San Diego, California San Diego International Airport

Hours and hours later, Charlie wearily settled in her seat, the window place occupied by a guy with a hoodie covering his head. He didn’t look too good. He was hunched down in the seat, sunglasses in place even in the dim interior of the plane. But wow, what a jawline, strong and masculine, with that small cleft in his chin and a set of full, gorgeous lips.

She was curious as to what the rest of his face looked like. Leaning back, she exhaled. She was beat. The flight would be just over five hours, and she was going to catch some winks.

He made a soft noise in his sleep, and she turned to look at him. His face was contorted, and he looked like he was having a nightmare. His breathing was rapid, and he twitched. She was unsure whether to wake him or not. But if she expected to get some sleep, she would have to. She leaned over the vacant seat between them and shook his arm.

He jerked awake, grabbing her wrist faster than she expected a man waking up would be able to. He blinked at her, his face a snarling mass as if he had to defend himself.

“You were having a nightmare. Let go of me,” she demanded, her voice low, yanking at her wrist, but he easily held on. Then he abruptly let her go.

“Leave me the hell alone,” he growled, then turned his body toward the window and promptly gave her the cold shoulder.

Jeez, rude. She had half a mind to tell him off right here and now, but she was too damn tired. The accident with the hose, the travel time, and her sorrow at the deaths of fellow sailors had taken their toll. She was asleep several minutes after she closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, she was being jostled out of the gray reaches of sleep as the surly jerk at the window was moving past her. But it was his deep voice that brought her fully awake. He mumbled something, and she was sure it wasn’t “sorry.”

Her ire rising a bit, she waited until he was in the aisle and then started to gather her own belongings. Something knocked her bent head, and she gritted her teeth as she looked up and saw him work his way down the aisle.

“Of all the nerve. So damn rude,” she whispered. Then she spied the duffel. He served? Warrior? Hmm, that made her pause. His back was really tense, and so were those broad shoulders. She reached up into the overhead bin and grabbed her own duffel. She navigated the narrow aisle, still muttering under her breath, seething.

Things didn’t get any better with him. He cut her off at the baggage claim, so she had to wait for one more revolution around the conveyor. She marched out of the area, looking for him, but he was walking briskly down the corridor. As she emerged from the terminal, he was heading toward a cab.

She increased her pace and caught him by the arm. He whirled, and she said,” You know, common courtesy goes a long way. Get a clue, pal!”

He stepped back, snatching his hand from her tight grip. In one smooth movement, he removed the sunglasses, folding one of the bows and tucking it in the V of his shirt. Charlie’s heart nearly stalled out. There was something about the way he looked in the deepest part of his eyes that made her insides knot up. There was pain, sadness, and a weary bitterness that sat on him like a shield.

Warrior eyes.

Suddenly, the part of herself that was raw and damaged, the part of herself that had suddenly demanded to be dealt with, stirred. No! She pushed back at it. She might not have actually dealt with everything, but she had a delicate balance that she maintained so she could get through each and every day. She didn’t need some rude, but undeniably handsome stranger stirring that all up.

Reaching up, he pushed off the hoodie. Feeling almost disoriented, her hands tight on her bags, she was momentarily distracted by the scent of him. Clean, delicious, and warm.

His eyes, thickly lashed and startlingly blue, slammed into her. There was no other way to describe the impact of all that pent-up energy. Charlie closed her eyes, trying to quell the sudden frenzy in her chest. Taking a fortifying breath, she glared at him.

He wet his lips, and her eyes were drawn there. She took a breath. What a seductive mouth with his full lips, both bottom and top, the upper one forming a tantalizing bow. His face was lean in a way that told her he was recovering from something, but his arms and wide chest held plenty of muscle. He had the kind of looks that carried off that buzz cut with the hint of a widow’s peak in the center of his hairline. There were circles under his eyes, and it was clear from his ashen face and pinched look, he was heavily hung over.

He shook off whatever had run through him, and it was as if he pulled a cloak around himself. He took a breath, then said, “Woman up, babe.” A mocking smirk was on his face. “The world is filled with assholes,” he said low and gruff. It brought her out of her fanciful thoughts.

Woman up? Babe? She stiffened as he turned away and headed for the open door of the cab. Without thinking about what she was doing, she darted in front of him and slid neatly inside. Before the attendant closed the door, she said, “Of all the ways to tell someone to fuck off, fuck off is still my fave. Have a great day.”

The door slammed, and she watched his face. A slight smile curved his mouth, the blue of his eyes intensifying as he lost a little bit of that pinched look.

He’s damaged…like you.

Could he be the key?

The thought came to her unbidden from a certainty that was as solid as the ground beneath her feet.

Suddenly she wanted to flee, and she wanted to tie him up.

There was something about him that would look so good bound. Maybe it was that flexing muscle or the shape of his body or his overbearing alpha attitude, under her direction, switching to submissive, because he had the courage and the…confidence born out of trust. Maybe it was because there was something killing him from the inside out. Something that she could help to heal by getting closer to him in the space her bondage work allowed her to create. Not that she had ever found it while trussed up in the ropes. She had thought that tying up a man would give her the release she could never seem to reach. She hadn’t known why. She expected it would happen, but instead she only experienced frustrating results.

Shibari meant “to tie” in Japanese. It was considered an art form and at its core was an art of erotic spirituality. The rigging formed a safe space for a person to let go of everything. The shapes of the ropes created geometric patterns and silhouettes that contrasted against the natural curve of the body.

She had become a master because she was looking for something that she hadn’t found.

Experiencing a strange flutter at that unexpected thought, Charlie clenched and unclenched her hands, recognizing the flutter as nothing more than her female reaction to him.

He was truly, forcefully beautiful, in a raw, untamed and brooding manner, in a way that Charlie had never before known a man could be, outside of art and fiction. Descriptors simply didn’t do him justice. He was like a ruined angel crowned with golden brown hair and eyes the color of the ocean.

The whole encounter left her breathless. As those shadows chased across his face, she had found there was a slim, intense sympathy for him. Maybe he wasn’t an asshole; maybe he was one of the warriors who had come back shattered. All she could think was that she wanted to know if his pain was like hers, if he was feeling more like a sculpture with cracked pieces, or if he had taken everything he was and stuffed it down so deep, he wasn’t sure of himself anymore.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, she turned to look back at him.

Damn…her craving intensified.

She so needed to rope him.

---

Gulf of Aden Somewhere near the coast of Somalia

Scarecrow sat in the stern of the stealth assault craft along with his teammates and Robin “Hood” Ballentine, the shaggy-haired navy corpsman filling in for Blue from Team Seven. His boyish face was angular, but there was nothing except dangerous experience in his eyes. They all knew Hood and had worked with him on the recent mission.

He was still raw from seeing Blue’s most private and peaceful room trashed like that, as if he’d seen into his troubled soul. Scarecrow’s behavior sat on him like lead—ashamed lead. He had been angry at what had been done to Blue, so what had he done? He’d taken it out on the man. Instead of supporting him, instead of giving him a shoulder to lean on, Scarecrow had socked him in the jaw. He sighed, and his gut twisted up.

Now Blue had been banished and left alone to handle something so difficult. Scarecrow was genuinely worried for him. They were brothers, and he would never forget that fact again.

He saw the stolen battleship off in the distance. They would be inserting into the ocean and swimming to it, disarming the pirates and taking the ship.

Ruckus was directing the mission, and Cowboy was taking point on this one. Everything was going smoothly until they climbed the ladder to the destroyer. As Hollywood hit the deck, there was a shout from their right. They piled on up, moving fast, but gunfire erupted, and all hell broke loose.

So much for the freaking plan. It looked like it was going to be a firefight. Knowing Kid, he would want an advantage of height. Scarecrow saw him move at a crawl to a ladder and take out the guy on top with a roll and expertly placed shot. Then he was scampering up that ladder and going prone on top.

Scarecrow kept his focus on the enemy he was assaulting and one eye on Kid. There was something…off about the whole damn thing. Definitely not one of their smoothest ops. Then Kid, in his wisdom, decided to move, and someone stepped out of the shadows. Using the butt end of his weapon, he cracked Kid in the skull. Kid went down hard, and the bastard rolled him off the upper deck toward the churning sea below with his boot. For a heart-stopping minute, he hung suspended, then he disappeared over the side.

Wicked took the guy out as the pirates pressed their attack and bullets flew everywhere.

Several guys had seen what had happened, their reactions clear. Without hesitation, Scarecrow set his weapon down. “Crow!” Wicked yelled, but there was no way Scarecrow could do anything else. There was no way he was letting Kid die.

Cowboy growled for a report through the comm, then Scarecrow vaulted the rail as someone relayed that Kid was overboard. He barely had time to adjust to the rapid fall, not unlike jumping from a plane, but with a much shorter duration. He hit the water feet first and immediately clawed for the surface. He pushed back the frantic panic that tore at him. Where was he?

So many things went through his head, not the least of all his family. If something happened to him, his mom and dad… He thought of that connection, far away…so far away, when he wasn’t this man soaked to the skin, his brothers struggling with their own lives. Back in Red River Parish, he was just Arlo Porter, but here he was a highly trained operative. His parents would be on their own, and that crushed his heart. They needed him, but his country was also counting on him. Paige Wilder was counting on him. Kid was counting on him and that team still up on the decks, taking the warship was counting on him.

This was what he did, what he was made to do.

It was dark, and Kid was dressed in black, but where SEALs usually cursed the moonlight, Scarecrow was thankful and searched the waves for his teammate. Finally, he spotted him and swam strongly to him. Kid was face down, and Scarecrow brought him upright, keeping him that way while he treaded water.

“Scarecrow! Kid! Report!”

“I’ve got him. He’s out but breathing. We need immediate pickup.”

Hours later, with the pirates subdued and the ship now in SEAL possession, Kid huddled under a blanket in his chair, a bruise on his temple, his usual banter silent. No one spoke. The op could have gone so wrong.

They were in the ready room aboard the USS Joshua Stanton, and when Ruckus entered the room, everyone sat up straighter.

“What the hell went on out there?” he shouted, his usual composure gone. It wasn’t lost on Scarecrow that it was fear masked as anger that drove him. He yelled for a long time, and the team took it on the chin, every man feeling not only the bad op, but the absence of Blue.

They flew home, weary, feeling like whipped dogs. There was again no chatter, no roughhousing, no togetherness as each of them felt that isolation to their bones.

When they touched down, his teammates met up with their significant others, but Scarecrow only felt that emptiness when he looked around. Paige held her husband for a long, long time, and Scarecrow couldn’t look away as he blinked rapidly to make these feelings go away.

Big, bad SEALs didn’t get choked up over a tough, disaster of a mission.

Then she let Kid go, and she searched the tarmac. When she spotted Scarecrow, she started for him. By the time she got to him, she was running, and she slammed into him, her arms going around his neck. With a soft kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Thank you, Arlo.”

Ah, hell, why did she have to call him Arlo?

Maybe someday there would be a woman like Dana Cooper, Paige Wilder, Kia McGraw or Alyssa St. James in his future. Maybe he could find one of the strong ones, too.

She let him go and went back to Kid, and they left arm in arm.

Everything was off, like they were all out of step. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to realize it was because Blue wasn’t with them.

Their brotherhood had been tested, and Scarecrow couldn’t shake the feeling that they had failed.

---

Naval Diving and Salvage Training Center Panama City, Florida

Charlie decided to live in Millville, a community that hugged Watson Bayou and was east of Downtown, named for the paper manufacturing and shipbuilding center that had flourished for decades. Situated by Watson Bayou Waterfront Park and the 3^rd Street retail, dining, and entertainment district, it gave Charlie a beautiful place to do her month-long class and enjoy herself. Her condo was located at Watson’s Marina where boats rolled on their moors and the breathtaking view of St. Andrews Bay was just a glance away.

She never liked to be in the barracks. There were few women, and the emptiness kept her awake. As soon as she unpacked and settled her belongings into the dresser, she took a cab to the car rental place and obtained a vehicle.

She wanted to see some of the area, maybe take day trips when she wasn’t training, and go to the beach anytime she could manage it. She especially wanted to go to the beach.

Money had never been an issue. Her family…she paused with a catch at her heart…had been wealthy. But now she was alone with all of it.

The navy was her future now. It had been some time since she’d been a green recruit and attended her first diving class. Her instructor had been strict, no nonsense and graduated her at the top of the class with her pick of assignments.

It hadn’t really mattered to her back then. She just wanted to challenge the ocean, hit back at the way she’d been wounded, show it she wasn’t afraid.

But as a more seasoned diver, the ocean, though still dangerous, posed a lesser threat than it had in the past.

She was glad she had arrived two weeks early. It gave her a chance to get settled and check into “X” Division where she get a head start, maintain her physical training every morning and acclimate to the humidity of Panama City. Plus, she could help out where she might be needed. NDSTC’s large training facilities supported modern classroom for academic programs, lab areas for “hands-on” equipment training, a large pool for physical training and basic scuba skills and three indoor training tanks. There were also three PVA’s or Pressure Vessel Assemblies, sophisticated multi-lock chambers for deep qualification diving.

After reporting to the school the next morning, her assignment was to the dive locker and was located at the swimming pool. She inventoried all the scuba gear and tools. She saw the students in training, filled the scuba bottles with air, and heard students getting chewed out by instructors.

She spent the rest of her day food shopping, enjoying a meal at one of the quaint cafés while enjoying the sunset, then some hardcore reading of her manual and turning in early.

She was raring to go in the morning and got up before the alarm and had a light breakfast. When she hit the school, the energy of the place infused her.

It was invigorating to be part of this community with the love for their job, enthusiasm in sharing their knowledge and producing the best divers in the world. She was proud to serve alongside them.

She pushed PT as hard as she could. She wasn’t going to be evaluated until she officially started school, so this gave her an opportunity to really test herself.

She was working at filling a line of scuba tanks when she heard, “I need some gear.”

The deepness of his voice filled her up as if he were the one who had his hand on the air tank. She froze, then pivoted. Sure enough, it was the jerk from the plane. He didn’t look much better than he had the two days before. It was also clear he still had his “fuck the world” attitude.

She turned to find him standing there in nothing but swim trunks.

Slammed hard by all that smooth, curving muscle, she stared for a moment.

Man, she hadn’t realized how tall he was, how big. Wide shoulders tapered down to a lean waist. His hands were long and well-shaped, and there was defense in his almost deceptively casual stance, a stance that was nothing but a ruse. His lethal vibe and too careless demeanor shot home to her he had no regard for danger and now, even in this benign place, he was locked and loaded for it.

Women were passing, sliding appreciative glances toward him. But she saw something more than beauty, saw the unhappiness in him, saw that his set expression was a mask.

He was no longer looking at her. His lashes were lowered, his face as silent and withdrawn as carved marble. Gradually his breathing changed, grew deeper, slower, something she could feel but not hear. As it altered, he altered: he still seemed powerful and solid, and yet the aesthetic purity of his features gave him an unreal aspect, like something from an artist’s dream of absolute and flawless force. In the burst of sudden sunlight from the windows, his hair was lit with gold, red, and a thousand subtler tints.

He shifted, his pain even more clear to her as if she were feeling what he felt.

“Come on, tadpole. You had no problem telling me off when you stole my cab at the airport. Use your words.”

She frowned. “I didn’t steal your cab. I commandeered it because you were being just as unpleasant as you are now. Shocker.”

“Commandeered?” He chuckled and looked away as if it had totally caught him off guard. The momentary break in his brooding face, transformed it for a split second, and she found she wanted more of those type of expressions. “Maybe I should call you admiral instead of tadpole?” His expression did a three-sixty back to brooding, and he glanced back at the pool as if he needed to be somewhere, his profile taut.

“Whatever you like. What can I get you?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he glanced at her, the set of his jaw indicating he was stressed. Curiosity as well as attraction mixed and warred. What had happened to him, and who was he before that devastation?

He held her gaze briefly, then turned and stared at the equipment behind her, his tone clipped when he answered. “Fins, towel, and goggles.”

This man had once been different. It was as if an identity war raged before her eyes. But now there was something remote and unapproachable in his whole demeanor, and Charlie got the feeling that this man had no intention of sharing that information any time soon.

Well, that was okay. Other than tying him up, she had no business getting involved. She was here to learn and pass her class so that she’d get one step closer to master diver. Everything else was peripheral and unimportant.

The way he was now would not be comfortable to be around, yet she held an uncontrollable curiosity to delve deep into him. Throw her reservations to the wind and push him a little to see how he reacted. He commanded attention, probably always had, the kind of man who, with his hard, dark leveling stares, could make any man…or woman…think twice.

Charlie’s interest wasn’t that easily squashed.

“Blue?” A man appeared and waved to him. He looked like he’d rather chew glass than go with him, but the resignation in his eyes told her he had a reason to toe the line.

“The gear, admiral?”

She quickly got what he needed, and he turned away without a goodbye. His heavily muscled shoulders and his equally thick back drawing down to his lean waist and, yeesh, nice butt retreated out of her sight. Blue? Maybe a call name? SEAL? She released a breath, trying with all her might for the rest of the day not to think about him.

When she was relieved of duty, she left the school, got home and changed. Not wanting to eat alone, she headed for Flight of Seagulls, a bar and restaurant not far from her place located right on the beach. She didn’t bother to drive, enjoying the tropical, heavily salted air as she walked. She entered the bar, sighing at the view of the ocean. She was seated not far from the square bar that took up the middle of the hardwood floor, decorated in yellow, turquoise, and red mosaic, cross beams and open air above.

After ordering avocado fries and a cheeseburger, she sat back and enjoyed the atmosphere. The dinner hour was casual and crowded. There were several families at several of the tables, the others occupied by couples.

About halfway through her meal, she stiffened when Blue walked in, moving with a grace and stride broadcasting danger in every line of his body. His alpha attitude rolled over her in invisible wavelengths like a developing storm. He was with a few guys, and they all sat down at the bar. He didn’t see her, and she was glad about that. It gave her a chance to watch him. Any woman in her right mind couldn’t help but stare.

Once again, he made an impact dressed in a tight-fitting baby blue shirt and a pair of jeans that fit his big body to perfection, gloving his ass and muscular swimmer’s thighs.

The three of them started drinking and by the time she’d finished her meal, the bar lights were glowing, and the ocean was a dark silhouette in the distance.

She knew she should leave, but she couldn’t seem to. He drew her with an intriguing aura of deep-seated pain. Either his friends weren’t very observant, or they chose to ignore it. Guys weren’t likely to discuss their weaknesses amongst themselves. And if he was a SEAL, all the more reason to keep everything that had happened to him close to the vest.

But something terrible had happened to him, and damn her, she wanted to know what it was.

She ordered an ice cream sandwich for dessert, and as she started to eat it, she felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She glanced over to the bar to see Blue staring at her. When they made eye contact, he didn’t look away. She hadn’t expected it, but now she was caught in that scrutinizing gaze, as if he was trying to figure her out.

Finally, she was the one who pulled her eyes from his. He ignored her after that. When she was about ready to pay the bill, the three guys left, but Blue was still drinking. She noticed it was the hard stuff, and he was looking even worse for wear.

She gave the waiter her card and waited for him to come back. In the meantime, someone knocked into Blue, and he mumbled something. The guy shot something back, and Blue ignored him until the guy shoved him. Blue lost his balance and slammed hard against the bar.

Without thinking what she was doing, she rushed over there and got between them. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” The guy who had been picking a fight backed down, and the tension in Blue eased.

She wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t interested in a bar fight or if he wasn’t about to slug the guy when she was standing between them. The feeling of protection she got from him caught her off-guard. Maybe this guy wasn’t such a jerk after all.

He was wasted. He glared at her, then turned back to the bar. “Whoa there, mister. You’ve had more than enough. Let me get you into a cab home,” she said, keeping her voice low. He stumbled, and she caught him against her, his body hard and hot beneath her arm and hand. Wrapping it around his tight waist, she steadied him. She wished she hadn’t worn the pretty sundress. It left her shoulders bare, and everywhere he touched her she felt scorched.

“Hey, he hasn’t settled his bill,” the bartender said. She looked up at Blue and found him swaying. No help there.

She reached into his pocket, looking for his wallet, something bumping against the back of her hand. He bent down and whispered in her ear. “That’s not my wallet, babe.”

She huffed and pulled her hand out. “Where is it?”

“Do I have to tell?” he asked with a soft smile.

The alcohol had effectively done away with his inhibitions, and beneath the whiskey scent, a bold fusion of something spicy, warm, seductive and exotic made her breathe deeper. She caught the hint of cardamom and cinnamon. Cool yet warm, fresh but fiery. He smelled like a man who loved contradictions.

The waiter came over to her and she signed for her bill. With a roll of her eyes and a wry look at the bartender, she handed him her card. After the transaction was completed, she made the mistake of looking at him again.

He was in deep sexy territory with those soft bedroom eyes, his lashes thick, veiling and filtering the aching blue of his irises.

She tried to get her overheated brain to work, and with sheer willpower, she pulled him into motion, steadying him as they staggered out of the cover of the bar to the sidewalk. She looked for a cab.

“Where do you live? The school?” He shook his head. “Where?”

“You know something, Admiral Tadpole? You have one hell of a sexy voice. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Blue. Address?”

He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t stand here balancing all that…man against her. There was no alternative. She would have to take him home with her. She started to move down the sidewalk, wishing she was big and strong enough to sling him over her shoulder.

He stumbled, and she lost her balance. As he recovered, he caught her, swung her into the shelter of his arms. She scrambled for footing when her back slammed into a wall that separated them from the beach.

Then he was there, looming over her, his stubbled jaw so close. He stared at her, then said, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” All that anger and control he’d had outside the airport and at the dive locker was gone, leaving only anguish. It hurt to look into his bruised and lost eyes. “They took what I was. I don’t know how to get it back.” He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over hers, looking like he needed so much more than comfort, something raw and dangerous flashed in his eyes and it slammed into her until she was breathless. She felt the hard, hot length of him, a definitive bulge at his groin.

So, this attraction was mutual.

He pushed a lot of her need-to-tie-him buttons—wanting to see how she could reduce this alpha male into submission to free him, get him to connect to her so she could connect to herself. He did all that without even trying. From the moment she saw the demons that chased him in his eyes, she wanted to understand and face her own.

She closed her eyes at his words. They barely knew each other, but it seemed they had a lot in common. He wasn’t doing well. That was easy to see.

“You’re a tough beauty,” he said softly. “I like that. Damned distracting. I’ve had a hard-on for you from the moment you shook me awake. Why don’t we just find someplace to fuck?”

She tried to move, but he wouldn’t budge.

Instead of trying to move an unmovable object, she reached up and cupped his jaw. “It’s going to be all right. Come with me. You just need to sleep this off.”

He pushed away. “I need a swim,” he said.

Then he bolted for the water, discarding his clothes as he went.

“Oh, damn,” Charlie muttered, sprinting after him.