Under Pressure - Kira Sinclair SEALs of Fortune

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was to Jackson. He’d been aware that she’d interviewed, but decided not to tell his business partners about her potential resignation until it was an actuality. Luckily, it was late afternoon where he was. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer his phone, so she had to leave him a message. Not the way she wanted to break the news to him, but with the difference in their time zones and them both soon being in remote locations, she didn’t have much choice.

      The next call was to her parents, who were thrilled she’d gotten the position but upset she’d be leaving so soon. After sweet-talking her mom into some sorting and packing, Kennedy hung up the phone, still buzzing and giddy from the excitement.

      Until she turned, her gaze landing on Asher once more and the blatant reminder that several things still had to fall into place.

      No matter what happened, this documentary had to be completed on time if she had any hope of making it to Seattle.

      IT HAD BEEN several months since he’d been on the Amphitrite, but he always enjoyed being out in the field. Asher pulled the sea air into his lungs, letting it fill him up. Warm sun beat down on his skin, reminding him just why he did this.

      There was nothing like making your living with the beach as your office. Any beach. He’d seen some of the most gorgeous sites in the world...and some of the worst humanity had to offer.

      But that was behind him, and something he’d never even think about changing. Serving with the SEALs had been an honor. A legacy. The best thing he could ever hope to do with his life.

      He’d grown up with stories of his father, the hero. The flag they’d handed his grandmother across the casket had hung on the wall above his bed.

      All things considered, his life had turned out pretty well...even if there were days he felt empty.

      He might not have any real family—because it was difficult to think of his mom as family when he hadn’t heard from her in twenty-seven years—but he didn’t need any. He’d forged his own connections in the brotherhood he’d found with the SEALs and the two men he considered closer than friends. Jackson, Knox and the rest of the Trident team were all the family he needed.

      The quiet shush of water against the hull of the ship worked to center him. A welcome distraction from the fiasco that was about to unfold.

      It was late afternoon, the heavy orange-red sun hanging low against the horizon as they headed away from Nassau. It would take them several hours to reach the dive site. The team had come into port to get supplies and pick up Kennedy, himself and the production crew that had met them at the dock.

      Asher had studiously avoided Kennedy and the pile of heavy black cases and bags that had been loaded on under her watchful eye. It was better for his peace of mind.

      Unfortunately, her voice, sharp with censure, floated across the deck, making that difficult. “Be careful with that!”

      He turned, slumping against the hard railing, arm outstretched across the smooth surface. His gaze followed her every move. She was a hard woman to ignore.

      Kennedy was a whirlwind of action. She made him tired just watching. A tiny stick of dynamite. She was bossy, full of opinions and not hesitant about sharing them...with anyone and everyone. Honestly, she reminded him quite a lot of his grandmother.

      He’d loved his grandma with all his heart. Had been devastated when she passed six years into his tour with the SEALs. She’d been tough and smart, sweet and exacting. She’d pushed him, often beyond the boundaries he thought he could reach.

      But she’d loved him. In his entire life, his grandmother had been the only woman who ever had.

      Kennedy was a princess, but not the annoying self-centered kind. It had taken him one family function with her brother and father both present to realize the men in her life had given her confidence, made her feel secure in herself and her place.

      And that confidence looked good on her, even if it was occasionally intimidating.

      She was barely five feet, but it was hard to remember that when she looked at you out of those whiskey-colored eyes, so warm and bright. He liked whiskey, especially on her.

      Kennedy directed the group of people milling about. They reminded him of a colorful school of fish, darting here and there without any real direction. But he had no doubt she would bring order.

      She instructed the production crew where to store their gear and what bunks they’d be occupying for the next few weeks. Without so much as a cheat sheet. Kennedy knew exactly who was who, where they belonged and kept all the shit straight in her head.

      It was impressive.

      And why she’d be so damn successful.

      At first he’d been very vocal about his reluctance to hire Kennedy. She was young, still in college, and they’d been a fledgling company with enough things working against them. He’d wanted to hire someone with experience and contacts that could help get Trident Diving and Salvage established.

      And then he’d met her. And his protests had doubled, not because he thought she couldn’t do the job—it had taken him five minutes to know that she could—but because he’d needed to put as much distance between them as possible for his sanity.

      So he’d pushed in every way he could imagine, placing walls and anger and animosity between them, hoping they’d be insurmountable obstacles.

      But somehow Kennedy always seemed to scale them.

      About twenty minutes after they’d shoved off, the chaos abated. She stood on the now quiet deck, her feet spread wide to compensate for the motion of the ship. Asher had the perfect view of her ass and the tight denim shorts that cupped the curve of it. He wanted to run his palm up the bare skin of her thigh, slipping his fingers beneath the hem.

      Biting back a curse, he watched her shoulders rise and fall on a heavy sigh. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides for several seconds before she unfurled them.

      “Did you enjoy the show?” she finally asked, turning just enough to look at him across the slope of her shoulder.

      He grinned. It shouldn’t matter that she’d known he was there, watching. But it did.

      “Always entertaining to watch you work, cupcake.”

      Her mouth tightened, and something dangerous flashed through her golden eyes before she got control of it again.

      Turning deliberately, she faced him, letting her gaze slip across his body, taking in his negligent pose for several seconds before crossing the deck to him.

      She stopped a couple of feet away, just out of reach. Smart woman.

      Crossing her arms over her chest, Kennedy speared him with a level gaze. “The crew would like to start tonight. Just a few test shots.”

      “Won’t it be dark?”

      Her lips twitched, drawing his attention. Part of him wanted to push until that ghost of a smile went full-blown, but he didn’t. Because her smile was deadly.

      “Did you notice all the crates? I’m pretty sure a few of them contained lighting equipment.”

      “S-Smart-ass.” Asher ground his teeth together, forcing his mouth closed.

      And there it was, what he’d been dreading from the moment Kennedy had backed him into a corner.

      He waited for her to react, but she didn’t. Instead, she shrugged. “They just want to get you on camera, no pressure and nothing important.”

      No pressure. That was a rich joke. This entire project was nothing but pressure. A situation he wasn’t trained for and had zero experience handling. Hell, even thinking about it made his tongue swell, choking him—or at least if felt that way. It would get so much worse once the camera was in front of him, that blank eye staring, judging,

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