Page 52 of Missile Strike

Former Navy SEAL.

Shaggy blond hair.

Rock-hard body.

Blue eyes—when they weren’t locked on her—constantly tracking. Assessing.

Were the innuendos he threw out just his way of masking his discomfort around her, as he’d implied?

Or was she correctly interpreting the lazy, sexual way his gaze roved, heating her blood and igniting every place it touched with fire?

What if he wanted her now? This version of her, not the seventeen-year-old he’d left behind.

What if she broke her own rule? Invited him into her bed?

Would he take her up on it?

He’d as much as told her he would.

Sensing his presence behind her, she turned.

He hovered in the bathroom doorway, looking like a sun-kissed god.

She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and whipped out the basket of toiletries she kept for guests. It hit the counter with a rattle. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

Boundaries. Even thinking about crossing them made her an idiot. If she gave in, she’d break all over again. Because she couldn’t separate sex from emotional intimacy.

As soon as the gala wrapped, he’d be gone.

The idea bothered her more than it should.

Off chasing the next adventure. Risking his life for someone else.

Another woman?

He stepped aside just enough to let her pass. The scent of warm sun and ocean breezes teased her senses. His eyes tracked her, and she’d give anything to know what was going on in his head.

“I’ve got some work to do, so goodnight.”

Before she did something foolish, like throw herself at him. Press her lips to his mouth. Run her hands over his firm chest and shoulders.

Derail her life.

Stake a claim she couldn’t possibly keep.

“Night, Bella,” he murmured, low and sexy. “I’ll lock up and set the alarm.”

“Thanks. Come on, Trip.” She grabbed the dog’s collar and guided him down the hall before Danny’s charm claimed him, too.

Her bedroom was the one place she let her control give way to whimsy. Where the rest of her home had pale, gray walls and a clean silhouette, she’d painted her bedroom blush pink. Her bed was a four-poster, her duvet and pillows a botanical design of vividly colored florals. Fairy lights were strewn across the white headboard. Her favorite piece of furniture was her dresser, which she’d found online. Each drawer was painted a different color with floral stenciling. Sheer white curtains accented her windows.

She changed into pink satin shorts and a camisole top, then checked her phone.

Talia still hadn’t called.

With a frustrated sigh, she climbed into bed with her laptop, propped her back up with pillows, and opened the lid.

Too many unopened emails crowded her inbox. She read a few but couldn’t concentrate and ended up logging out. Throwing her sweatshirt over her PJs, she cracked open her door and peered down the hall.