training. More than a normal assistant should.”

She drew in a breath then struggled to her feet from the log on which they’d been sitting. The producers of this show didn’t even provide folding chairs.

Shelly glanced down at him once she was on her feet. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. With any luck, they packed us a change of clothes for after.”

“They better have,” he grumbled as he followed her toward the water’s edge.

He’d already done his share of sugar cookies in his lifetime. And now he was doing more. And he was going to be cold and sandy all night,plushe’d have to listen to Shelly complain about being cold and sandy on top of his own discomfort.

Dragging his feet to delay the inevitable, he was still yards behind her when she ran into the surf, fully clothed, dipped down to her neck, then stood and turned to face him.

He tripped over his own bare feet when he got an eyeful of the vision she made coming out of the water. It could have been a scene from a James Bond movie where all the women were insanely attractive and, for some reason, so often dripping wet.

This—her—and his notice of her was one thing he hadn’t anticipated. Although he should have, given the fact Shelly was wearing a white shirt that was now soaked in sea water. A thin cotton T-shirt that clung to her curves like a second skin after her plunge into the cold water.

Not even the coating of sand after she’d dropped to the shore and rolled could cover the hard peaks of her nipples. Nor did it detract from the vision this woman made.

He swallowed hard as she then dropped to her knees on the sand to start her push-ups.

“Are you counting?” she gasped after her second push-up.

Shelly. On her knees. Right there in front of him. Hell, no he hadn’t been counting.

She raised her head to glance up at him when he didn’t answer.

He remained dry, upright and was currently speechless from staring down at the wet cotton shorts molded to her ass.

“Uh, yeah. Two,” he announced, pretending he’d been right on top of things this whole time.

She did her twenty reps like a trooper. Meanwhile, he had yet to move from where his feet were planted in the sand.

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