Sherri unsettled him like no person—male or female—had ever unsettled him. It wasn’t just about how she looked. Or that he thought about hot, sweaty sex every time he got within eyeball distance of her. She had an elusive…something about her. Secrets. What were they? Where did they come from? It made him want to dig down in her psyche until he uncovered all of her darkest mysteries.

For surely a woman who had the motivation to try for the impossible was carrying around some deep emotional shit.

More irritated than he’d been in a long time, Griffin made an early night of it. Not only did he have a hangover to shake, but tomorrow would be an early morning. He planned to show Sherri Tate a thing or two about what it took to be a real SEAL.

He should have known it would happen.

She came to him in his dreams, a ghostly siren, so seductive and enthralling that he gladly gave himself over to her spell. Her slender, strong arms drew him against her full breasts, her kiss drew the breath from his lungs, and her white-hot desire drew the will to resist clean out of him.

He smelled her lust, sweet and musky, felt it in the way she surged against him. As much as she wanted him, he wanted her even more. His erection was painfully hard, sending driving need pounding through his belly, blanking all thought except burying himself inside her heat and sex until they both exploded in soul-rending orgasms.

Griffin woke with a lurch, drenched in sweat, as his watch vibrated. He fell back against the mattress, swearing silently.

Far more slowly than he willed it to, the dream retreated. Sherri’s imaginary arms disengaged from around his body, and his brain only gradually came on line.

Four a.m. Time to go teach a princess a thing or two about what SEALs are made of. Except the bedsheet tented over his erection, and he rolled onto his side rather than advertise his predicament to his brothers.

The other guys were starting to rouse, and he lay there listening to them move around, reliving that vivid dream in his mind. Damn, that woman was stuck there but good. One thing he knew for sure: he had to get himself squared away with Sherri—and fast. Distractions of any kind—be they problems with wives or girlfriends, money woes, or anything that took a guy’s mind off the job—were trouble.

He rolled out of the rack, pulled on pants, and tucked his problem child painfully behind his zipper. Yanking a black T-shirt down over his head, he stepped into boots and strapped on the worst attitude he could summon. At oh-dark-thirty and with him horny as hell, it was a freaking snotty attitude. Good. Now, he was ready to face Sherri.