Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) by Anne Marsh

Author:Anne Marsh
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Fiction
Published: 2016-06-14T18:30:00+00:00

By the time we’ve driven back to Angel Cay, I’ve come to a decision. If I’m gonna be Marlee’s turkey baster and sperm donor, I want something for me. When we reach her place, I get out, walk her to the front door—and keep on walking inside.

My first impression is that a zebra mated with a lemon and exploded all over her living room. There’s a whole lot of white—white sofas, white walls, white curtains—but everything is black and white or yellow. She’s got a black-and-white rug. Yellow pillows on the sofa. Black and white chairs. And the pictures on the walls are downright incomprehensible. Maybe she’s got a four-year-old niece somewhere who likes to do her preschool art on fifteen-foot canvases, because there’s no other explanation for the ginormous, colorful squiggles decorating her walls.

“Come on in,” she says dryly.

I might go blind, but I continue my forward push until I’m standing in the middle of the room. And if my hand’s riding low on her back, rubbing the soft skin where her tank top’s parted company with her shorts, that’s just an added bonus.

“How exactly does this baby-making business work?”

She leans forward. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Vann, but it’s all about the birds and the bees.”

“Uh-huh.” I can feel the grin curling my mouth. “You’re the flower and I’m the stinger.”

She swats me. “Sex. Lots of sex. We should be shooting for several times a week. If we use the kit, though, we can narrow it down to the best time.” She waves the plastic bag with the ovulation kit in my general direction. “So I’ll give you a call.”

I. Don’t. Think. So.

I’m not dial-a-dick. I require a little bit more effort before I’m putting out. Not much (I’ll be honest) but some small talk. A little foreplay and get-to-know-ya before I drop my pants and get down to business. I pluck the bag out of her hand. Who knew getting pregnant was like planning a road trip during rush hour traffic with better and worse times to rev your motor?

“We should practice,” I say to her and she giggles. I fucking love that sound. “Make sure we get it right. When’s the last time you did it?”

“You have an indeterminate pronoun in your sentence, Mr. O’Reilly.”

“Sex. Belly slapping. Hide the salami. The horizontal hula. Any of those ring a bell?”

She taps her finger against her lower lip. She’s painted her nails peach, and she’s got some kind of sparkly diamond flower stuck on her index finger. Bet she’s hoping for a girl.

“Honestly, it’s been a while for me,” she confesses.

Yeah. No pressure there. I’d already figured that much out from her sex-on-the-high-seas crow.

“So we should definitely practice.”

She laughs. “I have low expectations, Vann. Get it up, get it in, and finish. I’ll be good.”

I shake my head slowly. “Not sure we’re on the same page, then, because I operate on a two-for-one approach.”

She cocks her head and looks at me. “Going to explain that to me?”

I tap the end of her nose.

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