Serious confidence poured off the guy. Not in an aggressive way, rather in a quietly self-assured way. Nope, this was no scrawny desk jockey. Griffin Caldwell was a warrior in prime fighting trim. He seemed at ease in his body. She wished she could say the same.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like herself. She just wished sometimes that she was less…conspicuous. Heads turned everywhere she went. Maybe that explained her longing to wallow in mud. It might hide her looks.

“Where are we?” Griffin asked in a sandpaper-rough voice that made her toes curl into tight little knots of pleasure. Muscles rippled along his jaw when he spoke through a feral stubble of beard.

“Camp Jarvis,” she answered, surprised that he didn’t know.

“What state are we in?” he blurted out.

“I’m in a state of rest and general well-being, looking forward to starting training. You look like you’re in a state of acute life-choices regret.”

“You’re hilarious,” he grumbled. “Seriously. What state in the United States are we in?”

“North Carolina. South of Cape Fear near the Atlantic coast. Camp Jarvis was an Army base in World War II. Decommissioned after the war. Marines from Camp Lejeune use parts of it to practice blowing stuff up. A piece of it has been cordoned off for us to train in.”

“Train for what?” he asked sharply.

She blinked. What part of the phrase female SEALs didn’t he understand? She answered smoothly, in her best public affairs officer voice, “Commander Kettering will fill you in on the details.”

Caldwell swore under his breath, obviously deeply displeased by this whole adventure and by her evasion.

Tough. She wasn’t about to be the one to torque off this big guy. Not in the confines of a small vehicle, and not while he was scowling like he seriously wanted to strangle someone.

He yanked the baby-blue tie from around his collar. The cheap satin slithered across the tanned, corded tendons of his neck and had her swallowing hard. He tossed it over his shoulder into the back seat.

Keep your composure, Sherri. If you’re going to be working with these men, you have to get used to all that…testosterone.

Her public affairs training kicked in again. Make conversation. Keep it light. Casual. Distract him from why he’s here.

“Wedding?” she asked sympathetically. She had her fair share of butt-ugly bridesmaid dresses lurking in the back of her closet. But she’d never been forced to wear anything to compare with the sheer hideousness of his schlocky tuxedo.

She swerved a little as Griffin pulled the blue cummerbund from around his narrow, hard-looking waist. He twisted to the left and leaned toward her to pull the thing from behind his back, and his face came within about a foot of hers.