Still Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 10) Read Online Free PDF

my turn in our game of conversational ping pong and I’ve got my paddle in the air, aimed at the plastic ball hip-hopping its way toward me. I could tell her it’s fine. That it doesn’t matter and I’m not mad or upset or bothered even the teeniest fucking bit.
    I don’t believe in lying.
    I don’t fill in the silence.
    You’ve seen the signs in stores full of fragile, overpriced shit, right? The ones that promise if you break it, you’ve bought it? As I stare at Hindi’s chest, trying to drag my eyeballs back to her face because this is so not okay, I have a whole new sympathy for those store owners. Maybe it’s not a set up. Maybe they’re just really fucking tired of everyone prancing in there, messing shit up, and then expecting them to deal with it. I’ve spent a lifetime cleaning up after other people, and while I don’t regret it and I absolutely believe in what I’ve fought for, I’m tired.
    “God.” She actually throws her hands up in the air. “You never say anything. It was always like living with the original mountain man.”
    She wants words? I have some for her.
    “You fix it,” I growl.
    “Gotcha,” she squeaks and then she turns and sprints up the beach. Great. I’ve fucking run her off. That’s a new low, even for me.
    Hindi Alvarez-MacCarthy drives me fucking nuts.
    I’m not married to her.
    I will not be married to her.
    Uh-oh.
    You remember Sam-I-Am and his adamant dislike of green eggs and ham? Yeah. I can hear the similarities too, but trust me. This is a no way, no how situation. Hindi is messy. She’s emotional. Just think of her as the invasive pondweed that moves into a perfectly nice, self-contained body of water and explodes everywhere. No way. No how.

    Something smacks hard into the door of my bungalow. From the length and pitch of the reverberation, I’m guessing shoulder rather than palm or knuckles. Yes. I lock my door. You can never overestimate the importance of security, plus it’s the only way to guarantee I have any privacy—or a heads-up about incoming company. My friends and co-partners in Search and SEALs have zero social skills and even fewer manners. I pause the show on my TV and count. I’ve just made it to five when Finn’s face appears in the open window to my right. I should really get around to investing in screens.
    He leans his arms on the sill and rests his chin on his forearms, giving me puppy dog eyes. “Whatcha doing?”
    Finn made one hell of a SEAL, and there’s no better man to have at my back, but he’s completely shameless and he actually loves people. When he hooked up with Vali, I hoped the constant banging and female company would get him off my back, but he still insists on coming round to bug me on a regular basis. And honestly? I appreciate it, although I’m certainly not going to let him know that. He’d give me shit for years.
    “Research.”
    “Can I help?”
    Why not? Since it would take an act of God to keep him out anyhow, I pat the couch beside me. “Come on in.”
    Finn climbs in. His fitting through the window requires some gymnastics—Finn’s never been a small guy and he’s bulked up even more since we left our SEAL days behind us. He claims it’s because he doesn’t have to worry about plummeting to the ground when he jumps headfirst out of a plane anymore. I blame his girlfriend’s spectacular cooking. His hair sticks up on end, one endless wave after another. Vali described him as her lion because he’s got all that gold and brown hair, plenty of stubble, and a dimple the size of the Grand Canyon. Not sure what the dimple has to do with anything leonine, but it’s always been his Get Out of Jail Free card with the female sex. When I gave him shit about the lion thing, he pointed out that lions are more likely to eat you up than not. Then he waggled his brows. Yeah. Fucking TMI right there, but he and Vali are happy, so they can play all the zoo games they want as long as I don’t have to hear about