“That’s correct,” Kettering replied.

Well, that sucked. Particularly since Sherri knew which one of those Kettering thought she would end up being. Anna and Lily were plenty attractive and could certainly be made camera-ready. But she was the one with years of experience under her belt dealing with the media and with military politics.

Kettering gave the men a long, hard stare and then said sternly, “We’re all professionals here, and we have a job to do. Let’s get to it.”

Faint grumbling was audible out of the back row.

Kettering turned the formation ninety degrees, which put Griffin beside Sherri at the front of the pack. They took off running while Kettering turned and walked toward his office.

Griffin made a point of letting her set the pace. Eyes narrowed, she started her wrist stopwatch and stretched out into a 10K racing stride. Might as well start earning these guys’ respect right away. She knew from running with Anna and Lily that both of them could handle this brisk clip. She also happened to know this pace would meet the pre-BUD/S run-time requirement for a 10K distance.

“You think you can hack the big leagues, Blondie?” Griffin—Grif—she would just stick with Caldwell—drawled at her as they headed down the road.

“I do.”

“Care to place a small wager on whether or not you’ll last a week out here?” he shot back.

Something about his tone just irritated her—like a grain of sand in her eye, or a pebble in her shoe. Maybe it was the smug way he looked at her. Or the patent disbelief in his dark, dark blue eyes that a woman would dare to breach the sacred male fortress of the SEALs. Or maybe it just pissed her off that any one man could be so damned attractive.

“Name your bet,” she snapped.

“Loser buys a bottle of whiskey for the winner.”

“I’ll do you one better,” she challenged. “Loser buys a limited edition hogshead of Glengoyne single-malt aged scotch for the winner.”

Trevor whistled from behind them and commented in his crisp British accent. “The lady knows her fine spirits.”

“You’re turning me on, talking dirty like that, Tate.” Griffin flashed her a grin so hot it made her miss a step.

The man. Had. Dimples. Tactical nuclear dimples.

Damn, damn, damn. She was a total sucker for them.

She barely righted herself in time to avoid face-planting on the gravel path.

Returning his insolent smile, she let her gaze slide down his magnificent body and back up to his face, where his grin faded, replaced by a smoking-hot stare that would have incinerated a lesser woman.

Her right eyebrow arched. “You think you’re man enough to keep up with me, Caldwell?”

Chapter 2