Chapter 3
THREE
Mason stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a pan that was already clean. If he couldn’t shoot or throw knives at a target, he could at least take some satisfaction in the mindless task.
Cleaning also gave him an excuse to stay inside while everyone else migrated to the back patio. The glow of the propane heaters mixed with the twinkle lights some of the ladies hung. Voices carried through the doors and laughter punctuated the evening air.
He didn’t want to be out there, making small talk and pretending that everything was normal when Elin was somewhere in this mansion, breathing the same air, existing in his world when she was supposed to be safe and far away.
His gaze drifted around the counter and landed on a countdown clock. Five days, fifteen hours. The red digital numbers blinked steadily, a constant reminder of the disaster they were racing to stop.
One of the ladies had placed the clock on a wooden tray and added a scented candle and a small plant, green and thriving in stark contrast to the warning red numbers.
The décor made the clock into just another kitchen accessory, such as a cutting board or a bowl of fruit, instead of a harbinger of catastrophe.
Alyssa, Chase’s significant other, entered the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. She stopped, and noticed him noticing the clock.
He arched a brow in question.
“Who said the countdown clock can’t be functional and pretty?”
With a snort, he turned back to the sink.
After rinsing the pan he’d washed over and over, he placed it in the rack and dried his hands.
The laughter from the patio shifted indoors as the group broke into smaller clusters.
Couples disappeared down the hall, leaving the single guys to form their usual wolf pack, tossing around the same joke about the couples going off on their “nightly mission.”
Mason leaned back against the counter, his own water bottle dangling from his fingers, and watched them. If his mood hadn’t been so dark, he might join in and make a comment about the elite team acting like smitten high schoolers.
But he was wound so damn tight he could hardly breathe.
He lifted his bottle out of habit more than thirst and let his gaze drift to the wide glass doors leading to the patio. Steam curled up from the hot tub, and a thin halo of light broke through the mist.
Then his brain short-circuited.
Elin.
She was in the damn hot tub. Alone. Shoulders gleaming in the low light, her head tipped back and her blonde hair slicked against her neck. For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him…until she moved and confirmed it.
She wasn’t wearing a top.
He almost choked on the thought.
It shouldn’t have surprised him but it still hit him like a sucker punch. She’d always had that effortless confidence of European women, the kind that made any rule fly out the window.
He twisted back to the sink, jaw tight.
Suddenly, Con and Sophie walked into the kitchen with Dante trailing behind them.
Con flicked a glance at Mason. “Why’s your face red?”
He barked a false cough and pounded a fist into his chest. “Choked on water.”
Con slanted a glance at the glass door. “Sure.”
He cleared his throat with the sound of tearing paper. “Maybe you should talk to her. You know, so the guys aren’t uncomfortable.”
Con grunted. “We have something more pressing than a topless woman in our hot tub. Your girlfriend told Sophie and Dante how she found you.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said immediately.
Not anymore.
He dragged a deep breath into his lungs. Unable to keep his attention from drifting to the hot tub, he spotted movement near the pizza oven.
Fuck. Sinner was still out there.
Then the rest of the statement caught up to his scattered mind and he turned to meet his commanding officer’s stare. “What do you mean, found me? We’re ghost ops.”
Con’s expression tightened. “Not only did she track the military aircraft that picked you up, she recognized you from that little side mission I sent you on to the subway.”
He blinked. “No way. Nobody saw me take down that terrorist.”
Con wore a knowing look. “She didn’t see you either. But she didn’t need to. She knows how you think—how you move. That was all it took.”
Mason shifted his gaze to Sophie. Her expression confirmed the claim.
Dante scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s also been helping out behind the scenes, moving in and out of our system and filling in the gaps for me. I’m still not sure how I feel about that.”
That was Elin. A fucking brilliant mind and a heart of gold to go with it. It was what made Mason fall in love with her in the first place.
He glanced at the door to see Sinner leaning against the outdoor kitchen, talking to Mason’s topless ex-girlfriend.
“I had nothing to do with her being here. You gave her clearance to enter the base.” He sounded too defensive, but it was only because he was about to lose his mind.
Con’s gaze drilled into him. “Keep your wits, Mason. We need her.”
“Got it.” He sounded like he’d choked on gravel.
Without another word, Sophie took Con by the hand and was towing him out of the kitchen. Dante had already vanished.
The silence that followed wasn’t peace, it was pressure, a nagging ache under his ribs. The hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the damn clock, the low murmur of voices outside—all of it pressed in on him until the air felt too tight to breathe.
He lied about choking on water, but it really felt as if he’d swallowed a flaming sword. He needed to speak with Elin.
After she was dressed.
He couldn’t leave her out there alone with Sinner either, not when some of the girls started calling him a Zaddy, slang for a man who was not only smart and attractive but a good dresser.
Mason couldn’t see how Caius Sinclair—Sinner—was any of those things. Then again, he only saw a teammate, a brother in arms, not someone to swoon over.
Beyond the glass and through the haze of steam surrounding Elin, Mason saw her toss her head in that way that had his gut clenching simultaneously with desire and jealousy.
She was laughing. And she was so goddamn beautiful when she laughed.
But he didn’t want her laughing at whatever Sinner said.
In a few strides, he crossed the kitchen, pulse spiking until he could taste metal at the back of his throat.
Every instinct told him to walk away—to cool off, to think—but a darker voice rose up, fierce and undeniable, whispering that she’d been his long before she ever laughed like that for another man.
The heat building inside him wasn’t just anger. It was something rough and as old as time. A familiar burn that felt like battle readiness but carried the edge of longing he swore he’d buried.
He whipped open the glass door.
For one suspended heartbeat, he stood there—caught between the discipline that had kept him alive and the emotion that could destroy him.
Then he heard her tinkling laugh again and stepped out into the night, his senses alive and his heart hammering for all the wrong reasons.
* * * * *
Steam curled off the water in lazy ribbons, carrying the scent of chlorine and woodsmoke from the pizza oven nearby. Elin sank deeper into the hot tub, hoping the heat would coax the tension from muscles that hadn’t relaxed since she received the official nod to come to Charlie’s base.
When she climbed into the hot tub, the guys cleared out quickly, leaving only her.
At first, she thought the SEALs were under orders not to speak to her—though she was here to offer her expertise, she was still an outsider.
It wasn’t until the air hit her skin that she realized what might have sent them running. She’d forgotten her top.
Not on purpose. It was simply muscle memory from summers in the Mediterranean, where nudity meant nothing, where the sun and sea stripped away more than clothing. Here, however, the men had scattered like startled birds, muttering half jokes about missions as they disappeared inside.
All except one.
“What do they call you?” she called out to the big guy stacked with muscle.
He lingered by the outdoor kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, working the pizza oven like a man who’d rather handle fire than conversation.
He hadn’t gawked or stammered or made her feel like she’d committed some mortal sin.
Just kept sliding dough into the heat and flicking glances her way, polite but amused.
She liked him immediately for that.
“Name’s Sinclair. They call me Sinner. But some of the girls started jokingly calling me Zaddy.”
She chuckled at that. “You make excellent pizza.” Her accent was thicker with steam and the fatigue of one very long day.
Sinner’s mouth tipped into that lazy grin she’d noticed earlier—the one that probably made women lose their sense of direction. “Glad to hear it. It’s the only thing I’m known for around here besides bad ideas.”
“I doubt that.” She leaned her arms on the edge of the tub. The water lapped around her. “But I can see why the others let you make the pizza.”
“They know better than to ruin my masterpieces,” he said, deadpan, and she laughed—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like years.
The sound startled her a little. It felt foreign. Lighter.
She tilted her head, studying him. “So tell me, Sinner. How has no one snatched you up yet?”
His hand froze mid-gesture, pizza peel halfway to the counter.
For the first time that night, he looked caught off guard.
Elin smiled into the steam, perfectly aware that her teasing unnerved him when her bare body didn’t.
Then she turned her head and caught sight of the man watching from the shadows. Her laugh cut off, and her smile faded.
The door whipped open with a whoosh and Liam stalked out, snagging a robe from a hook on the wall as he crossed the patio.
Her stomach clenched. Ohh, her body remembered this man. The push and pull of those muscled thighs against worn camo. The way that T-shirt molded to his chiseled torso like a second skin.