Page 69 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

Win gulped audibly. He hadn’t even touched her—not even a handshake—and he was telling her to get naked and wait for him in a hot tub? That smile still lingered on his face, and it did little to temper the glint in his eye. This man was dangerous. This man was hot. This man was the answer to her prayers.

“Okay,” Win said, standing up. She began by taking off her hiking boots and socks.

Vincent laughed and got up from the chair, hissing in pain again. As he headed into the house he turned. “Uh, Win? Did you bring condoms, by any chance?”

Win’s hand froze on the buttons of her shirt. Of course she didn’t bring condoms! “No!

I came up here to write about sex, not actually have it.”

Vincent laughed and shook his head. “If I’m not mistaken, Artie probably planned for every contingency. Be right back.”

Win was having an out-of-body experience. Someone’s hands—they looked a lot like her own—began to unbutton every last button on her shirt, then undid her belt buckle, removed her hiking shorts, pulled off her French-cut panties and underwire bra, and removed the clip from her hair. Somehow, she found herself walking toward the hot tub. That familiar-looking hand found the control panel on the wall, flipped the switch, and pulled off the thick padded cover. Then the hand held on to the railing as she stepped in.

So hot, so hot, so hot . . . and her skin tingled and her nipples drew up and tightened and she heard a little voice sing out in her head, “Let’s get it started in here. . . .”

Win eased down until the water lapped at her shoulders and her bottom rested comfortably on the ledge, massaged by conveniently placed water jets. And then it hit her—deadline stress must have weakened her mores! She didn’t even know this man! This was not like her. She had a three-date rule from which she never deviated. All right, just that once, but that was one hell of a first date and it was in Montreal, for God’s sake, and it was a private jet, not a commercial carrier.

And this? Win’s heart bounced around in her chest with the force of a jackhammer. She felt herself smile. This was better than Montreal and the private jet. Hell—this was better than anything she could cook up in her imagination, which was definitely saying something.

There were condoms everywhere—condoms in the bedside table in the guest room, condoms in the medicine cabinets, condoms in the cookie jar in the kitchen. As Mac went around the house on condom patrol, he figured Artie must’ve arranged for someone to take care of all these little details, including turning off the laundry room water main.

Poor Win never had a chance. And now, neither did he.

“Thank you, Artie,” Mac whispered, selecting a nice 2001 La Tache French Burgundy from the cellar, deciding they should stick with red.

He exited the doors to the deck and stopped in his tracks. Win’s delicious dark curls tumbled out behind her, spread out on the red-wood rim of the hot tub. Her eyes were closed, and her dramatic lashes lay thick upon her pale cheeks. Her lips were stained red from the wine and were slightly parted. And bobbing in the bubbles were two stupendous breasts, hard dark pink nipples just visible under the roiling surface.

Mac couldn’t seem to catch his breath. This beautiful woman was game. It was almost unbelievable. He knew it had been so long that if he didn’t exercise caution, he’d pop his own cork before he could open the second bottle of wine.

He walked stealthily toward the sunken tub and stared down at her. She opened her eyes and smiled; then he watched her gaze travel to the plastic grocery bag dangling from his hand. Mac set down the wine bottle and corkscrew, then held the bag open for her inspection.

“Damn,” she breathed.

“I fear Artie may overestimate me.”

Win sat up a little, her eyes wide. “There have got to be two hundred condoms in there!” She leaned her head back and laughed quite hard, and Mac loved the sound. It was loud and raucous and oh yes, he could hear the Alabama in it. Plus he could see all of her nipples now. He began ripping off his clothes and was down to his boxers when her laughing abruptly ended.

He gazed down to see Win’s open mouth and wide eyes. “Do you need to see additional forms of ID before we go any further?”

She shook her head in silence.

“Good.” Mac hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of his shorts and pushed down. Win let out a cute little squeak as his cock jumped free, and she kept squeaking the whole time he lowered himself into the tub. The water felt so damn good, he released a roar of satisfaction.

“Is your shoulder going to be okay?”

“I don’t plan on swimming in here, so I’ll be fine.”

That was when he felt a small, soft hand land on his good shoulder, then run down to his bicep, stop, stroke down his forearm, stop again, and run back up to his bicep. She made that squeaking sound again.

“What exactly do you plan on doing in here, Lieutenant Macbeth?”

He liked her directness. He liked it a lot. Though really, what option was there in this situation? They were adults. Naked adults. Half-drunk naked adults alone in the woods—in a hot tub. Directness was almost called for.

He smiled at her. “I plan on using a lot of those condoms, and not for water balloons.”

She laughed again and moved her soft little hand to the back of his neck, where she rubbed. The pleasure was off the chart, and all she’d done was caress him above the waist. He hadn’t had a woman touch him like that—with desire and real affection—in years. Three years, to be precise. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that combination until right this moment.

“Would you like some more wine, Vincent?”

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