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With that thought, she stood up and pointed herself in the direction of sailor boy. If her girls wanted his company, they’d get it. Seeing them happy was a good thing. This was precisely what she’d fought for in Afghanistan, this beautiful, silly happiness. Laurel glowed whenever her fiancé’s name came up. They could laugh a little too loudly, drink a little too much, and have far too much fun, unlike the very few Afghani women Mia had met during her tours.
The sun beating down on the beach certainly upped the temperature to Afghanistan-like levels. Moving out without her flip-flops had been a mistake because the sand was scorching hot. As soon as Mia got close, speeding up her incoming to an undignified trot as the soles of her feet cooked, the visiting bikini babe slid off the edge of the boat, landing in the water with a little splash. Sailor boy didn’t look up. Not because he didn’t notice the other woman’s departure—something about the way he held himself warned her he was aware of everyone and everything around him—but because polite clearly wasn’t part of his daily repertoire.
Fine. She wasn’t all that civilized herself.
The blonde made a face, her ponytail bobbing as she started hoofing it along the beach. “Good luck with that one,” she muttered as she passed Mia.
Oookay. Maybe this was mission impossible. Still, she’d never failed when she’d been out in the field, and all her gals wanted was intel. She padded into the water, grateful for the cool soaking into her burning soles. The little things mattered so much more now.
“I’m not interested.” Sailor boy didn’t look up from the motor when she approached, a look of fierce concentration creasing his forehead. Having worked on more than one Apache helicopter during her two tours of duty, she knew the repair work wasn’t rocket science.
She also knew the mechanic and...holy hotness.
Mentally, she ran through every curse word she’d learned. Tag Johnson hadn’t changed much in five years. He’d acquired a few more fine lines around the corners of his eyes, possibly from laughing. Or from squinting into the sun since rescue swimmers spent plenty of time out at sea. The white scar on his forearm was as new as the lines, but otherwise he was just as gorgeous and every bit as annoying as he’d been the night she’d picked him up at the Star Bar in San Diego. He was also still out of her league, a military bad boy who was strong, silent, deadly...and always headed out the door.
For a brief second, she considered retreating. Unfortunately, the bridal party was watching her intently, clearly hoping she was about to score on their behalf. Disappointing them would be a shame.
“Funny,” she drawled. “You could have fooled me.”
Tag’s head turned slowly toward her. Mia had hoped for drama. Possibly even his butt planting in the ocean from the surprise of her reappearance. No such luck.
“Sergeant Dominatrix,” he drawled back.
* * *
“DO YOU EVEN remember my name?” Mia Brandt smiled at him, baring her teeth. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man twice over.
Sergeant Dominatrix. Dredging up her old nickname hadn’t been nice, but she’d startled him, and the words had slipped out. Okay, metaphorically speaking, she’d knocked him on his ass, because if he’d been making a list of the people he least expected to meet on Discovery Island, she would have topped said list. The last time he’d seen her had been when she’d marched out the door of his hotel room with a mouthy At ease, soldier. He’d been naked. She, on the other hand, had been sporting full dress uniform.
“I remember.” His people-naming skills had never been good, but Mia was unforgettable.
“Prove it.” She moved silently through the shallow water toward his boat. Those three feet felt like eternity.
“You don’t prefer Sergeant Dominatrix to Mia?” he asked innocently.
She treated him to a repeat of the death glare, which he deserved, because it was his fault she was saddled with the nickname, even if she didn’t know it. He had no intention of confessing the truth, either. He wasn’t stupid.
“Would you?” she asked.
Absolutely not. He’d never been good at taking orders. Mia, on the other hand, excelled at giving them. Their relationship had been doomed from the start. Sweet Jesus, but she hadn’t needed him for anything but his guy parts. At the three-drink mark of his Star Bar visit, that had been need enough for him.
“Touché. So...are you visiting?” See? He could be polite.
She pointed to a group of women behind her, the same group that had been mainlining cocktails and whooping it up while he worked. Funny. He wouldn’t have pegged her for a drinker. Mia liked being in charge far too much to give it up.
