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

it.
    Finn detours into my kitchen for the beer I keep there for him before dropping down onto the couch beside me. Since my living room furniture consists of a big-ass TV and a leather couch, his seating options are limited.
    “What are we watching? Porn?” He sounds hopeful, but we both know that Vali would kill him. Slowly. She’s creative, and she’d have made an amazing mercenary, because she’s definitely a take-no-prisoners kind of woman.
    I don’t bother to reply—just press the play button and make sure to keep the remote on my side of the couch. Finn has the television-watching attention span of a gnat with ADHD. The last time he got his hands on my remote, I had whiplash from the channel bouncing. For a few minutes, we watch the stream of half-dressed models prowling down the runaway. The girls don’t just need a steak—they need the entire herd of cows with a side of butter. The lingerie’s pretty fucking stunning, though—Hindi’s gone with a camouflage theme.
    Beside me, Finn gapes at the screen. “We never wore shit like that in the field.”
    Great. Now I’m mentally imagining Finn in a push up bra with green and brown gauzy stuff draped over his non-existent tits. That’s bad enough, but then the girl on the runway strikes a pose and pivots, flashing us and the rest of the television-viewing world her ass. And there’s lots of ass on display because apparently Hindi is a big fan of the thong. How the hell can they show this on TV?
    “Maybe we should have,” Finn continues. “Woulda made things even more interesting, right?”
    He beams at me, clearly enjoying the mental image. Since our last deployment was to a country where the majority of the inhabitants cover their women from head to toe, interesting is not the word that comes to mind. Plus, we’re all way too fucking hairy for thongs, and we’ve got way more real estate to cover. The image of eight badass SEALs in thongs is pretty ludicrous. An answering grin tugs at my mouth.
    “This show have stuff for guys? You think Vali would like that bra?” Finn squints at the screen, holding his hands up in the air like he’s mentally trying the lingerie on for size. Christ. I don’t want to imagine Vali’s tits, either. The lion thing was bad enough.
    “Just wait,” I grunt. No way I spoil the surprise for him.
    The camera pans to Hindi, sitting cross-legged at the end of the runaway. Her multi-colored hair sticks up where she’s run her fingers through it. She wears a skin-tight white T-shirt embroidered with Team Hindi , and yes, that’s a bright-red bra beneath the cotton. She comes across as fierce and determined, and even though I already know she wins this challenge and the whole goddamned design show enchilada, I can’t help rooting for her. I want her to win.
    “Dude,” Finn announces in awed tones, popping his beer open. I hold my hand out for the cap because otherwise it will end up across the room, underneath a couch cushion, or aimed somewhere in the direction of my flat screen. A stream of buffed, polished male models saunters out onto the catwalk. They’re wearing slightly more clothing than their female colleagues, but not by much.
    No sane guy would ever walk around with camouflage tidy-whities cupping his junk and—
    “Never seen a flak vest work quite that way,” Finn says thoughtfully. Yeah. His eyes practically pop out of his head as the guys pivot and stalk back up the runway. Hindi’s taken full advantage of the real estate she does have to work with—each guy’s ass reads on fire . Maybe I should give Vali a Christmas shopping list for Finn.
    The host pops up onto the runway and settles in next to Hindi. The online fan sites claim Hindi won the hearts of America because she’s real and authentic . No one would ever mistake the host for possessing those particular qualities. He wears a red velvet suit that seems two sizes too small, a striped shirt, a bow tie, and the biggest, shit-eatingest grin ever.