Emma’s heart raced as she walked toward the crowded bar, her palms slick as she clutched her leather backpack in both hands. Unlike the adrenaline she’d had coursing through her over the past few hours, though, her pulse was pounding in an entirely different way at the moment.

Awareness prickled over her skin as she felt the heated gaze of the man she’d nearly run into watch her walk away, and she was certain her face was flushed.

The curse of being so fair skinned, she thought in exasperation.

She certainly wasn’t interested in a man who’d bragged about the size of American men.

Good heavens.

American men were large all over?

There was certainly no doubt their egos were.

He was just cocky enough that he probably did have the goods to match.

Not that she ever intended on finding out.

She had enough to worry about without drawing undue attention to herself anyhow. Without having foreign men hit on her in crowded pubs. She’d barely been back in London a day, and she was already in trouble again.

The jaded police officer she’d spoken to earlier had told her to go down to the station with her information. Hadn’t seemed to understand or care about the documents she’d found. With the threat level in Britain at “severe,” you’d think he’d have been more concerned. But it’s not like she could wave them around in public where anyone could see.

She couldn’t go back to her flat—not after the way it had been ransacked this afternoon. When her neighbor had texted her mobile and let her know the police were there and that the entire place had been overturned, she’d fled. She hadn’t even gone back to investigate the damage or file a proper police report.

Not when she was being followed. When someone knew about the documents she had.

She was too afraid to even go to the police alone for fear of being caught. She didn’t dare walk around in public alone when someone was clearly after her. When she’d nearly been grabbed a week ago in Kabul and someone had found her back in London.

Still, her heart raced unexpectedly as her mind lingered on her brief encounter with the American man, replaying every moment in slow motion. As heat bloomed across her skin.

The guy she’d bumped into had towered above her, with a week’s worth of dark stubble on his strong jaw and multiple tattoos on his muscular arms. He was confident and arrogant. Brash. Practically oozing testosterone. A man like him was probably used to women dropping their knickers the moment he walked in. No doubt there were pounds of muscle beneath that soft, cotton tee-shirt he had on. And she’d felt his restrained strength as his fingers had grazed her forearm, as she’d brushed past him when she’d walked away.

A guy like him no doubt thoroughly knew his way around a woman’s body. What was that expression her American friend Lily was so fond of? Sex on a stick?

Emma had felt small and almost fragile beside him. Feminine. And that was unexpected, because she was fiercely independent. Content doing things on her own. Although she dated from time to time, so was so busy with travel and her research, she didn’t have time for a serious relationship. A commitment of any sort. She had her career to think of and refused to let a man stand in the way of her success. Not after everything she’d worked for.

No doubt he was here on a vacation anyhow, just visiting London, and she certainly wasn’t looking to spend one night with a man she’d never see again.

Never mind that he’d smelled like clean soap and a hint of some spice—cologne maybe? Not aftershave since he clearly hadn’t seen a razor recently. From his short, cropped dark hair to his broad shoulders and the way his jeans hung perfectly from narrow hips, everything about him was attractive.

Appealing.

Normally she was drawn to clean-cut men in button-down shirts and pressed trousers. The type of man who wouldn’t dream of marking their body with ink and were well-educated and well-spoken. Academics, like her. Who had attended prestigious universities and had their work published in esteemed journals.

That guy looked like he’d spent the afternoon at the gym, showered, and thrown on the first pair of clean clothes he’d found. Popped into a pub and tried out a few chat-up lines at the first woman he noticed.

She shivered as she recalled his searing gaze on her. No doubt he was already chatting up another woman by now, and it was for the best.

Emma had enough other things to worry about.

Steeling her nerves, she slid onto an empty barstool at the crowded bar, determined to put the American guy out of her mind.

Glasses clanked around her as the bartender lined up clean cups, and patrons talked loudly above the music. The greasy scent of fish and chips filled the air—so different than the open bazaar in Kabul. It had been only a week but felt like a lifetime ago—in that short span of time, her entire world had turned upside down.

But she was safe at the moment.

Unnoticed in the crowded pub.

The man seated beside her had his gaze on a laughing group of young women nearby. There was an empty barstool with a drink beside him, so his buddy or girlfriend was probably on his or her way back. And she was perfectly content to be left alone.

“Gin and tonic, please,” she said to the bartender.

“Coming right up.”

The woman flipped her white cloth over her shoulder and moved toward the bottles of spirits, laughing with a couple of young men seated at the bar as she made Emma’s drink. As Emma warily scanned the crowd.

A moment later, she released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, allowing her backpack to rest between her feet on the stool’s perch. Her shoulders and neck were tight with tension, and she absentmindedly brushed her hair back over her shoulders.

Tried to relax.

To think of a plan.

Visiting friends in London was out of the question—there was no need to draw any of them into danger. Not until she had this whole thing sorted.

Maybe she should just ring the police and ask them to meet her here. Tell them her flat was ransacked and she’d been too scared to return.

But it’s not like they’d just swing by the pub to take her statement—not unless there was an actual emergency. She should’ve turned over the papers to the authorities the moment she’d landed in Heathrow yesterday—rid herself of the situation altogether.

Now someone was literally hunting her down—there was no chance it was merely a coincidence her flat had been torn apart. Not within twenty-four hours since she’d returned. Not with the information she had.

A gin and tonic suddenly appeared before her, and Emma realized she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even noticed the bartender’s return. She took a sip, realizing she needed to be more aware of her surroundings. Careful with who she spoke to.

It probably wasn’t even safe sitting here for long.

She needed to move. Make sure she handed over the information through the proper channels—found someone who’d believe the documents she’d accidentally discovered.

She couldn’t let her guard down for even a moment.

Lifting her gaze, her stomach flipped as she saw the man she’d run into earlier heading in her direction.

***

Hunter strode across the pub, fists clenched, watching as the two men sat down at a table not far from him, completely unaware of his presence.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He felt his phone vibrating in the pocket of his pants but ignored it, his gaze trained on the two men.

If those two assholes had turned over an innocent woman for cash, he’d fucking read them the riot act himself. Forget following his chain of command and calling in the Brits to make an arrest—he’d end them himself, consequences be damned.

Just as soon as he determined the missing woman’s location.

His blood boiled at the thought of an innocent woman being held captive. It was bad enough that his SEAL team had just tracked down the Senator’s daughter—luckily, she’d been unharmed, but a Western woman being held hostage in the Middle East wouldn’t usually be so lucky. Maybe the latest victim wasn’t American, but that didn’t mean she’d be safe from those bastards—rape, torture. Other unspeakable acts.

His jaw clenched as his mind raced through varying scenarios.

The fact that the pub was filling up worked to his advantage. He side-stepped a couple walking up to the bar and surreptitiously planted a receiver on the back of one of the men’s chairs and he strode by.

He’d be able to hear every damn word they said.

After Hunter collected the details he needed from the men’s conversation, namely confirmation they’d been involved with the kidnapping of the missing archeologist, he and Mason would be on a flight back to the States.

Maybe even sent back out on an op to retrieve her.

It would just fucking kill him to leave those assholes here, untouched.

He had no idea what his next assignment would be though.

His SEAL team deployed all over the world, at Uncle Sam’s beck and call 24/7. Hunter had joined the Navy fresh out of high school and served his country for fifteen years. Watching the twin towers fall on 9/11 had cemented his career in the military. Same with many of the guys he served with.

At thirty-three, he’d given nearly half his life to the service. To tracking down low-life scum on all corners of the world—Drug lords. Terrorists. Arms dealers. Human traffickers.

He’d seen shit no one should ever have to. Slept in places he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. But he’d been damn proud to serve his country. To help the weak and innocent.

Guys like him weren’t made for a desk job anyway. He needed to be moving. Training. Fighting alongside his men.

If giving up his R&R this week served the greater good, then so be it.

He’d signed over his life to his country years ago.

Hunter did a double-take as he sank back onto his barstool a moment later, the beautiful redhead perched only a few feet away. Mason’s gaze was flicking back and forth between the men Hunter had just bugged and two young women in slim fitting skirts and button-down blouses that hugged their full breasts.

Hunter smirked and cocked his head, and Mason nodded, nonchalantly glancing over at the men they’d been tracking.

“Those two idiots didn’t even see you walk by,” Mason commented.

“Works to our advantage that way.”

“Let’s hope they’re feeling talkative.”

“Yep. Doubt they’ll announce where our missing woman is though.”

“So what? Now you followed me over to the bar?” the beautiful redhead asked in her smooth British accent, her green eyes flashing in irritation as she looked over at Hunter. She crossed her denim-clad legs, a leather backpack resting at her feet on the stool’s perch. “In case you didn’t catch on earlier, I’m not interested.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows, taking in her pink lips and slightly flushed cheeks. With her fair skin, even the slightest shade of pink showed up immediately. Enticingly.

Her silken red hair hung past her shoulders, just touching the swells of her gorgeous breasts. As she lifted a glass to her mouth, he tried not to smile as he watched her take a sip. This woman looked sexy no matter what she did.

And damn it all to hell, he had work to do.

“I was sitting here earlier,” he said coolly. “Maybe you were the one stalking my friend and me? Decided to come sit by him and wait for me to return?”

“Stalking? It rather looks like you chased me over here—all the way across the pub, I might add.”

“Mason Ryan,” Mason said, extending a hand. “We’d love for you to join us.”

The redhead looked momentarily startled at his interruption but extended her hand as well.

“Emma,” she said, without offering her last name. “And no thank you. I’m quite fine here on my own.”

Alarm bells began going off in Hunter’s head as she lifted her backpack up to her lap, her fingers clutching it tightly.

Emma.

Funny that she had the same name as the missing archeologist. But that was probably a common British name. And the missing woman was exactly that—missing. Not sitting in a pub in London glowering at him.

Looking sexier than any woman had a right to.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mason said easily, cocking his head toward Hunter. “He’s always in a bad mood.”

“I can imagine. Are you sure that you want to spend your evening in his company?”

Hunter smirked and surreptitiously adjusted his earpiece, listening in on the men’s conversation. Interestingly enough, Emma seemed annoyed that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, her searing gaze flickering his way. The pout on her lips was cute as hell though.

What was that expression? The lady doth protest too much?

At this rate, he and Mason were going to have to move if they wanted to concentrate and get their job done. He winked at Emma but glanced back over toward the men, keeping an eye on their movements.

A hint of a blush crept over her cheeks again, and he cleared his throat.

“No one’s forcing you to sit there, princess. But I have to admit, I don’t mind. Didn’t mind when you bumped into me earlier, either.”

“I already said—”

“Are you from London?” Mason asked. “Maybe you can show us around later. Tell us the best places to hang out. I got lost on the damn subway system last night.”

“Not originally, but I work here now. And I’m sure you can convince some other woman into showing you two around the city.”

“Fair enough,” Mason said with a smile. “So what do you do?”

Emma seemed to relax slightly, but the men Hunter was listening to were animatedly talking now, and he narrowed his gaze in concentration, occasionally stealing a glance her way.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?”

Mason shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m in the U.S. military—same with Hunter, here. We’re on a vacation of sorts—R&R.”

“And you decided to come to London?”

“We were flying back from a deployment,” he said without elaborating.

Although the woman seemed innocent enough, there was no need to go around advertising in the middle of a British pub that both of them were Navy SEALs. They couldn’t exactly hide the fact when they were back in Little Creek, but in Europe? Letting her know they were U.S. military was more than enough.

Especially considering they’d never see her again.

“And you’re the only two men in the pub who ordered a soda instead of a pint?” she asked, brushing some of that long, red hair back behind her shoulders. “Seems somewhat strange, doesn’t it?”

Her hair fell back into place, a strand teasing the swell of one breast again, and Hunter’s groin tightened.

He suddenly imagined her riding him in bed—her flaming red hair wild as she bucked on top of him, those soft, full breasts bouncing up and down, her mouth forming a perfect “o” as she cried out in pleasure.

Hell.

He’d been with a hundred women.

What was so special about her?

She was sexy as hell but far too observant for her own good.

“We’ve got a strict training regimen,” Mason explained. “So are you going to tell us what you do, or do I have to guess? Model maybe? Trapeze artist?”

Her gaze flickered over to Hunter.

“You’re awfully quiet considering you were nothing but talk earlier,” she said in her smooth British accent.

Hell.

Got him every time.

No sense in telling her he’d bugged a nearby table and was currently conducting surveillance of two operatives who possibly had ties to terrorists in the Middle East. Or that she was probably in over her head just be sitting here beside them.

“Quite observant, aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Especially since you’ve told me several times you’re not interested.”

His mouth quirked up as she flinched.

“Like Mason already said, we’re military. U.S. Navy. We’re just here in London for a few days on R&R. Might as well see the sights while we’re in town. And what do you do aside from looking gorgeous while following men around pubs?”

She flushed, much to his amusement, the slight pink on her cheeks arousing as hell. Hunter imagined she’d look like that as she came—with all her fair skin, she’d probably flush all over. Her cheeks, her breasts.

Damn shame he wouldn’t ever find out.

The two men he was watching were wasting a hell of a long time talking about the food and beer. By the time he heard anything of relevance, Emma would probably be long gone.

Just like the supposed missing British archeologist.

“I had no idea you were sitting here,” Emma said, looking affronted. “I came into the pub to order a drink like everyone else.”

Hunter’s ears perked up as the men finally began talking about the matter at hand.

“They don’t know what happened to her,” one of the men said in a thick accent. “She was located in a bazaar in Kabul but then vanished.”

He clenched his fist.

Vanished?

What the fuck?

“How the hell could she simply disappear?” the other man asked. “Weren’t several men tracking her?”

“Somehow she escaped.”

The other man bit out a curse. “She has the documents we need. See this?” he asked.

Hunter’s gaze flicked back to the table, where the two men looked at some papers. “Two pages are missing. We find her, and we retrieve what we need. She can’t have that information.”

“They were fucking supposed to handle this.”

“They didn’t. It’s possible she’s on her way back to London.”

“We’ll find her. Do you have a picture?”

“Of the woman? Yes. She’s quite beautiful. Pity she escaped.”

Hunter narrowed his gaze, exchanging a confused glance with Mason.

“Doesn’t sound right,” Mason said in a low voice, pulling out his phone. “I’ll contact the CO and see if we missed something.”

Hunter nodded, his gaze landing on Emma again. If the missing woman had escaped yet no one had heard from her, then where the hell was she? Were they following the wrong lead?

And why was this chick in the pub acting so damn mysterious?

“I can see you’re not even paying attention,” Emma said, swirling the ice cubes around in her glass. She took a sip of her drink, and he watched as she swallowed, enjoying his view of the long, slender column of her throat. The soft cashmere that hugged her breasts as his gaze dropped lower. “Spot another woman you fancy?”

Hunter’s took in her wide green eyes, flushed cheeks, and full, pink lips.

Fucking beautiful.

Emma.

But it couldn’t be. The name was just a coincidence.

“I’m all ears, princess,” he said, his voice gruff. “You seem reluctant to share anything about yourself. Maybe you usually just sit around your castle all day? I’m sure you could convince plenty of British guys to wait on you hand and foot. Seems like it’d get boring after a while though.”

“Princess? Not hardly. And I certainly don’t ‘sit around’ all day doing nothing.”

He cocked a brow, watching as she smirked at him, her green eyes sparking. Hell if he didn’t love a woman who was a challenge. Not that he had time to play games.

“Another soda?” the female bartender asked, leaning up against the bar again. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Hunter and Emma, amusement filling her eyes.

Annoyed by the interruption, Hunter gruffly said no.

Emma flipped her red hair over her shoulders again in what was clearly a practiced move. He wouldn’t mind running his fingers through all that softness. Finding out if she tasted as delicious as she looked.

She cleared her throat, sounding as prim and proper and British as she had when she’d first bumped into him. “If you really must know, I’m an archeologist.”

Hunter’s stomach dropped.