Читать книгу Under Pressure - Kira Sinclair - Страница 11

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IT HAD BEEN several months since he’d been on the Amphitrite, but he always enjoyed being out in the field. Asher pulled the sea air into his lungs, letting it fill him up. Warm sun beat down on his skin, reminding him just why he did this.

There was nothing like making your living with the beach as your office. Any beach. He’d seen some of the most gorgeous sites in the world...and some of the worst humanity had to offer.

But that was behind him, and something he’d never even think about changing. Serving with the SEALs had been an honor. A legacy. The best thing he could ever hope to do with his life.

He’d grown up with stories of his father, the hero. The flag they’d handed his grandmother across the casket had hung on the wall above his bed.

All things considered, his life had turned out pretty well...even if there were days he felt empty.

He might not have any real family—because it was difficult to think of his mom as family when he hadn’t heard from her in twenty-seven years—but he didn’t need any. He’d forged his own connections in the brotherhood he’d found with the SEALs and the two men he considered closer than friends. Jackson, Knox and the rest of the Trident team were all the family he needed.

The quiet shush of water against the hull of the ship worked to center him. A welcome distraction from the fiasco that was about to unfold.

It was late afternoon, the heavy orange-red sun hanging low against the horizon as they headed away from Nassau. It would take them several hours to reach the dive site. The team had come into port to get supplies and pick up Kennedy, himself and the production crew that had met them at the dock.

Asher had studiously avoided Kennedy and the pile of heavy black cases and bags that had been loaded on under her watchful eye. It was better for his peace of mind.

Unfortunately, her voice, sharp with censure, floated across the deck, making that difficult. “Be careful with that!”

He turned, slumping against the hard railing, arm outstretched across the smooth surface. His gaze followed her every move. She was a hard woman to ignore.

Kennedy was a whirlwind of action. She made him tired just watching. A tiny stick of dynamite. She was bossy, full of opinions and not hesitant about sharing them...with anyone and everyone. Honestly, she reminded him quite a lot of his grandmother.

He’d loved his grandma with all his heart. Had been devastated when she passed six years into his tour with the SEALs. She’d been tough and smart, sweet and exacting. She’d pushed him, often beyond the boundaries he thought he could reach.

But she’d loved him. In his entire life, his grandmother had been the only woman who ever had.

Kennedy was a princess, but not the annoying self-centered kind. It had taken him one family function with her brother and father both present to realize the men in her life had given her confidence, made her feel secure in herself and her place.

And that confidence looked good on her, even if it was occasionally intimidating.

She was barely five feet, but it was hard to remember that when she looked at you out of those whiskey-colored eyes, so warm and bright. He liked whiskey, especially on her.

Kennedy directed the group of people milling about. They reminded him of a colorful school of fish, darting here and there without any real direction. But he had no doubt she would bring order.

She instructed the production crew where to store their gear and what bunks they’d be occupying for the next few weeks. Without so much as a cheat sheet. Kennedy knew exactly who was who, where they belonged and kept all the shit straight in her head.

It was impressive.

And why she’d be so damn successful.

At first he’d been very vocal about his reluctance to hire Kennedy. She was young, still in college, and they’d been a fledgling company with enough things working against them. He’d wanted to hire someone with experience and contacts that could help get Trident Diving and Salvage established.

And then he’d met her. And his protests had doubled, not because he thought she couldn’t do the job—it had taken him five minutes to know that she could—but because he’d needed to put as much distance between them as possible for his sanity.

So he’d pushed in every way he could imagine, placing walls and anger and animosity between them, hoping they’d be insurmountable obstacles.

But somehow Kennedy always seemed to scale them.

About twenty minutes after they’d shoved off, the chaos abated. She stood on the now quiet deck, her feet spread wide to compensate for the motion of the ship. Asher had the perfect view of her ass and the tight denim shorts that cupped the curve of it. He wanted to run his palm up the bare skin of her thigh, slipping his fingers beneath the hem.

Biting back a curse, he watched her shoulders rise and fall on a heavy sigh. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides for several seconds before she unfurled them.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she finally asked, turning just enough to look at him across the slope of her shoulder.

He grinned. It shouldn’t matter that she’d known he was there, watching. But it did.

“Always entertaining to watch you work, cupcake.”

Her mouth tightened, and something dangerous flashed through her golden eyes before she got control of it again.

Turning deliberately, she faced him, letting her gaze slip across his body, taking in his negligent pose for several seconds before crossing the deck to him.

She stopped a couple of feet away, just out of reach. Smart woman.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Kennedy speared him with a level gaze. “The crew would like to start tonight. Just a few test shots.”

“Won’t it be dark?”

Her lips twitched, drawing his attention. Part of him wanted to push until that ghost of a smile went full-blown, but he didn’t. Because her smile was deadly.

“Did you notice all the crates? I’m pretty sure a few of them contained lighting equipment.”

“S-Smart-ass.” Asher ground his teeth together, forcing his mouth closed.

And there it was, what he’d been dreading from the moment Kennedy had backed him into a corner.

He waited for her to react, but she didn’t. Instead, she shrugged. “They just want to get you on camera, no pressure and nothing important.”

No pressure. That was a rich joke. This entire project was nothing but pressure. A situation he wasn’t trained for and had zero experience handling. Hell, even thinking about it made his tongue swell, choking him—or at least if felt that way. It would get so much worse once the camera was in front of him, that blank eye staring, judging, recording every one of his failures for eternity.

And with Kennedy watching...all the ingredients for a full-blown disaster.

Her eyes ran up and down his body again. With one sweeping glance she ignited every nerve ending, making them all throb relentlessly.

He didn’t want to want this woman. And, yet, he couldn’t seem to stop his physical reactions to her—all of them.

“I’ll have wardrobe come to your room in about an hour. You might want to take a shower.”

Asher forced out a wicked grin. He chose his words carefully, deliberately. “You telling me I’m dirty, angel?”

She popped out a hip, balling a fist on it and glaring at him with irritation.

“Just so we’re on the same page, are you planning on cooperating or making this whole experience a pain in my ass?”

He lifted a single eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know the question is stupid, but I had to ask.” She let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes for a few seconds. Suddenly, he could read all the little signs of exhaustion written into her face—the miniscule lines crinkling the corners of her mouth, the faint smudges of blue beneath her eyes, her drooping shoulders—and he wanted to fix it for her.

Shit.

“I have no intention of making your life difficult.”

She laughed, the sound far from humorous. “We both know that isn’t true, Ash. You delight in making my life difficult.”

“Not this time.”

“Yeah.” She shook her head, the soft cloud of honey-blond hair swirling around her shoulders. He wanted to take a handful of it and run it through his fingers to see if it was as silky as it looked.

He wanted to walk away from her and the weakness she caused deep inside him. That’s what he’d been doing for the past two years. Hell, that’s what he’d done his entire life. But today there was nowhere left to go. They were stuck together on this ship, and Kennedy was about to become his shadow.

His body throbbed at the idea of her being so close. Nope, not good. He couldn’t want her. He couldn’t touch her. She was Jackson’s little sister, forbidden fruit.

Asher had no doubt what his friend’s reaction would be if he ever touched Kennedy. Jackson was protective of his little sister, rightly so. He’d seen his friend put a fist through the face of a guy who had the misfortune of making a rather racy comment about Kennedy within Jackson’s hearing. Poor bastard hadn’t realized what had hit him until he was ass-down on the floor.

Jackson was family, but there was no question in Asher’s mind who he would choose if forced to take sides.

And no woman, not even Kennedy, was worth losing the only family he had and the business he’d invested his entire future in.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” she finally said, spinning away and leaving him standing alone on the deck.

* * *

KENNEDY STOOD OFF to the side, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the crew work. It was intriguing, her first shoot, although she had to admit she wasn’t thrilled with the way Carmen, the makeup artist, was smiling and flirting with Asher. If she giggled one more time...

As if the man needed makeup to look gorgeous anyway. She had no doubt the camera was going to love him. Those mesmerizing eyes, sharp cheekbones and the tiny scar running right along the side of his lips...rakish, charming with the perfect dash of dangerous.

They’d commandeered the office. It was deep inside the belly of the ship, so a little darker than they’d wanted, but it provided a kind of professional setting the director was aiming for in these first shots, establishing Asher’s experience and expertise before following him into the water.

She and Daniel, the director, were murmuring about the schedule when Asher’s raised voice drifted up from the other side of the room.

“I’m not wearing that.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor grated down Kennedy’s spine.

Asher stood up, pulling out the paper towels Carmen had tucked into his collar to protect his dark navy T-shirt and threw them on the ground. “Kennedy!”

Everyone in the room turned to look at her. Dread and frustration spun in her belly. Beside her, the director stiffened. Biting back a curse, Kennedy narrowed her eyes, preparing for the explosion she could see coming.

The production company was already displeased that they were getting Asher instead of Jackson. She’d promised everyone involved that not only was Asher as knowledgeable about the Chimera, but that he’d be happy to cooperate with whatever they wanted to do.

So she’d basically lied, praying that she could keep control of the situation.

This outburst wasn’t a good omen.

Spearing her with his gaze, Asher growled, “Get over here and fix this.”

Throwing Daniel a tight-lipped smile, Kennedy excused herself and stalked over to where Asher stood in the corner of the room. The brunette with the brushes stared at them with wide eyes. The guy from wardrobe shifted on his feet, a suit—complete with matching vest and what appeared to be a bow tie—draped across his arms.

Asher lived in jeans, T-shirts, board shorts and flip-flops. He occasionally bowed to convention and put on a dress shirt and slacks for business meetings. She’d seen pictures of him in his military uniform and knew he must have worn formal dress on occasion. She remembered him wearing a suit once...but it definitely hadn’t involved a vest and bow tie.

The thought of him with that brightly colored scrap of cloth tied around his neck had laughter bubbling up inside her throat. She tried to swallow it back but wasn’t successful.

She took one look at Asher’s angry expression and the wardrobe guy’s hopeful gaze and knew this wouldn’t end well.

“Tell him I’m not wearing this.”

She shook her head. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t going to be able to keep the laughter in. And that would not help the situation at all.

Kennedy hadn’t realized Daniel had followed her until his voice sounded behind her. “What’s the problem?”

Crud, she needed to fix this before Asher opened his mouth and said something they’d all regret.

Better they think her crazy. Kennedy let the laughter she’d been holding back fill the space between them.

Every pair of eyes turned to her. Asher’s eyebrows arrowed together, his mouth pulling down at the edges, making the white slash of his scar pop into sharp relief.

She held up a finger, pulled in a deep breath and was eternally grateful when everyone waited.

By the time she’d regained her composure, Asher had crossed his arms over his massive chest, biceps bulging. Damn the man was gorgeous.

Turning away, she directed her words to Cody, the wardrobe guy. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do. Does he look like a suit kind of guy? He spends most of his time wet and/or covered in sand.”

“But surely...” Cody began, his words trailing off as he took in Asher standing like a forbidding Greek god.

“Why don’t we compromise?” Turning to Asher, she continued, not giving anyone a chance to quash her plan. “Asher, I know for a fact this isn’t the first time you’ve worn a suit.”

“Baby girl, the last time I wore a suit like this was for my wedding. And the fact that my ex insisted should have been a clue the marriage was doomed.”

Kennedy tried not to react to his words. She’d had no idea he’d been married. No one had mentioned it to her, although she supposed there really hadn’t been a reason.

That little tease of information made her want to dig for more, but she pushed the urge away, trying to focus on the problem in front of her instead.

“One of the benefits of owning my own business is that I get to do what I want, which includes wearing whatever’s comfortable. And that—” Asher pointed at the suit “—looks far from comfortable.”

Daniel frowned and opened his mouth, but Kennedy cut him off. She really didn’t want to know what he was going to say, because there was no way Asher would take it well.

“Surely we can come to some agreement. I have to admit, the bow tie is a bit much.”

“It’s trendy,” Cody countered, his voice going up in defense of his choices.

“And might work with another man, but Asher Reynolds is an ex–navy SEAL. All the guys from Trident are. They aren’t trendy. They’re strong, dangerous, skilled. You put him in that thing, and you’re going to cover up what your viewers will fall in love with—his raw intensity and sexual charisma.”

Turning away from Cody without giving him a chance to respond, Kennedy focused on Asher. “The slacks, the shirt. Sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned. Relaxed sophistication.”

His eyes narrowed. She silently pleaded with him, unsure whether or not it would make a damn bit of difference.

Everyone stood there, silent, as tension stretched out second by second.

“No jacket and no goddamn vest.”

Kennedy nodded her head, relief flooding her. Grabbing the clothes from Cody, she shoved them into Asher’s arms before he changed his mind. “Go, put these on.”

He disappeared down the hall. The noise inside the room, which really wasn’t big enough to hold all the people and camera equipment, gradually increased to a normal level, or what she was coming to realize was normal for a functioning set.

But it all fell off again several minutes later. Kennedy, talking with the set director about moving some things off the desk, looked around and nearly swallowed her tongue.

Asher stood in the open doorway, a frown pulling at his lips as he fiddled with one of his cuffs. Damn, the man should wear a suit more often.

The snow-white shirt was crisp and made his tanned skin pop. The pants, a dark gray with a faint black pinstripe, hugged his hips and strained against the massive circumference of his thighs.

Beside her, she heard a soft voice whisper, “You were so right.” Glancing over, she took in Carmen, her beautiful blue eyes full of hero worship.

That propelled Kennedy forward, although she had no idea why.

Taking Asher’s arm, she pulled him across the room and over to the desk. The production team had debated having him sit in the chair behind the desk, but with the more casual wardrobe choice, they’d agreed to try it with him leaning against the edge, ankles crossed. As if he was talking to a buddy.

It had taken everything inside Kennedy for her to bite her tongue during the discussion. They hadn’t wanted her opinion, even if she did have a freakin’ marketing degree with a keen eye for composition and graphic design.

Putting her hands on his hips, she pushed Asher backward until his body folded.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and his entire body tight.

“Putting you where I want you,” she said, glancing up through her lashes for a second before jerking her gaze back down. Bad idea. Studying Asher Reynolds was like looking directly at a solar eclipse, likely to blind you. And she couldn’t afford that right now.

She waited for the rude comeback—she’d given him a perfect setup—but none followed.

Grasping the cuff he’d been fiddling with, she pulled it back down and smoothed the edges out before folding it into place. The backs of her fingers brushed against his warm skin. His soft arm hair tickled her nerve endings. He flexed, the muscles along his arm bulging.

Had he done that on purpose?

Satisfied with his cuff, Kennedy stepped back. She let her gaze run up him, trying to be objective. This was just like any other product she’d ever marketed. Color, composition, impact, message.

There were things about working at Trident that she absolutely loved. But the thrill of using her skills—of doing what she enjoyed and was good at—effervesced through her body. Working for a diving company just didn’t give her enough opportunities to use her training.

Asher looked elegantly casual. As if he’d just spent hours working a major business deal and finally had a chance to relax.

There was just one thing wrong...

Stepping back to him, Kennedy went up on her tiptoes. She was short and he was tall. Even with Asher leaning against the desk, she couldn’t reach what she wanted without pressing her entire body against him.

She tried not to notice the way her breasts brushed the hard plane of his chest as she dug her fingers into his hair.

Asher shifted beneath her. His hands landed on her hips. She felt the heat of them down to her toes.

“What are you doing?”

Kennedy didn’t answer but ran her fingers through his hair, rumpling the light brown strands. Whoever had done it had obviously been going for a more formal look, which might have worked before but not now. They’d slicked through a bunch of gel, trying to tame the natural wave his hair had when it grew a little too long.

She liked the waves. They were rakish and fit his personality. She fussed and tugged, prolonging the contact a few seconds more than necessary. Yeah, so she was human.

Finally forcing herself to push away from him, Kennedy tried to ignore the way his hands lingered for several seconds.

“Better,” she said, her voice suddenly scratchy.

Clearing her throat, Kennedy tried to find her professionalism. She knew it was inside, buried deep. And she needed it. Right now.

Turning away, she gestured to the director. “He’s all yours.”