Navy SEAL Series Boxed Set

by Odette Stone

  A spine board is probably one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. Especially when you're pregnant. They rushed me to an emergency, and a doctor assessed me.

  My spine was fine. There were no broken bones. No fractures. I was completely okay.

  Jackson stood beside my hospital bed in the emergency room. He still wore his baseball outfit. We waited for a technician to do an ultrasound on Alien.

  Alien was doing flip-flops in my belly. I knew everything was fine, but no one listened to me.

  “What happened?” Jackson's face was remote.

  “Harper came up and was talking to me.”

  “What was she talking about?”

  “The same old stuff. How you were going to leave me for her. How you were sleeping with her.”

  His eyebrows went up high. “She said that to you?”

  “This isn’t the first time.”

  He looked shocked. “Emily.”

  “She grabbed my arm, and I yanked it back. And we were going back and forth. And then I fell backward. And the rest is history.”

  A big hand covered his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That she was harassing you.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. What had I been doing all along? It had just fallen on deaf ears.

  The technician whipped back the curtain. “Someone here needs an ultrasound?”

  We watched as she wheeled the monitor beside the bed. My shirt came up, and then she applied a liberal amount of gel onto my belly.

  “You had a fall?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I’m fine.”

  “What are you looking for?” Jackson asked, from the other side of the bed.

  “Just making sure that baby and the placenta are doing okay. Did you fall forward or on your side?”

  “Flat on my back.”

  “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”

  She pressed the wand onto my stomach. I looked up at Jackson. His eyes remained glued to the monitor. His big hand held mine.

  “There’s your baby,” she said, pointing at the screen. “See, there is the head. And there is an arm.”

  Alien was starting to look like a real baby. With a very baby-like face. A cute button nose. A mouth. Jackson’s hand was tight on mine. I looked up at his face. His expression was one of complete awe and wonder. His eyes stayed glued to the screen.

  “Jesus,” he breathed.

  I laughed. “There’s our baby.”

  Our eyes met. He looked completely stunned.

  The technician seemed oblivious to the fact that my husband was completely transformed by the sight of our child. “Everything looks good. Placenta looks good. Baby looks great. Everything looks healthy. I think you two got lucky.”

  “Thank you.”

  She handed me some tissues to wipe off my stomach. And then she wrote in my chart and wheeled her machine away.

  I pulled my shirt down and looked up at Jackson. He stared at me as if he was seeing me for the first time.

  “We’re having a baby,” he sounded stunned.

  “Yes. We are.”

  He looked at my stomach. “I knew that but…Alien is a baby. Inside of you.”

  His shock pleased me. “I know.”

  He sat down on a chair beside me and took my hand in both of his. His eyes stared into mine. “I knew you were pregnant.”

  “But shit just got real?”

  He nodded slowly and then a huge smile broke out over his face. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “That was my exact reaction during my first ultrasound.”

  “Complete disbelief?”

  “Stunned shock.”

  “Jesus. Why didn’t I get this until now? I mean, I understood we were having a kid, but Emily, we’re having a baby.”

  Tears leaked out of my eyes. “Yeah. We are.”

  He kissed my hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from Harper.”

  “Jackson.”

  “No,” he said emphatically and gave me a clear look. “You'll never be bothered by her again. You have my word on that.”

  “Sorry I ruined your baseball game.”

  He shook his head. “I got lucky. I’m so lucky you're okay.”

  “Can you take me home?”

  His smile was beautiful. “I can do that.”

  Chapter 41

  Jackson treated me like spun glass. I insisted that I was fine, but he catered to my every move. I couldn’t even sneeze, and he was all over me.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, as he plumped pillows around me on the couch.

  “You need to be taken care of.”

  “Jackson,” I protested. “A couple of weeks ago, you took me up on a plane, and we jumped out of it. We went skydiving.”

  He turned around with a look of guilt on his face. “That was the stupidest thing I have ever done.”

  “No, my point is that it was fun and I was fine. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

  “You had a fall.”

  “I don’t even feel like I fell. I’m not even stiff or anything.”

  But when it came time for bed, he picked me up and carried me up the stairs. Secretly, I was digging the attention, but seriously? He was going way overboard.

  We got ready for bed, and then we lay in bed, side by side. I longed for us to connect. To become man and wife once again. So much had passed between us. It was the final distance between us.

  I rolled over on my side to look at his face. “What are you thinking of?”

  Green eyes traced over my face. “Just remembering when we went bed shopping.”

  “Really?”

  “I lay beside you in that store, and I was thinking how tiny you were. It made me wonder what it would be like to spoon someone so little.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You were thinking of cuddling me when we were bed shopping?”

  “I was thinking of way more x-rated things.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “Wow.”

  “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone blush as much as you did that first morning.”

  “I felt so awkward.”

  He dropped a kiss on my mouth. “How come?”

  “You were all big and intense and intimidating. I had never met anyone like you before.”

  “I was seriously messed up when I arrived in New York. I didn’t want to be there, and I certainly didn’t want to be in therapy, but you distracted me.”

  I chewed on my lip. “What was therapy like?”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What was it like?”

  “They wanted me to talk about my feelings.”

  “And did you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Emotions are messy.”

  I stared up at this man. Thinking about how he had destroyed our living room. Yes, emotions were messy. My husband was trying with me. He was trying to show me who he was. He was trying to help me understand.

  “I feel everything.”

  His smile was wondrous. “I know you do. And you show the whole world how you are feeling.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s a brave way to live.”

  “I don’t know how else to live.”

  “Don’t change. That's one of my favorite things about you.”

  “Except when I cry.”

  “I don’t mind your tears.” He placed a kiss on my neck. “Your tears are honest.”

  My fingers tangled in his hair. I pulled his face down to mine, kissing him.

  He tried to pull back. “Emily.”

  I stared up at him. Old insecurities flooded my body. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Because I’m pregnant?”

  “Everything changed this afternoon.”

  “When you saw the ultrasound.”

  My hand trailed slowly down his hard abs. His big hand captu
red mine. I looked up him. “Jackson.”

  “What if I hurt you?”

  I shook my head and wrestled my hand free of his so I could continue my ministrations. “Not possible.”

  He groaned as my hand shyly tightened around his solid member.

  “I want to do it the SEAL way,” I whispered.

  “Absolutely not,” he ground out. “If we do it at all, tonight I’m going to take my time.”

  He rolled over so that he was above me. His kiss was so wondrous. Intoxicating. Soothing. A brush of lips. Teeth nibbled. I swooned.

  He was patient. He overwhelmed me with his tenderness and torturous exploration of my body. I felt delicate and pure. I longed for more, yet swam in his perfect and soft touch. It was sublime. I trembled and gasped as a yearning slowly built in my body.

  He soothed and staggered me with his gentleness. Goosebumps covered my body as he feasted on my sensitive nipples. Lips trailed slowly down my arms, over my stomach. Soft fingers tickled and stroked up my thighs. Every taste, every caress was a graze, flaming my desire. I felt worshipped as he skimmed and teased me with the softest manipulations. I trembled from need. My hands clenched the bedspread, and yet he never relented. Never let me touch him. His focus was on making me feel like the revered lover. His skills inflamed me with a need that was making me almost delirious.

  I tossed my head back and forth. “Jackson, please.”

  He moved up, over me, and then he flipped me, so I was lying on top of him. We looked at each other. In his face, I saw tenderness, care and something that looked a lot like love. I thought my heart would burst with hope.

  I gasped as he slid slowly, inch by inch into me.

  His big hands pushed my hair off my face. “Emily.”

  “I love you,” I breathed.

  He groaned and then we moved. Slowly, languorously, like we had all the time in the world. I surrendered completely to the moment, loving the intimacy, loving that this big man was part of me. He moved so slow, it felt like sweet torture. I was stunned by the emotions, the sensations that crashed over me. My entire body throbbed. Every cell in my body focused on this moment.

  We stared at each other. Holding our gazes. So much passed between us. Things were different now. I could feel it. Something was happening. I was so happy that I thought my heart would burst.

  All too soon, that spark became a raging flame that consumed and overtook me. I was arching, and my head was thrown back, moving to find my release. His fingers wove into mine. My orgasm was building, climbing, roaring towards me like a freight train and then there it was. It slammed into me, and I bucked back, crying out, as waves of addictive ecstasy blinded me.

  He sat up, wrapped his arms around me, as I clenched over him. His hands were tangled in my hair as his mouth found mine. “You’re so beautiful. Emily. God.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and then he was crushing me to him, his head buried into my neck as he found his own sweet release.

  “Jesus, Emily,” he pulled back to look up at me. I saw in him vulnerability. Need. Emotion.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  We lay there in the best post-coital bliss. I was on my stomach while Jackson slowly traced his fingertips down my spine.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than perfect.”

  His lips kissed my shoulder blade. “Have you given any thought to names for Alien?”

  I lifted my head. “Is this where you only think of boy names?”

  “We could call him Allen and then secretly call him Alien behind his back. And he'd never know.”

  I giggled. “If he ever found out, he'd never forgive us.”

  “What is your dad’s name?”

  I shook my head. “You really don’t want to go there.”

  “What is it?”

  “Elmer.”

  He laughed. “Elmer Hunter. Yeah. We're just setting him up for a lifetime of harassment with that one.”

  “What if Alien is a girl?”

  “I thought we decided that a girl would be a bad idea. I don’t have a shotgun big enough for all the boys that'll show up on our doorstep.”

  “She'll be tough like you. She’ll be able to handle herself.”

  “What was your mom’s name?”

  “Beverly.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  “What about Melody? We could name her after your mom.”

  Jackson’s fingers stopped moving. I raised my head and looked at him. “What?”

  He had this look on his face. “How did you know my mom’s name was Melody?”

  I froze. “I don’t know. I think maybe you told me?”

  He sat up, his voice was cold. “No. I’m pretty sure I have never mentioned that name to you.”

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

  “Jackson,” I sat up and looked over at him.

  His eyes were wide. He stared at me. A hurt and confused look on his face.

  “What the fuck did you do, Emily?”

  I swallowed and shook my head. “It was a mistake.”

  “Tell me what you did.” The anger in his voice was clear.

  Tears threatened to clog my throat. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I read your journal. The one that Harry wrote. The one that was hidden in the sweater box.”

  Chapter 42

  Jackson got off the bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. Feeling suddenly vulnerable in my nakedness, I clambered to put on my robe. We both stood there, in the middle of our bedroom.

  I licked my lips, while my heart pounded a million miles a minute. “I can explain.”

  He looked so pissed, so hurt, I wanted to burst into tears.

  “No.”

  “Jackson, please,” I begged. “I was unpacking. And it was there. I didn’t even know what it was until I started reading it and then…without even realizing it, I was halfway through it.”

  He was breathing hard. “So what, you read half of that journal?”

  I shook my head sadly. “I went and found it afterward and I finished reading the entire thing.”

  His eyes were wide. He strode away from me and then spun around. “So, knowing that it was private by the very fact that I had hidden it in the attic, you knew that I didn’t want you to read that.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not like I left it on the coffee table, Emily. I fucking hid that behind a rafter in our attic. I put it in the one place that you would never find it. How long did it take you to find it?”

  “A while.”

  “So, you understood that I definitely did not want your eyes to see that book, but you knowingly went looking for it and read it anyways.”

  I openly cried. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” he looked at me with incredulity. “You broke my trust.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Intentions mean shit, Em. Actions tell me everything about you.”

  He looked so pissed that it scared me. Not that he would hurt me, but that he would leave me.

  “I wanted to understand you better,” I blubbered. “You were so closed off, and I didn’t understand you. I thought if I knew where you came from, I could figure you out.”

  I looked up at this beautiful man who in his way was so strong despite having been broken so badly when he was little. Physically and emotionally. Somehow he had managed to put himself back together to become one of the most amazing human beings I had ever met in my life.

  His voice was emotionless, borderline cold. “I never wanted you to know where I came from.”

  I openly wept. “Why didn’t you want to share that with me?”

  He looked incredulous. “Why didn’t I want to tell you about the worst years of my life?”

  I took a deep breath. He was scaring me. He felt so distant, and his walls were so high right now. “Yeah.”

  “You want to hear about how I was hated? How Irene told me every single day that I was bad, that I
was garbage, that I wasn’t worthy? I hated it in that house. I hated every single fucking moment.”

  I wept.

  He wasn’t finished. “Or maybe you want to hear about Ted? About how he was the only one who remotely cared about me and I would've done anything for him. I took care of him as much as he took care of me. It didn’t matter how filthy that place was, how drunk he got, how fucked up he was, and he's the only one who loved me.”

  My hands covered my mouth. I shook my head. Tears streamed down my face.

  Jackson’s eyes were red. “Maybe you're interested in knowing that despite Ted’s love when he got drunk, he wanted to cause pain. God. Nothing hurt more than that first hit. Most of the time, I never saw it coming. He was a 200-pound man, and I was a 45-pound little kid, and he was a vicious son of a bitch. But if you are so interested, you should know that when he sobered up, he used to hold me and cry like a baby. Begging me to forgive him. And I was so pathetic, that I craved those moments. I lived for those moments. Sometimes I think I even provoked him because I knew it would lead to that place where he cried and told me he loved me.”

  “Jackson,” I sobbed.

  “You want to hear about how Ted walked me to school, sat with me when we watched cartoons, wanted to know about my day and then would wake me up in the middle of the night because he needed a punching bag? Or did you want to hear that I was so broken and fucked up as a kid that I preferred to live with Ted for the small scraps of love he could feed me over the hatred I received from Harry and Irene.”

  I shook my head. Tears streaming.

  Jackson breathed hard, and one lone tear traced down his face. “They were worse than Ted. Do you want to know why? Because they enjoyed hurting me. They relished it. They wanted to cause me pain, and unlike Ted, they never said they were sorry.”

  I was pretty sure my heart was breaking.

  “That journal doesn’t cover half of what Irene did to me. How she locked me up in the closet for hours at a time. Or how every single time I walked by her, she either pinched or slapped me. But her words, they were the real mind fuck. Telling me what a piece of garbage I was. Telling me that I was a bastard and unworthy. Telling me that no one would love me. That I didn’t deserve happiness. That I wasn’t a nice boy. That no matter what I did or who I became, no one would ever be able to love me. She was relentless, and I believed every single fucking word she told me.”