Daring Her Seal. Anne Marsh

out the conditions of a bet or a dare. In fact, the last time she could remember doing so was when she was all of twelve and egging her cousins on in a who-can-jump-off-the-highest-cliff contest. This wasn’t much less juvenile.

      “No O-face. No orgasm, with or without a partner or partners. Accidental orgasm still counts. And no hand action. You lose and you’re voted off the island, effective immediately.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. Reaching over, she patted him on the knee, her fingertips rubbing the hard, muscled warmth of his thigh. Wow. Brandon Boy was ripped. “You got all that, big guy?”

      “That might be too much for me to process,” he drawled.

      “Use the big head, not the little one. You’ll be fine.”

      He sighed. “Mean. I like that.”

      Maybe he’d lost his mind in that last foxhole. Or been too close to some kind of major explosion. From the way he grinned at her, her face radiated her suspicions loud and clear. “You’re not supposed to like it.”