Bound by the SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 5) Read online

“What exactly are you looking for?” Brayden asked.

  “Jail. Bars or a grate or a…” She trailed off and looked at the door leading out to a private balcony. He’d have no reason to be in this space all those years ago. It had been a private bedroom. But her mother had always had a weakness for Mrs. Parry’s things. Her space. And Arielle would bet any money that gorgeous balcony that overlooked the ocean was the site of her father’s proposal to her mother. He’d have come to find her when the Parrys were at church or a social event, and she’d have dragged him up to the balcony for added privacy.

  It would be poetic for her father to hide the statue that her mother had rejected there.

  Another thought occurred to her, one she really didn’t like. One that hit too close to home, especially with Brayden standing next to her.

  Mrs. Parry had stopped coming here more than a decade earlier, and then passed away a year ago.

  There had been some confusion about who inherited the property. Cara had been the director of the Miralinda Historical Society at the time, and the Society was named in a will. Villa Sucre was to be turned into a protected public property.

  That was until Mick arrived, a different will in hand, with the belief that he was representing Will Parry, Mrs. Parry’s grandson. A fellow Navy SEAL.

  And Brayden’s best friend.

  Mick, Will, and Brayden had had plans to renovate this space. They still did, although the will was now in probate in New York City and everything was up in the air. Mick and Cara, who managed to overcome their differences and fall in love at the same time, now had a plan that would both protect the site as historically significant and still allow the SEALs to use the land to develop their executive training facility as planned.

  None of that was really affected by Arielle’s sudden realization that her father had probably stolen the statue from the Parrys.

  Because he’d returned it. Here. A place that made no sense as a hiding spot except that it absolved him of the crime in the first place.

  At some point, he must have realized that they’d never found it.

  If she was right, she could turn around and tell Brayden her hunch. Tell him that there was a minor piece of art somewhere that probably belonged to his friend, and she wanted no part of it.

  But nobody else had put those puzzle pieces together. And maybe she was wrong.

  Oh, Dad. She rubbed her forehead. One thing at a time. She stepped into the anteroom leading out to the cupola, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Outside, it was pitch black still. “What time is it?” she asked as she opened the door and stepped out into the warm night air.

  “Nearly two in the morning,” Brayden said as he followed her out. He pulled out his phone and turned it into a flashlight.

  “Neat trick.”

  “You getting tired?”

  She stifled a yawn. “No.”

  He just laughed as he did a slow turn, shining the light along the closed in walls on either side of the balcony. “Nothing here.”

  She shook her head. “Not there.” She cleared her throat as she dropped to her knees. How many times had her father showed her this trick in their old house? “You can hide things here…”

  She felt for the edge of the grate that covered an open-air vent on the floor. It allowed hot air to flow from the space below, rather than getting trapped under the overhang on the verandah. But when she hooked her fingers through the open slats and tugged, it didn’t move.

  Brayden brushed his fingers against hers. “Here, let me try.” The wood creaked and whined when he pulled, but it still didn’t release. Clearly nobody had played hide-and-seek with a dolly up here…ever. Years of paint and dirt were sunbaked into the cracks, cementing the grate in place.

  He shifted, pulling something from his pocket, then with a flick of his wrist, he had a knife out. He shimmied it along the edge of the grate, on all four sides, then again, this time digging deeper.

  He took her hand and set it on one side. He took the other, and explained they should pull at the same time. “On three, are you ready?”

  She nodded. “Ready.”

  “One, two, three!” They tugged together and at first she wasn’t sure it would come out, but then there was give, and suddenly she tumbled back, the grate free and in the air above her.

  Brayden snatched it with ease and set it aside. “Okay, Catwoman. Take a look.”

  He shone the light into the space between the floorboards and she ducked her head down, but she didn’t see anything other than dirt on that side. But when the beam of light shifted around and she followed, she gasped.

  There was something there.

  She rolled onto her stomach and reached in as far as she could, but her fingers just glanced ineffectively off the white fabric it was wrapped in. “I can’t get it,” she gasped.

  “Let me try.”

  Her hands shaking, she took the phone from Brayden and he flattened out on the decking. His reach was longer, and with only a couple of grunts as she imagined he gained a good purchase on it, he had it and was rising up on his knees again.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing the bundle over and taking his phone at the same time.

  She rose to her feet and moved back into the anteroom.

  Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Brayden replacing the grate, but she was consumed with the discovery of the statue.

  It’s not yours. No, she knew that.

  It was still kind of thrilling to figure out the puzzle, though.

  “Wow.” The white cloth fell to the ground and she saw the old man she remembered from many years earlier. She turned it over in her hands, the brass solid and heavy and full of history.

  Complicated, dangerous, and-now-she’d-looped-in-a-good-guy-oh-shit kind of history.

  Brayden came alongside her, and she nodded absently. “Thank you. We can…pretend this never happened.”

  “Arielle.” His voice was low and rough, and she didn’t want to look him in the face. Didn’t want to see regret there—for helping her or trusting her or maybe even letting her go. Maybe she should be tied to the kitchen chair, and not in a sexy way. “Hey. Look at me.”

  Damn her submissive, eager-to-please impulses. She flicked her eyes up, looking at his face as commanded.

  “I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen. This was…fun.”

  “I don’t want the statue,” she blurted out.

  He frowned, then looked down at it. “Okay. We can put it back.”

  No. If her hunch was right, it should probably be tucked away where her father wouldn’t find it. “We should put it somewhere else.”

  The frown deepened. “Why?”

  “I dunno.” Because it belongs here. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice that theory. She needed to talk to her father first.

  He nodded like that was a reasonable answer when it totally wasn’t. “Then let’s find a place.”

  She led the way downstairs. She knew the estate well now, having spent a lot of time here over the last year with Cara. But it still wasn’t easy finding a spot to stash a statue where it could stay hidden.

  “How about up there?” Brayden said, pointing to an air vent running along the top of the wall. The grate was similar to the one in the floor of the cupola.

  “Maybe.” She stood on her tiptoes, not that it brought her any closer to the grate. “If there’s a little ledge in there, it would work.”

  “Here.” He held out his hand. “I’ll boost you up, you can take a look.”

  She set down the statue and carefully set her foot in his cupped fingers. His other hand settled on her hip, then he lifted her with total ease.

  She ignored the flutter in her chest and pressed her hands against the wall. Sure enough, the vent was well constructed on the inside, with a plastered over “floor”, and little nooks to the studs on either side. “Yes. This will work.” She tugged on the grate, but it didn’t come out. “Same thing as upstairs. It’s caked in there.”r />
  He lowered her down and got out his knife. He had no problem reaching the vent himself, although it was well above his head. It didn’t take him long to free the grate and lift it down, resting it on the floor.

  “Up we go again,” he said, his voice a little rough.

  She glanced up at the vent. He could reach the space.

  He moved closer.

  She picked up the statue before closing the gap between them. Her breath caught in her throat as he set his hands on her hips. He held her there for a second, then slowly turned her around. His heat radiated against her back and she wanted to lean into his hard, broad body.

  Instead she lifted the statue in the air and said, “Up.”

  He hoisted her this time with both hands on her waist, until she was up high enough to put her feet on his thigh that he braced against the wall. Then she carefully tucked the statue away. It was the right thing to do.

  Her dad would be pissed, but that was life.

  You didn’t always get a pony. Or stolen art.

  The floor creaked as he set her down. Neither of them said anything as he replaced the grate. Some dust had fallen to the floor, evidence of what they’d done.

  She motioned to the kitchen. “I’ll get a cloth to clean this up.”

  “I’ll get it.” He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Arielle—”

  “Thank you again for your help.” She cut him off. Don’t say anything else. It’s late, and we’re riding some crazy adrenaline here. Let’s not do anything we might regret in the morning because you’re a Hero with a capital H and I’m the amoral daughter of an unrepentant criminal.

  “Hang on. Let’s get this cleaned up first.” He pointed his finger at her. “Wait right here.”

  She watched him disappear into the kitchen, then she did the only sensible thing. She turned on her heel and fled out the front door.

  SEVEN

  MICK AND CARA RETURNED LATE IN THE AFTERNOON ON SUNDAY.

  Brayden still hadn’t gotten over Arielle’s disappearing act.

  He’d gone into the kitchen with a semi hard-on and a plan to kiss her when he returned. Instead, he’d found the front door wide open and zero trace of the woman he wanted in a decidedly unholy way.

  He’d spent the rest of the weekend fuming.

  “How was your weekend alone at the plantation?” Cara asked as Mick disappeared into their half of the bunkhouse with their bags.

  Let the half-lying begin. “Not nearly as interesting as my last job,” Brayden said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Drank some beer, explored a bit.”

  “Did anyone stop by?”

  Before Brayden could answer that, Mick returned and pulled open the fridge door. “Not much for dinner here, angel. Brayden, man, you could’ve done some grocery shopping!”

  He’d thought about it. But stalking a woman you’d just met seemed in poor form, and if he’d gone back into town, he’d have looked for Arielle. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

  “Then let’s go out for dinner!” Cara clapped her hands. “We’ll show you around, too.”

  They parked on a side-street off the main drag in Petite Ciotat and Mick and Cara led him through the shopping district, pointing out shops they liked. Everything was shut now, except an internet cafe, a twenty-four-hour laundromat, and toward the end of the strip, a cluster of restaurants.

  “There’s Daphne,” Cara said, pointing ahead.

  Brayden’s pulse picked up. Because behind the blonde woman Cara was pointing at was another woman walking toward them. One with long dark hair, golden brown skin, and a wise-ass mouth he still hadn’t had a taste of.

  A woman he needed to pretend he didn’t know, and couldn’t be attracted to. Her disappearing act had practically been a Dear John letter.

  Cara waved, then added, “And Arielle, too.”

  An unnecessary addition, of course, but she didn’t know that. Her black catsuit get-up was gone, replaced by a turquoise tank top and jean shorts that revealed strong thighs.

  Cara introduced them as they met at the entranceway to the open air restaurant.

  “Nice to meet you,” Arielle said, holding out her hand. It took a second for her eyes to lift and meet his gaze, but when they did, he almost believed it was like they were meeting for the first time.

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” he murmured. It was, too. Her hand felt good in his, small and delicate, but strong as she squeezed her fingers around his and pumped her arm.

  No way he wouldn’t be interested in her if they were just meeting now. That whole “don’t know her, can’t be interested in her” plan had to be revised.

  He now officially didn’t know this woman, but very much wanted to.

  There wasn’t a hostess to seat them, so they wandered through the space dotted with tables, some with patrons at them, others empty but too small, until they came to a large, round table at the back of the restaurant. Half a block away, the ocean surf could be heard.

  “This place is all kinds of awesome,” Brayden said as he shifted past Daphne to sit next to Arielle.

  She gave him a look, like don’t you remember me ditching your sorry ass?

  He just smiled. He did. At some point they’d need to discuss that. But first things first—he had to get some time alone with her.

  Behind her, Daphne smiled too, and he hoped Arielle’s friends might think hooking them up would be a good idea.

  He thought it was a swell one himself.

  ~

  Normally Arielle really liked this place. They had wicked grilled chicken and their mahi-mahi was to die for. Plus they always did a really nice fruit tray for the table to nibble on between dinner and dessert.

  But tonight, she could barely taste her meal because all she was aware of was Brayden’s thigh pressed casually against hers. His cargo shorts went down to his knee, but her leg was bare and had she known he’d been here, she’d have dressed differently.

  But did you really think Cara would leave him at home? She ignored that question to herself, because she didn’t want to think about the answer.

  Right now he was talking to Daphne, but she could feel it coming—the moment when he’d turn to her and ask the same question as he’d just politely offered to her friend.

  It would feel completely different, though. And it would be private. Just for them, their little secret. I already know this, his eyes would say. But I want to know what you’d say if we hadn’t already met in the most unconventional way. And she’d tell him whatever he wanted to know because when he fixed those blue eyes on her, she was a goner.

  It was a good thing she’d fled from the plantation the other night. Or right now she’d be remembering a hell of a lot more than just a conversation.

  Against her leg, his muscle bunched, a little heads-up he was about to turn in her direction. She fixed her best poker face in place and turned toward him at the same moment he looked at her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she didn’t miss Cara noticing that they’d turned toward each other as if by magic.

  I can feel his damn leg projecting his next movement, she wanted to protest, but then she’d have to explain to Cara why her lower body was plastered against Brayden’s, and that would only dig the hole deeper.

  And now that Cara was ridiculously happy and in love…

  Oh God, she was totally going to meddle and try to set them up.

  “And how about you,” Brayden said, the corners of his mouth tipping up just so. “Are you a bartender or a historian?”

  “Neither,” she said wryly. She wanted to stick out her tongue at him, but the tension zinging between them wasn’t quite conducive to tongue-sticking-out. Not unless she wanted him to call her a brat and haul her over his lap. So she played the game. “I’m a teacher.”

  “Interesting. Here in town?”

  That might be the first time in history that a Navy SEAL thought education was an interesting job. She smiled. “Yep. I teach mathematics
and literature at the high school.”

  His eyebrow curved up in the surprise. Ha. “Both subjects?”

  “We’re a small school. Each teacher needs to pull double-duty to cover the curriculum.”

  “Fascinating. I’d love to hear more about that at some point.”

  Heat speared her cheeks. Before she could reply, the bartender popped over to take another round of drink orders. Spared, but only for now.

  EIGHT

  AFTER DINNER, BRAYDEN OFFERED TO WALK HER HOME.

  “I…” And the rest of her words failed her.

  “I could use a walk,” Cara said with a wink. “Why don’t we do a loop past Daphne’s boat and Arielle’s apartment before heading back to the plantation?”

  Oh great. Now it was a group exercise in torture.

  But it wasn’t bad, actually. Cara and Mick led the way, with Daphne falling into step with them. Brayden and Arielle hung back, and suddenly it wasn’t awkward at all.

  “Sorry for the disappearing act,” she whispered.

  “I guess you didn’t want me to tie you up again, huh?” He bumped his arm lightly against hers.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He grinned. “Good to know.”

  She took a deep breath, then let it out. “Maybe one thing at a time.”

  “Well, you know where I am. Feel free to break in any time.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  He changed the subject. “This is a pretty nice little town you’ve got here.”

  “We like it. There’s a nice mix of locals and ex-pats. Some tourists, but they mostly stick to the resorts, unless they sail in and dock at the marina.”

  “Do you sail?”

  And so the conversation flowed, just like it had the night at the plantation, and before she knew it, they were at her low apartment building. She said good night to her friends first, then waved at Mick. Finally she turned to Brayden and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  He held her gaze and smiled. Could anyone else see the feral edge to it, or just her? “You, too. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”