Fuck. Deep throat. Not what he should be thinking about. His mind instantly shifted—as it had been doing all morning—to last night.
“Epic” was an understatement. Dean didn’t know what to think. He probably shouldn’t try; he might not like what he came up with.
What the hell had he been thinking? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. They were obviously attracted to eachother, they both knew the situation, they were stuck here for a few days—they might as well make the best of it. Why not?
At least that was what he had told himself, but it didn’t seem quite so straightforward now. He’d been inside her half the night, and the other half he’d kept her cuddled so tightly against him a good old-fashioned Gulf hurricane couldn’t have ripped them apart.
He was an idiot. He should have stuck to the original plan and not given in. He had a “type,” as the LC had pointed out, for a reason. Even in the best of circumstances—which this sure as hell was not—his job didn’t allow for anything more than casual hookups of the mess-around, nothing-serious variety. To be part of Team Nine, it was a mandate: no close family, no wives, no girlfriends. There were exceptions made like Blake with his supposedly estranged sister, and Colt’s marriage to Kate (being CIA, she knew how to keep secrets), but they all knew what they were getting into when they joined. It was part of the deal. You want the most important, dangerous, highly covert ops? No ties.
So yeah, he had a type. Women who were fun to hang out with, maybe go to dinner with and see a few movies with in between hot and heavy sessions in the bedroom, but no one he’d be tempted to want something deeper or more serious with. He kept it simple. Light. Casual.
Fitting Annie in that box, however, wasn’t working. There was nothing simple, light, or casual about her, or how she made him feel.
He should have stayed away from her from the beginning and every stupid step along the way. Listened to his head and not his gut—or other parts of his body.
Frustrated with himself and the situation, Dean cursed and returned to his electronic surfing. The wind-and-board variety would come after lunch.
His attempts to delve into the financial history of OPF, specifically who might be funding them, however, hit dead end after dead end. After an hour of banging his head against the proverbial cyber wall, he gave up.
What the fuck was he doing anyway? He wasn’t abackroom guy. He wasn’t a computer hacker, a forensic accountant, or an analyst.
He was a SEAL. A fighter. The guy running into a firefight or the guy you sent behind enemy lines. He was the person who knew how to run an operation and get the job done.
He could look at a situation, assess, analyze, and make a decision before most people formulated the question. Knowing how to act and being able to trust that those actions were right was almost instinctive. It was probably his biggest strength.
But after what had happened with the kid in Russia and now Annie...
His gut seemed to be letting him down.
He needed to get back to what he was good at. Solving problems and getting the job done. In this case, clearing Annie’s name and making sure she was safe before he disappeared again.
With that in mind, he left the café and started back to the guest house, making a call along the way to the LC to pass on what information he’d gathered about OPF. Maybe Kate could do something with it.
He’d told Annie he would meet her for lunch on the beach, so he was surprised when she came bursting into the room not long after he’d returned to the guest house.
One look at her face, and he knew something was wrong. She was as white as a sheet.
He felt that strange thud in his chest and didn’t hesitate to draw her against him when she raced into his arms.
The frantic beat of her heart seemed to echo his own.
He had to stop this shit. The man known for his cool under pressure went to fucking pieces whenever she jumped.
He drew her back, holding her away from him, where presumably she wouldn’t do as much harm. “What’s wrong?”
“There were two men at the beach—”
Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever lost it before, but that had done it. He went ballistic. Out of control with rage. “If those two assholes touched you, I’ll kill them.”
Something in his voice seemed to clear some of her panic. She looked at him in surprise. “What? Oh, you mean those guys from yesterday?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t talkingabout them. This was two different guys. They were walking up and down the beach, talking to people, showing them something. It looked like a flyer. I’d just come back from the bathroom when I noticed them. I don’t know why I didn’t return to my things, but there was something about them.... They didn’t look like they were from around here.”
Dean had calmed down enough to ask, “Why?”
“They were a little too polished. I don’t know the right word.... Slick, maybe? The fancy-European-designer-suit kind of look. But tough guys. It was just wrong.”
“What was the flyer?”
“I didn’t stick around to find out. But it has to be my picture.”
