Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page B

then glance down at the baby. Still sleeping, thank God. Poor kid’s gonna be cursing like a SEAL before he reaches kindergarten.
    “I’m too old for you,” she says firmly. “But you’re sweet to pretend.”
    “Are you Methuselah? Because you don’t look old to me.” At all.
    She laughs and pats me on the arm . “You can’t possibly find me attractive,” she says.
    Shit. We all know there’s no good answer to this one. If I declare she’s an elderly, asexual hag, I’ve just proved her point and underscored what a bastard I am (not to mention a liar). On the other hand, if I jump into the conversational waters with a passionate declaration of why and how I find her attractive, I’m kind of a creeper. Not sure what I’d have to do to get a date with her. Whip my dick out and let her see firsthand how hard she makes me? Bet that would get her off my porch fast. Us dating and/or going at it like sexed-up bunnies isn’t a good idea for many reasons, but her being older doesn’t make the list. I don’t give a fuck if she’s got an eight-year head start on me. I run fast, and I always catch my target.
    Of course, Marlee talks even faster than I run. She’s back to the fairy godmother thing. “I have to save your life. Then we’re even.”
    She grins at me, all thoughts of sexual attraction clearly banished from her head.
    “You’re saying you’re waiting around until I have a near-fatal accident and then you’re gonna jump in and rescue me?”
    “You bet. You’re stuck with me. Glued at the hip. Besties.”
    She sounds fucking gleeful, which is my first clue.
    Nothing is gonna be the same.

A nd so that’s how Marlee and I became friends. Although become isn’t the right word to describe the way she barges into my life and drags me out of the shadows. When I’m around Marlee, I don’t watch from the sidelines. She drags me right into the thick of things. She may be trouble, but I’m trouble’s new best friend.
    Being a dumbass, I initially try to go back to lurking in the shadows, keeping an eye on her from a distance. Marlee, however, doesn’t like distance. It takes me less than a day to figure that out after our close encounter at Search and SEALs. In fact, she trains me with the same meticulous, careful prep I give our dogs. It’s just that my reward isn’t a cookie or even a bright pink ball.
    My reward is her .
    Beats a fucking cookie any day.
    Training dogs to protect, defend, and act on command isn’t always as exciting as it sounds. Sure, there are days when you wear more protective gear than a firefighter tackling a burning building and your newest dog comes flying at you, all teeth and lethal intent. Maybe you roll around in the dirt, wrestling and laughing, because something’s finally clicked in the dog’s head and he wants this. This , of course, being a piece of your ass or your throat.
    Most days, though, it’s endless repetitions of obstacle courses. Leading the dog from place to place until you both could run the course in your sleep. It’s a whole lot of same-old-same-old because if the dog can’t do his work in his sleep—or while taking enemy fire, under a mortar attack, or any one of a hundred other high-stress, battleground situations—you’re sending the dog out to die, and he’s gonna take his team with him.
    Since we’re actually not trying to blow up the Florida Keys (although our neighbors have complained more than once about our love of explosives), I take Bravo into the Bunker. It’s not an actual bunker—for one thing, it’s above ground—but once upon a time, it was a warehouse in a grittier part of Miami. We bought it, disassembled it, and moved it here. Four walls and a roof is a requirement when you’re working with explosives, but we didn’t want to sink so much money into it that we would care about a few scorch marks.
    Today’s course requires me to set up two hundred paint cans. The cans are galvanized metal, and we set each of them on a