Wanted: Wife 4 Navy Seals: A Sizzling Hot Military Romance (Wanted Series Book 1)

by Dee Palmer

  “Have you slept at all?” I ask, but I know the answer. Finn is pressed against my chest, her slim arm soft against my skin, draped and hugging my chest. Her face is tipped up to mine but her eyes are as wide as the smile painting her beautiful face. I doubt she closed her eyes for a second. I’m pretty sure I actually passed out.

  “I haven’t. Don’t get me wrong, my body is exhausted enough to sleep for days; my mind won’t let me. I have too many questions, Charge.” Her lips quirk in an apologetic grin, but I understand. I’m amazed she let me sleep at all.

  “I know.” I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. She’s been patient, and since she took the blindfold off, I really have only one thing left to share. I draw in a steadying breath and feel her arm constrict with automatic comfort.

  “There’s not a thing you can say, Charge, that will change how I feel about you. I just need to know you trust me enough to share what you keep locked in here.” She slides her palm flat over my heart, and I reach up to cover it with my own, entwining our fingers. I need the closeness to tell my story.

  “Okay, angel.” I close my eyes, and my skin tingles with tightness, I can almost feel the flames lick my skin like they did ten years ago. “After my parents died, my brother and I went to live with my guardian. “

  “Your brother?” she queries, her brows shoot up in shock.

  “Joshua didn’t die with my parents, angel. I lied about that. You’ll understand why by the time I finish.”

  “I’m sorry, Charge.”

  “It’s okay, angel. You deserve to know the truth.” I kiss her hair and breathe her vanilla scent in deeply; it calms and soothes, just what I need. “Donald doesn’t have children and although some of the stars he deals with are brats, he’d never really encountered spoiled and troubled teenagers—well, teenager. Josh was never any trouble. I had started hanging with a gang, and I would break out of Donald’s home every chance I got, despite the sphincter-tight security he had around the house and grounds. One night, I stole a bottle of his best whiskey and grabbed the keys to his Ferrari.

  “After the car accident killed my parents, Donald pretty much insisted I drive an armored jeep and only that vehicle, but I knew he had the 458 in his garage, and, man, that thing was so damn fast. I had begged and begged to drive it. He flatly refused, but worse than that, he said it was too powerful for a kid. That was a dumbass thing to say to a cocky teen. Anyway, I took the liquor and keys, and climbed out my bedroom window like always, only this time Josh stopped me.

  “He saw the bottle and begged me not to go. I told him he could come if he kept his noise down. He shut up but didn’t want to come. I was worried he would go straight to Donald and stop my fun, so I promised him we would drop by our old home. I hated going there, but he loved it. It had been cleared of everything valuable almost right away. Some furniture and boxes had been left, but it was no longer a home. It was still on the market to be sold. Josh missed the place so much, Donald would take him back from time to time.

  “I knew I had him. He ran back to his room and came back with his jacket and a flashlight. I helped him out of the window and showed him how to avoid all the spotlights and sensors that would have had the place instantly lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Deactivating the alarm on the garage, we crawled out onto the drive, and drove out of the gates and into the night. Josh’s face was stony, but he did start to relax once he recognized where I was taking him. I wasn’t going to back out of a promise, even if I did have other plans for the house.

  “Josh ran off to wherever, and I cracked the lock on the back door. The alarm code remained the same and again I quickly disabled that, allowing us freedom to explore. Or more accurately, giving me time to finish what I had started on my last visit. I had hidden cans of gasoline in cupboards and cut holes into the base of sofas in case those were discovered. It was unlikely anyone coming to view the place would look that close, but I wanted to make sure I could burn the place to the ground when the time was right. I had left a trail of fuel along the length of the ground floor ending in the kitchen. The empty boxes and anything else I thought might catch fire quickly I placed next to the accelerant and left a half-empty can at the other end of the house for some extra fire power.

  “Josh came running into the kitchen as I struck the match and dropped it. I had almost forgotten he was there. He started yelling at me, and I got mad that he was so upset when I thought it was the best way to end my nightmares. That I didn’t have to see it, think about them and our family the way it was and the way it would never be again. I wanted it gone. I grabbed him by his jacket and dragged him out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but his face was pale and he fell silent once he clipped his seatbelt. I drew a long pull from the whiskey and floored the car. Josh wouldn’t stop shouting at me to put my damn belt on. I turned the music up so loud it drowned the annoying whining from him. The next thing I knew he was leaning over me, trying to put the damn belt on, dragging it across my chest. I struggled, and we fought, the car spun when I pulled the wheel sharply and with my foot pressed to the floor in panic, I lost control. We spun off the road and crashed through the safety barrier. The car rolled down a steep embankment, crushing my brother and knocking me unconscious.

  “I had so much gasoline still on my clothes I was lucky I didn’t burn alive. Some guy pulled me from the car but my cheap jacket was on fire and melting into my back. The man who pulled me out, ripped it from my body and several layers of my skin. The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt. It brought me back to consciousness and a fresh hell. The pain was unbearable but was never enough to make up for what I’d done. How fucking sorry I am. I killed my brother, and every time I look at myself, that’s all I see, a murderer. These scars aren’t just ugly on my outside, they are evidence of the rot inside of me, too. Ugly to the core.” I blink and feel the cool trickle of tears on my cheek. Finn sweeps them dry with her fingers. She looks broken, but until she tells me, I won’t know why. Long seconds pass, but she ends my agony when she speaks.

  “Charge, I’m so fucking sorry, but you can’t believe you’re a murderer. I won’t let you.” Her hands fly to my face, holding me millimeters from her, nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, and heart-to-heart. There’s no escape, and I’m so thankful. “These scars are part of you, and they are beautiful. We all make mistakes, and what happened to your brother was a heartbreaking tragedy, but it was an accident. You have a kind heart and a pure soul, Charge, and I love you with every fiber of my being.” She presses her full soft lips over mine, and when she pulls back, I see something shine in her eyes, something more. She swallows thickly and her wide, infectious smile makes my fucking heart sore. “You have trusted me with your heart, so it feels only right to trust you with mine. I love you, all of you.”

  “You do?” I see it in her eyes, I feel it in my soul, but I just need to make sure.

  “Yeah, I really do.”

  She giggles and melts against my body when I pounce. Fucking perfect.

  One week later

  “I CAN’T DO IT.” I vehemently shake my head and pout like a preschooler.

  “You have to,” Pink states, but four pairs of eyes are boring into me, all that’s missing is the interrogation spotlight in this little intervention. “Time is up on your Visa, missy. You have to pick one of us for a husband.”

  “But I love you all,” I huff, folding my arms across my chest. They all beam, but then sigh with frustration. I have told them this repeatedly and refused to make the decision. Not because it’s at all impossible. The truth is, I could make the decision, very easily, but I do love them all, and I feel making that choice will change something, and what we have is perfect.

  “Yes, we know that.” Toxic rolls his eyes, but they are all grinning like Cheshire cats.

  “Wait, I know.” I jump up and scurry off into Charge’s study. I return waving four pens and some paper. “Let’s do the name draw thing.”

  “Coward!” Charge accuses, biting back a shit-ea
ting grin. He knows.

  “Yep.” I give a little sassy wiggle of my hips, sighing with relief when they each take a pen and scribble their names on the paper. I grab the small fruit bowl and roll the apples onto the coffee table. They each fold their pieces of paper and drop it in the bowl. I give it a little shake, and I can feel my tummy tighten. I have prayed a few times over the last month, and although I feel like I’m most definitely pushing my luck, I close my eyes and wish for one last thing. I reach my other hand into the bowl and take the piece of paper that will select my husband.

  “Before I open this, I would like to say you’re all so precious to me and such wonderful, kind, generous and sexy-as-all-hell men. I know for a fact I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” I gush.

  “Open the damn paper,” Tug growls.

  “Patience is a virtue, you know?” I quip. I think the power has gone to my head.

  “Not one of ours. Now open.” Charge demands, but I hold my hand up flat to stop him.

  “Wait! I wanted to show you this first.” They all groan out with frustration but I power through ignoring their dramatics. This seems like the perfect time to do this. I pull the waist of my yoga pants down to reveal the gauze dressing I said was hiding a nasty cut I got falling at the stables. I pick the tape and pull it free.

  “When the hell did you get that?” Pink exclaims above the audible intake of collective breaths.

  “Flick took me. I wanted to get each of your elements permanently marked on my skin, just so you know whoever is on this paper, you’re all chosen.” I bite my lip with anticipation of their reactions.

  “Angel.”

  “Sugar.”

  “Darling.”

  “Babe.”

  I beam so wide my cheeks ache. The pleasure of their expressions almost erases the pain from the tattoo, almost.

  “Now open the—” Charge growls this time, and I quickly slip my pants back up.

  “All right, all right.” I un-scrunch the paper, and if it’s possible my smile just got that little bit wider and my heart just swelled fit to bursting. “Charge.” I say, and squeal when I’m ambushed first by Charge, then the others, all bundling me back onto the sofa and peppering me with kiss after kiss. They all look so damn happy. I can’t believe… “Wait!” I had dropped the bowl when they attacked me, and I can see the papers strewn over the floor, no longer folded and all, without exception, have the name Charge written on them. Perfect.

  Six Months Later

  “JUST ONE MORE.” CHARGE GROWLS against my skin, his soft full lips pressing into my body, so I feel the vibrations from his words. His breath scorches the apex of my trembling thighs, and I suck in a breath, shaking my head at his sensual demand. I’m exhausted, utterly sated, and seconds away from falling into a sex-induced coma.

  “I can’t. Please.” I manage to say, but it takes the very last ounce of energy left in my body to get the words out and make them even slightly audible.

  “Oh, come on, angel. We both know that’s not true.” I tip my head up to see his piercing blue eyes sparkle with mischief. I groan and drop my head back onto the pillow. I recognize his look of determination and desire, and although I’m not the type to lie back and think of England, very occasionally, my body is so wracked, it’s all it can do.

  I’m not complaining, just stating a fact.

  “Oh, my God!” I cry out as his devilish tongue presses flat and firm, dragging along my wetness. His fingers slide easily into my body and twist slowly, coaxing my muscles to reawaken. His sweet and sensual movements pull more pleasure from my spent body. He is relentless.

  It was the same on our honeymoon, but I thought that was just because it was, well, our honeymoon, and the two weeks of utter heaven in his arms, under his body was the exception. I never expected it to be the rule.

  I let out sharp little breaths, feeling the build of pressure start to ripple though me. My eyes are squeezed shut, and every muscle protests with the involuntary exertion his attention is drawing from my helpless body. His heavy hand presses on my abdomen as my hips start to roll. His other hand slides under my bottom, gripping and pulling me against his urgent, insistent mouth and its heavenly dance against my most sensitive flesh

  “Come for me, angel.” He exhales and the burst of air makes me jolt. His fingers push deeper, and when his lips latch around my clit, I fall from the peak he has pushed me to once more. He keeps the pressure perfect until all the ripples of pleasure have ebbed and stilled. He then languidly kisses a path from my clit up the center of my body, over my tummy, between my breasts, brushing past my lips and playfully landing on the tip of my nose. I think I smile but I can’t be sure my facial muscles are cooperating with my wishes. I know the rest of my body isn’t because Charge has to drag my limp form back up the bed and drape it like a comforter over his own, maneuvering me until I’m in my preferred resting position. My head on his chest, arm across his torso and our legs wrapped together like cooked spaghetti. The sun may be streaming through the shutters but I fall instantly back to sleep.

  I rub the numbness in my cheek and the sleep from my eyes. I slept like the dead; it may have been five minutes but it could’ve been five days, I feel like I have literally been fucked unconscious. It’s late morning, and I still haven’t actually made it out of our bedroom. I’m sitting upright, cross-legged and sharing a steaming cup of coffee with my husband. The smile on my face, which has been a permanent fixture since Charge came back from the dead six months ago, got a little bit bigger once I became his wife. However, it’s only because it’s physically impossible to smile any wider without having a flip-top head. Today, however, it’s tempered with some troubling thoughts that have been niggling me, and I need to address. Number one rule, no secrets.

  “Have the others said anything to you?” I hand the cup back after taking a sip. The bitter taste makes my nose scrunch, and he chuckles. I welcome the hit of caffeine to wake me, but I prefer my morning brew with a bag, milk and lots of sugar. The need for a cup of tea is in my British DNA.

  “About?” He arches a brow but his face is ever impassive.

  “About me.” I want to say, “Duh”, but the skin on my bottom is still glowing from last night and judging by the look on his face, my tone holds just the right amount of sass. My bottom is safe for the moment.

  “They say lots about you; you’re gonna to need to be more specific, angel.” He chuckles, and I purse my lips, because either he really doesn’t know, or he’s delighting in making this really awkward for me. Our arrangement hasn’t so much changed after the wedding, but some things have certainly shifted. One of those things being, Charge is adamant he doesn’t want to talk about me in a sexual way with the others. Which in itself isn’t a problem. It’s not like I like to compare notes or anything, but it does make this conversation a little tricky. I draw in a deep breath, because there’s no subtle way to ask this.

  “Have they gone off me…gone off sex with me, I mean?” I grimace, swallowing back the dry lump in my throat. He was very specific after our honeymoon that he did not want to know, talk, or even joke about me being with the others. He never did share on his days, but he just took it to a whole new level after we were married, and I’m convinced this is the source of this new development. But my core insecurity will always default to the notion that they have gone off me first. He lets out a flat laugh and quirks his lips in a wry grin.

  “Not ever going to happen, but why do you ask?”

  “Okay. Well, here’s the thing, and I know you don’t like talking about this but…” I pause, shifting in my seat. I pull my crossed legs up and wrap my arms around them, forming a tight defensive ball. I dip my eyes away from his serious glare.

  “Just say it,” he demands, but softly, so I know he isn’t really upset by the topic, it’s just, understandably, not one of his favorites.

  “I haven’t had sex with any of them for the last, um, I think it’s over a month now.” I give a tiny shrug because my arms are loc
ked rigid around my legs.

  “Really?” He uses his free hand to unpick my grip and pull me over to his side. I slide against his body, his arm holding me to his heat and I tip my head to meet his gaze and carry on the conversation.

  “Yeah, really. I mean we—” Catching the twitch in his jaw, I halt mid-sentence, because he really doesn’t want to hear this, like any of it. I censor the details and just give him the facts. “Haven’t had sex, and I just wondered if they had said anything.”

  “They haven’t, but have you asked?”

  “I’m asking now,” I state as if talking to a small and possibly dim child. He tips his head and raises a warning brow at my tone.

  “I meant them. You know they are probably the best ones to answer this question,” he responds flatly, and I huff out a light puff of frustrated air.

  “Well, I know that now, Mr. Informative.” I roll my eyes and scoot back out of his reach as he tries to grab my retreating form without spilling the coffee.

  “Sass like that will get you a very sore ass.”

  “You know that’s not really a deterrent, right?” I quip, but jump back as he lunges for me, since he no longer holds his cup. I squeal and try to run, but he’s on me. His strong hands lift me high, spinning me effortlessly in the air, and plant me securely onto his shoulder. The long T-shirt I’m wearing barely covers my bottom, and he slaps his large palm sharply across the exposed skin. I scream and wriggle, but still when he swipes another hefty strike on my arse cheek.

  “Oh, please continue, angel. We have all day to get your sass back where it belongs.” His deep gravelly voice causes the hairs on my neck to prickle with the sensual threat, but his tone is teasing. Since we are now heading out of our room, I’m pretty confident he’s not going to make good on that threat—yet. He strides along the corridor, passing Tug at the top of the stairs.