Tempting SEALs 6 - Atlanta Heat.pdf

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Atlanta Heat
By
Lora Leigh
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Prologue
Some women a man knew to stay the hell away from. It was a self-preservation thing. Survival
instinct. The lone wolf that reveled in its independence and sexual freedom knew when it was
staring in the eyes of a sensual trap. A woman capable of making the male animal stand up, take
notice, and tremble in his military boots.
Mason "Macey" March was a man who liked to live on the edge, though. He was all about the
challenge, the risk, the excitement, whether it was a mission or a woman, or a terrorist out to
destroy the world. He was a man who stared out at life with a defiant snarl and dared it to take
first blood.
He was a man staring at his own destruction, and he had enough sense to recognize it, and to be
equally terrified and drawn to it. Like a spectator to a train wreck. It was going to be bloody. It
was going to be a mess. But he couldn't look away because she had him by his soul and he knew
it. One kiss. That was all it was going to take. One touch and he was going to be a goner. He was
aching to touch.
Hazel green eyes twinkled mischievously over lightly freckled cheeks. Lush lips curved
enchantingly, and made a man wonder about things that mouth could do even as it threatened the
fit of his dress whites.
Softly curved, temptingly delicate, and trouble with a capital T. Messing with this woman was
the ultimate insanity, but no one had ever accused him of being sane.
"You know Lieutenant March," she drawled in seductive Southern. "You could always slip out the
back door. I bet the admiral won't even realize you're gone."
He stared down at her, eating up the vision of her below the neck even as he kept his gaze steady
on hers. Wasn't a chance in hell he was going to let the admiral catch him leering at his
goddaughter's ample breasts. The way the sapphire blue silk clung to them, held over the luscious
mounds with the tiniest of straps. Her long chestnut hair fell down her back in thick soft waves
making his hands itch to touch it.
"Sweetheart, the admiral would fry important portions of my anatomy if I dared." He attempted to
smile, but he was damned close to swallowing his tongue as he caught sight of those sweetly
curved mounds lifting in a sigh. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a sheen of moisture popping on
his brow as he fought to control the hardon threatening beneath his slacks. This wasn't the best
place to prove to the admiral that he really was nothing more than a dog panting after a pair of
pretty tits, as the bastard had recently accused him of being.
He didn't pant after tits. He revered them. Worshipped them. He was nearly drooling over them.
Maybe that did make him a dog.
He watched Miss Emerson Delaney smile. A playful curve of her lips that was a warning in and
of itself. And beneath that silk was the faintest hint of nipples hardening.
"You know, I could help you sneak away," she whispered playfully. "Admiral Holloran is, after all,
my godfather. I'll make your excuses. You aren't looking well, you know." She was laughing
at him. Playfully. In amusement. But she was getting a kick out of the fact that he didn't dare piss
the admiral off at this point. He'd already been busted down in rank for one misdemeanor; he
didn't need to get brought down again because Emerson was in the mood to play.
"Don't do me any favors, imp," he growled.
She pouted back at him playfully. "But Macey, doing you a favor would just make my day
complete. Didn't you know that?"
He snorted. Likely story. If he didn't get the hell away from her the admiral would barbeque his
ass.
"Do me a favor then and find someone else to harass, kid," he told her. "I'm in enough trouble."
He caught the narrowing of her eyes as he made his escape, quickly. Before he lost control and
let his gaze drop to those incredible breasts.
Okay, so he was a tit man. He couldn't help it, and she had the most incredible set he'd ever seen.
He drew in a quick, fortifying breath as he made his way through the ballroom, the foyer, then
quickly entered the silent, empty study that the admiral made available to his men during these
jackass parties his sister insisted on throwing in his name. Holloran should get married or
something, to a nice shy little wife who didn't like parties instead of letting his sister run his
social life.
He stalked across the room to the bar, pulled a glass from the shelf, and splashed in a healthy
dose of whisky as he heard the door snick open behind him. And he knew. Hell, he knew who
was back there.
He tossed back the whisky. "Go back outside and play, little girl." He grimaced as he caught sight of
her in the mirror over the bar. "You're biting off more than you can chew this time."
He'd known her for years. Known her and avoided her and lived in dread and in anticipation of
the chance to touch her.
"I had a message for you." Her voice wasn't teasing this time, it was a chilly snap. A proper,
aristocratic, holier than thou, kiss my ass, whiplash of sound.
It made his dick hard. Made his balls draw tight in hunger and his fingers curl with the need to
touch.
"So what's the message?" He rubbed his hand over his face before glancing at the mirror again.
She was leaning against the door, her eyes were glittering with anger, and those lush lips were
tight with irritation.
She opened the little evening bag she carried and drew a slip of paper free, extending it to him as
she crossed the room, then slapping it into his open palm.
Then, he made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't just take the paper and tuck it in the
pocket of his slacks. And he sure wasn't dumb enough to read it. Oh hell, no. With his free hand,
he gripped her wrist and jerked her to him, shoving the note in his pocket with the other and then,

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