Storm’s coming.”

Nikita raised her head enough to look over Drake’s chest and out the master bedroom’s doors. She didn’t remember exactly when they had moved indoors. Cygnus had flown out of sight over the other side of the ship and Pegasus had proclaimed the zenith when they shifted locations.

Now, the rising sun was masked by deep red clouds. The sky above was still blue, but the old sailor’s adage had more truth than not: Red at night, sailors delight. Red in the morning, sailors take warning. A storm arriving from the east across the open reaches of the Caribbean Sea.

That wasn’t the only storm coming. Last night Drake had awakened something in her.

Not merely an insatiable need, but the firm conviction that her need had only one focus: Drake Roman. Up on one elbow and looking down on him as he sleepily rolled his head to look at her, she was captured as well as any swamp bullfrog staring into a flashlight.

His smile for her was soft and gentle, but she could feel where her leg lay thrown over his hips that his need for her was awakening fast—even faster than he was.

No complaints from her. This time, when she straddled over him, there was none of the confusing tenderness of last night. No new experiences that she’d never imagined possible. But neither was there the frantic satisfying of their bodies like after their race.

Yes, the sex was fast, hard, and ripped through her body with mind-wiping pleasure. But afterward he pulled her down until she lay full upon his chest and she had her face tucked into his neck so that all she could smell was the rich warmth that was so distinctly Drake’s. That too was amazing. More amazing than the sex in many ways.

There was no hurry to get up and get dressed. No impatience. She’d learned that when men were done, they were done. Not Drake. He stroked her body from her knee—still tucked up in kneeling position—down thigh to hip, up and over her back, into her hair or brushing her cheek, even tugging lightly on her ear, before returning via her shoulder, the side of her breast, her ribs, and back to her hips. It was soothing, gentle, loving…

“Wait!” she mumbled into his neck.

“Wait what?”

“What are you doing to me?” She pushed up onto her elbows and looked down at him.

“What do you mean?” But there was a smile tugging at his lips that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

She was never, ever the slow one in the room. SEAL training had only enhanced her natural tendencies to observe and analyze any situation. “You’re trying to slip something by me?”

“Me?” Now he was definitely smiling, no attempt at innocence other than his tone. “When would I ever be able to slip something by the incredible Nikita?”

“Wait a minute! There was something…last night…” and then she had it. She’d asked without asking if he cared enough about her that her name would have been somewhere on his lips if he’d been in Barry’s position.

First, middle, and last.

“I was only asking if you’d think of me if—” somehow everything went that wrong.

“I would,” his smile shifted toward leer. “I’d think about your breasts,” she had pushed herself up high enough that he managed to get his hands on them. “I’d think about the incredible things you can do with those beautiful hips,” he wriggled his own beneath her.

“Roman.”

“I’d think of your beautiful, ever so expressive face that shows exactly what you’re thinking and feeling no matter how much you think it doesn’t.”

She put her face back into his shoulder to hide whatever it was saying without her permission. That forced his hands back to her ribs.

“And,” his voice shifted to completely serious, “I’d spend my last moments thanking the lucky stars for every instant I got to be with you.”

Nikita pushed back up to glare down at him. “I don’t need poetry. I need truth.”

“Oh. I can do both. I know for a fact that I will never meet another woman like you. Known that since the first moment you stepped onto my aircraft a year ago. And now that I’ve discovered that making love to you is beyond spectacular,” he wriggled his hips again, but his tone remained oddly serious. “I’m completely sold. All in. Sign me up.”

“Making love to me? Is that what last night was?” Compared to Drake Roman, even everything with Barry had been merely sex. But she wasn’t comfortable with—

“That’s what I’d thought to do.”

“But instead?”

“Instead,” he shifted his hands up to cradle her face, then kissed her ever so lightly. “Instead I made love with you. There will never be another woman for me other than Nikita Hayward. You’re stuck with me now.”

“Sure, until the Duck-man finds another willing babe.”

“I’ve been with three women since I first met you. I didn’t even bother sleeping with the last one, which pissed her off quite a bit, and that was nine months ago. None of them were up to your standard.”

“But you are?” Nikita wasn’t sure where the tease came from. And for the first time this morning, Drake frowned.

“No. No I’m not,” he looked aside for a long moment before looking back into her eyes. His had gone almost black and his expression was once more shifting to the powerful warrior she hadn’t met before their treadmill race. “But I’m sure as hell going to do my best to live up to your standard from this moment forward.”

She wanted to make a joke about all the grunts who aspire to DEVGRU standards but didn’t stand a chance. She could have teased Duck-man the gunner about that. But Drake Roman the warrior? No. The tease dried up in her throat as she looked down at him. Him she believed.

This time, when she leaned down to kiss him, it had all of the power of last night’s gentleness as well as this morning’s heat. How could she not believe in a man like him?

It was even more true than she first understood as his arms slid around her.

She didn’t believe in men, had trained herself not to. Oh, she believed in Luke Altman, but as her SEAL commander, not as a man.

But Drake Roman? Him she believed in with all her heart.

“This is our last shot at figuring out what’s going on. Our ship is in Roatán Harbor only for today. We sail at midnight.”

Not sure what to do with Esly in public just yet, Drake had ordered morning coffee into the suite as the ship docked. The butler had delivered it along with fresh croissants, then been quite put out that he hadn’t been allowed to stay and hover. Apparently, high-roller guests would never deign to pour their own second cup of coffee.

“I’m hoping that going out and being very public will attract someone’s attention. That’s why I didn’t order breakfast; we’ll eat ashore as well. As much as I’d like to leave the women behind—”

“Screw that!” Zoe managed to beat Nikita’s protest by only milliseconds. Esly may have kept her mouth shut but her look said plenty.

“But as I don’t want to be lynched by my own mob,” he offered Altman a shrug and received a grimace of commiseration. “You do understand that so far you women have been the main targets?”

“Part of that was my fault. Again, Nikita, I am very truly sorry I shoot at you,” Esly apologized sincerely and the other two seemed to forgive her with easy smiles. God help him, he was never going to understand women.

“So here are our rules of engagement today. No one leaves the group. Zoe, you’re glued to Altman. Nikita, you to me. Even if J-dawg shows up across the street and Asal is choking on a French fry—no one leaves the group.”

He glared around the table until he received nods from both of them.

“What about me?” Esly stared straight at him with her impenetrably dark eyes. “I do not want another day handcuffed to a bed.”

“How do I trust that I’m talking to police sergeant Escarra and not Daylin’s lover?”

Actually her face said a lot about the latter no longer being true. She had said she would miss Daylin only “a very little amount” and she seemed to be over that already.

Esly shrugged. She was smart enough to know that no amount of promises would count.

Drake saw Zoe and Nikita exchange glances and knew the decision was already made. He could fight it or go with the flow.

“You’re with us,” he said it before the women could say it for him. “Anyone asks, you are extra protection for Drake Roman because you walk like a policeman.”

“Policewoman,” Zoe and Esly said together.

Drake sighed, then looked at her across the table. “If anything happens to Zoe or Nikita while you’re with us, whether by you or because anyone else gets past you, I’m going to take it out of your hide personally. Comprende?”

Nikita destroyed the moment by remarking drily, “See! I knew that you spoke some Spanish.”

She’d clearly been hanging around with Zoe too much.

Nikita, in all her missions, had never wandered about a tropical island like a tourist before. A well-heeled tourist.

Drake had simply called back the butler, who had been ecstatic to have something to do. By the time they reached the dock, a late model Toyota Hiace van, complete with driver and a bilingual tour guide, was waiting for them. They were an older couple, but it was clear that the wife, Mercedez, had once been a great beauty.

“I am fourth generation in Roatán. I will show you the best of everything.” Her energy was cheerful without being overbearing. Before they even traveled the few kilometers to the far side of the island, she had already made it clear that they were all one friendly group for the day.

“Where is the fifth generation, Mercedez?” Zoe asked.

And the brilliance of her light dimmed for a moment. “My daughter was murdered during the riots following the 2009 coup. I have no future generation. I now live through my sister’s son. His father is mayor of the island and a good man. They both are good men.”

Nikita knew full well that kind of pain. To lose a daughter must be even worse. She offered her sympathy, but couldn’t think to do anything more.

“We wish to see the island, Mercedez,” Drake replied when she asked. “And as odd as this may seem, we wish to be particularly visible while we are doing it.”

That earned them all a long, assessing look, which she then covered with a radiant smile. “Of course. To fellow tourists or to…locals?” She was sharp and was making it clear what kind of locals she was talking about.

“I wish I knew, Mercedez. I wish I knew.”

She nodded firmly, “Then we must start with breakfast at the Lobster Pot on Sandy Bay.”

Crab and lobster omelettes were served under big umbrellas. The sandy beach at the Lobster Pot was fine and white. The score of sailboats anchored close ashore explained the dozen other tables with couples and families enjoying a casual meal—and their table was particularly prominent.

For a few lazy hours they seemed to pass every person from the cruise ship several times as they wandered through Carambola Botanical Gardens, lush with a zillion plants Nikita had never seen before. Plants weren’t exactly high on her list—other than the edibles she’d learned about during survival training—but the gardens were spectacular. Trails wound through the forty-acre patch of jungle revealing trees with leaves that were bigger than she was, in the form of fronds, twists, and massive banana leaves of green so pure it almost hurt to look at. Impossible flowers grew at every turn from tiny lavender-tinged stars to cascades of white-and-yellow orchids so alien looking that they could be creatures from another planet.

Zoe started making up wild science fiction stories about their evil plans to conquer the earth.

Drake joined in on the same theme.

In the poor flowers’ defense, Nikita countered with wild tales extracted from Dr. Seuss about a lovely tropical princess and the flowers that tried to be as beautiful as she was when she walked among them each day.

The laughter was easy. She’d never been so thoughtlessly comfortable in a group. In a way, she walked beside herself, separate from the smiling woman with her hand tucked in the handsome gunner’s elbow, laughing with trained killers and two tour guides. Who was this woman acting as if she was in love with the man beside her? Nikita knew it was herself, and yet it wasn’t. Maybe she and not the flowers was the one wrapped up in a Seussian tale, trying to live up to an impossible standard.

Nikita knew the warrior. That woman she understood completely. This one—with the feathered haircut that fluttered every time she turned to look up at her man, whose stomach was sore with laughing rather than with inverted sit-ups, whose body was still loose with the memory of how he had made love to her—this one was a stranger to her.

Then Zoe had delivered the ultimate reality check.

“Let’s go clothes shopping.”

Nikita had decided she would rather die, but the tour guide whisked them ten kilometers up-island to Junk Boutique in French Harbour.

“This sounds promising,” Nikita whispered to Zoe.

“For Esly. Her wardrobe is horrid. It just won’t do if she’s going to continue being with Drake Roman, Inc. We have standards.”

Which was true. “But Junk Boutique?”

“We are a small island,” Mercedez overheard her question and replied with her cheerful but unstoppable charm. “We have several very good designers here. This is where they sell. Casual and couture. It is also on the center of the main walking street of our second largest and most pleasant town.”

Through the morning it had become clear that Mercedez was practically adopting Esly. By now they appeared thick as thieves, leaning their heads together and laughing. It was almost as if Mercedez had found her missing daughter for a brief moment.

The shop’s window, in a stone building that looked as if it just might have been here since the ships of the 17th-century buccaneers had filled the bay, included a cheerful array of trinkets and a very skimpy bikini that she could see was giving Drake ideas. Thankfully the shop was little bigger, though much better stocked, than the one on the ship. Nikita was able to use that as an excuse to sit out on the bench just in front of the store with the two men and the driver, letting Esly and Zoe go in with their guide.

Across the street was a short beach with a good bay.

“The largest fishing fleet in the Western Caribbean,” Emmanuel nodded toward the boats anchored throughout the bay and along the piers.

The traffic and pedestrians of French Harbour swirled around them. Not with the hurry of Mobile or the frantic rush of Norfolk, Virginia, near DEVGRU’s base. No one was in too much of a hurry to greet Emmanuel their driver, who rarely spoke more than a word or two but was apparently well known and liked. English, Spanish, black, white, brown—the populace was more mixed than a Navy mess hall. Fashions ranged from khakis and t-shirts to flowing caftans. Every person seemed unique, yet they all seemed to belong.

And, once she managed to get over the near miss of a life-threatening shopping trip with Zoe, she was able to appreciate that this too fit with Drake’s plans—Mercedez was serving them very well. Every single person who called out a greeting to Emmanuel carefully inspected the people he was escorting. The island patois was hard to follow, but she caught snatches of questions.

Drake had introduced himself to the guides as a businessman seeking new opportunities throughout Central America. A businessman who had an entourage and required Altman and Esly as his putative guards.

Esly had walked off the ship standing tall. The cautious, carefully-spoken woman who had shared their suite since last night had stepped into her role, looking almost as fierce as Altman, especially after she pilfered a set of Altman’s dark, wrap-around shades.

Emmanuel was very circumspect about his current customers, and that alone seemed to speak volumes to those who talked with him.

Esly emerged from Junk Boutique looking even tougher than when she’d gone in. The changes seemed minimal: sturdy boots, a light jacket with a military flair to it, and a brilliant yellow blouse with a low enough neck to accent her dark, creamy skin and generous cleavage. But the alteration in appearance was substantial. She looked tough and sexy at the same time. Maybe Nikita should introduce her to Sugar. Mercedez also emerged with a black clothing bag and wearing what Nikita now recognized as a very expensive smile.

Nikita couldn’t help laughing and Mercedez only looked a little abashed—she’d taken them to her own store. But Esly looked both sexy and powerful in her new clothes, which said Mercedez was also good at what she did.

“I am hoping that it is okay I buy two dresses. Zoe said I must,” Esly was saying.

Drake was nodding his okay, but she was looking at Altman.

“I look very good in these dresses. Perhaps I can wear one when we go to dinner tonight.”

Nikita looked over at her commander. He eyed both Esly and the smiling Zoe cautiously, but kept his mouth shut despite the fact that he now had two women teasing him. Altman was a smart man. It was a no-win scenario.

“Now,” Mercedez said cheerfully as Emmanuel loaded the dress bag into the back of the van. “Maybe we should all go swimming along with the dolphins. That is very popular with many people.”

Nikita hadn’t brought a suit. The string bikini in the window mocked her, but she ignored it. Or tried to. It was far too easy to imagine Drake getting her into it.

“Or perhaps we have done enough in public places for you,” Mercedez winked at them all. “I know a very private beach of beautiful sand and tall palms trees where the swimming is far more casual.”

Nikita opened her mouth hoping to come up with any other suggestion when she spotted Arthur coming toward them along the street.

She called out his name with relief as a welcome distraction.

At Nikita’s call, Drake looked up in time to see Arthur’s reaction: oddly pleasure, not dismay.

“I am so glad I found you, Mr. Roman,” he bumbled through the locals going about their business and finally came to stand close in front of the bench they were gathered around.

“Why is that?” He tried to stamp down on his irritation at the interruption and knew he was doing a lousy job of it. The image of going swimming off a tropical beach with Nikita, with or without bathing suit, had rocketed to the top of his mission list. And now, of all irritating beings on the planet, he had to contend with Arthur. If he ended up being the key to all of this, Drake was going to turn in his Minigun.

“Norma has been pushing me for a way to help you. And I’ve been thinking on it very hard.”

“I’m not buying your damned painting. Wait. Norma has been pushing you?”

“She can be a very persuasive woman, Mr. Roman, and she seems to have taken quite a liking for you. I finally thought of something this morning but you had already left the ship. That’s why I’m so glad I ran into you.”

Drake checked sideways, but Nikita simply shrugged. He suppressed a sigh that now he probably wasn’t going to get to see what that shrug would look like in a bathing suit.

“Spill it, Arthur.”

The man waffled from one foot to the other. “It isn’t very much; I only hope it can help. I was told to make sure that Mr. Baer of GSI was informed that this painting was available for purchase.” His stance stabilized as if he was now done.

“Who told you to sell it to Baer?” Drake was getting tired of this.

“I don’t know.”

Drake cursed and rose to his feet.

Arthur stumbled back and almost crashed into Zoe. Esly shot out a hand and clamped on to Arthur’s jacket like she was clamping an unruly kitten by the scruff of the neck. She held him in place. Drake could get to like her.

“How can you not know?”

“That’s not how it works,” Arthur continued in a hurry. “We aren’t actually part of the cruise line. My company contracts to run the gallery, present art education programs for the passengers, and hold auctions. We have stables of artists we buy from frequently as well as freelance artists. We try to make sure that there are paintings for every taste, including a few exceptional pieces.”

“You’re not saying—” Drake remembered that damn nude far too clearly.

“No. No.” Arthur shook his head. “The technique is good though. Borrowing from both the Dutch Masters’ depth and Art Deco’s clarity of line. I feel that the composition is somewhat lacking, however…”

He trailed off when he caught sight of Drake’s expression and cleared his throat carefully.

“Items are accumulated, sorted, and distributed to the ships in containers. I get a provenance sheet on each piece and a cost. I make a commission on every dollar above cost that I can sell a piece for.”

“And the provenance sheet said to sell this to GSI.”

“Not exactly. Sometimes we have frequent travelers with known tastes and we try to make sure to have a piece or two from their favorite artist or style aboard. This was noted as a definite purchase for Mr. Baer—he buys every one and insists that he always sees them first. He pays rather well for paintings in this particular series.”

“There’s a series of these goddamn things?” Drake managed a deep breath but it didn’t calm him. “Can we see the sheet?”

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

“You’re not earning points for proactive helpfulness, Arthur.”

The man blanched white. Even hard-core method actors weren’t so obvious. Maybe he was authentic.

Drake inspected the sheet, didn’t see anything unusual except the note: Definite purchase for GSI. He handed it to Zoe, who struck him as most likely in their group to have a clue about something like this. She inspected it more carefully than he did, then shrugged.

“Is there anything unusual on that sheet?”

“Nothing,” Arthur shrugged.

“Or the case it came in?”

“A simple cloth bag with a rigid protection board. It would be very unlikely that I ever shipped a painting to a client in the same bag it arrived in so I doubt if there would be more information there,” then he blinked several times. “But I’ll check if there’s anything else that came with the painting. I can’t imagine there was. I knew Mr. Baer would be aboard because one of that series of Myora’s paintings was in this sailing’s collection. Who makes sure that they are sent to me? I have no idea. Inquiries into how our buyers work is…not encouraged.” He grimaced with the face of prior experience.

Drake nodded to Esly, who let Arthur go. He was so insubstantial that he seemed to waver at the sudden release.

“We need to see the painting,” he couldn’t believe he was saying the words. “Now.”

“So, you will be purchasing it?” The overeager art salesman was back as if that’s truly all he was.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“I can promise you an excellent price,” Arthur seemed to realize that he wasn’t making any headway and pulled out his cellphone, “I can have it delivered to your suite; my assistant is still aboard.” He placed the call. “All set. It will be waiting for you.”

“How did you find us here?”

“Oh,” Arthur pointed at the boutique behind them. “I wanted to get something pretty for Norma.”

“For Norma,” Drake felt as if his ears were ringing and he couldn’t make enough sense of it to answer the call.

“She’s just the most wonderful woman, but she doesn’t see herself as beautiful as she truly is—too many years of working the cruise ships can do that to you. I’ve been trying to show her otherwise.”

“They have several stunning nightgowns. Very pretty, very tropical,” Zoe prompted him.

“Oh my. Exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to find. I must be the luckiest man there is. Good day, Mr. Roman. Good day,” he nodded to the rest of them and hurried inside.

“Is he for real?”

Nikita rose from where she’d remained on the bench and kissed him on the cheek. “First Sugar and now Arthur. I suspect they are both for real. You do seem to attract some very odd sorts, Mr. Roman.”

“Present company included,” he hugged her back and kissed her temple. Over the top of her head he saw the elegant bikini that would have looked so good on Nikita. He cursed to himself over lost opportunity and turned to Mercedez.

“I’m afraid that our day has been cut short by business.”