“See, you need this,” he rasped, his breath hot on her neck. “You want this.”

Arousal had tightened her throat and rendered her vocal cords useless. He had her at a complete disadvantage—here he was, sure of himself, confident that his touch was having the desired effect, and here she was, struck mute, hardly able to remember what sex even felt like, so desperate for release she couldn’t even make her hands work so she could touch him in return.

“Ahem.”

At the sound of someone clearing his throat, Miranda flew off Seth’s lap as if her life depended on it. She swiveled her gaze and found Dylan in the doorway, his short blond hair damp from the shower, lime-green eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked casually.

“Yes,” Seth grumbled, at the same time Miranda blurted out, “No, not at all.”

Dylan smiled faintly. “Uh-huh. I see. Anyway,” he glanced at Seth “Cash called. He spoke to the LT, who says everything’s a go for tomorrow, rain or shine.”

“Shit. They’re gonna drop us in the middle of the ocean for that training op even if the storm’s still raging?” Seth sounded anything but excited.

“Yesiree.”

“Well, ain’t that gonna suck.”

As the men hammered out a few more details, Miranda was grateful for the opportunity to collect herself. She discreetly fixed the neckline of her shirt, then ran her fingers through her hair. Were her lips red and swollen from those blistering kisses? And could Dylan see how hard her ni**les were?

Oh God. This had been a much-needed interruption. If Dylan hadn’t walked in…shit, what would have happened?

You would have let Seth Masterson f**k you.

Miranda gulped. Wow. That matter-of-fact voice didn’t hold back any punches, did it?

But the voice was wrong. She wouldn’t have slept with Seth just now. Her good judgment would have reared its head and stopped her before she did something so reckless, right?

“I’m turning in,” she burst out, cutting Dylan off midsentence.

Seth was off the couch in a nanosecond, his expression darkening. “It’s only nine thirty.”

“And I have to be up at six. Besides, I’m super exhausted,” she lied.

“Miranda…” She heard the note of warning in his voice.

“You two keep chatting,” she said in an overly cheerful voice. She edged toward the doorway. “And thanks again for letting us stay here tonight. I really appreciate it.” Two more steps and she reached the door. “So, um, yeah, g’nite, guys.”

She darted out of the living room before either man could respond. A moment later, she walked into the dark guest room and released a breath of relief. Disaster averted. She’d gotten out of there, and now there was no chance she’d be having sex with Seth tonight.

Her gazed moved to the double bed, the only piece of furniture in the room other than the tall chest of drawers against the adjacent wall. Seth and Dylan took the word minimalist to new extremes, though she suspected that it had a lot to do with their military status. She didn’t imagine there to be much clutter or waste in the navy.

Sophie and Jason were sleeping soundly beneath the patterned comforter, lying on their sides on opposite ends of the bed. She smiled in the darkness, then undid the drawstring of the pants Seth had lent her and let the material pool at her feet. Seth’s shirt hung all the way down to her knees so technically she didn’t need to worry about modesty, but she still went to the dresser to rummage through the neatly folded pile of clothes Dylan had left there. She found her black bikini panties and slipped them on, then climbed onto the bed, doing her best not to wake the twins.

Sophie stirred in her sleep and made a soft sniffling sound, prompting Miranda to lay still. She needed both her kids to get a good night’s sleep.

Because at this point, who knew what chaos tomorrow would bring.

Chapter Six

Oh, this was bad. It was so very bad Miranda actually felt like throwing up. Choking back the rising nausea, she met the sympathetic eyes of her landlord and said, “How long will the cleanup take?”

“To pump it all out and remove the floors, two days,” he replied in perfect, albeit heavily accented, English. “The crew will discard any contaminated items. Everything will be documented for the purposes of insurance.”

“What about all our personal belongings? When can I come in and catalogue everything?”

Marco didn’t answer for a moment, signaling to a passing member of the cleanup crew and calling out something in Italian. The men moving to and from the vans parked at the curb wore an array of protective gear—green hip waders, rubber boots, gloves, masks. You’d think there was a hazardous waste spill in there instead of a few feet of rainwater.

Then again, even one foot of water would have been an utter disaster. Miranda’s heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach when she’d followed Marco into the apartment to survey the damage. Most of the water had been drained, so she’d been able to walk around in her yellow rain boots with no trouble.

No, the real trouble was the fact that anything with the misfortune of touching the floor was soaking wet and most likely unsalvageable. Luckily, most of her clothing was dry—everything in the top dresser drawers had escaped the flood, as did the hanging items in the closet. Even better—her important documents had come out unscathed, since she stored them all in a portable file folder at the top of her closet. And the twins’ room had barely been affected, which was the biggest miracle of all because now she wouldn’t have to replace any of their gazillion toys.