“Explain what?” she asked innocently. Way too innocently.

He winced and stepped forward to within arm’s reach of her. “Go ahead. Slap me. Or slug me. Break my nose like you did Grundy’s.”

He stared at her, losing himself in the light, bright blue of her gaze, which wasn’t giving away a blessed thing.

He braced himself as she took another step toward him. But then she did the darnedest thing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed the entire slim, sexy length of her body against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist out of long habit, reveling in the way her body fit his. Beneath her uniform she felt more muscular than in the past, but still curvy and lithe. She wore being SEAL-fit well indeed.

“What is this?” he mumbled as she tilted her face up to his.

Her mouth captured his in a kiss, and he didn’t question it. She was here, and she wanted him. That was plenty for him. More than he deserved. She mumbled, “Does it matter what this is?”

Actually, it did. But he wasn’t sure he knew how to explain that to her. “Umm, Tate?”

“Hmm?”

“Uniforms aren’t authorized on the Easy Day.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?” she purred in a sultry voice that had his entire body tightening in anticipation.

He combed his fingers through her hair, pulling out the pins holding it up. It spilled over her shoulders like golden sunshine.

He reached for the flat buckle of her belt and snapped it open. “About last night…” he started.

She reached for the buttons on her blouse and popped them free from the top down, revealing a sexy white lace bra with her breasts practically spilling out of it and stealing from his mind whatever he’d been about to say.

“Day-umm,” he murmured. “I never had any idea you women officers wore stuff like this under your blouses.”

“Wait till you see what’s under my skirt.”

Under her… huh? He slid his hands around her waist to the skirt’s zipper and eased it down. She stared at him in challenge, and he pushed the white fabric down over her hips, which she wiggled a little to help the skirt fall—or maybe to make his eyes roll back in his head, which they nearly did.

A thong. She was wearing nothing more than a tiny scrap of white lace under her sheer pantyhose that did more to reveal than conceal, more to tantalize than hide.

“Holy shit, Sherri.”

“You were saying?”

“A thong under your uniform, Lieutenant Tate? Is that regulation Navy attire?”

“SEALs live to break rules,” she muttered against his lips.

“Amen.” He cupped her tush in his hands, loving the resilient spring of it.