His big hands slid down her thighs and cupped the backs. The muscles in his arms bulged as he lifted her off the floor and slid her back along the shower tiles. She quickly rewrapped her legs around his waist and adjusted until the opening of her sex was poised over the head of his stiff cock. When he hesitated, she used the heel of her foot to kick his back.
“Don’t tease me,” she said with another heel jab.
“No condom,” he said, his jaws clenching.
“Don’t care,” she gasped. “I haven’t been with another man since you left, and yet…” The laugh that came out was sad and frustrated. “And yet I never stopped taking the pill.” She licked up his neck, then ran the tip of the tongue along the rim of his ear. “Damn you. I don’t want another man. Only you.”
“Good.”
With a thrust of his hips, he drove deep. She gasped at the sudden intrusion and stretching of her vaginal walls. He pulled back slowly, allowing her to feel each inch of him leaving before thrusting again. The slow withdrawals were killing her, driving her wild, pumping her arousal to a new zenith. The hard pounding of each plunge pushed her against the tile, pushed her response up another degree.
The building tension was almost intolerable. She bit his shoulder, ran her tongue across her bite and up his neck. She showered kisses behind his ears, over his cheeks, across his lips. Finally, the pressure was too much, and it erupted. She cried out his name and shook in his arms. Two hard thrusts and he ground himself against her as he filled her.
His breaths came in pants. Dropping his head against her shoulder, he blew hot air down her chest. He stayed that way for a couple of minutes before lifting his head to meet her gaze.
“You’ve ruined me for all other women.”
Her heart did a little flip-flop. She smiled. “Good. I’m glad.”
They got out, toweled of, and found their discarded clothes. As she pulled the tap pants up her legs, he put both hands on his hips.
“Let me find you something warm to put on until we can retrieve some of your stuff from your place, not that I mind you wearing nothing, but that outfit.”
She shook her head. “Jean Paul is going to be so pissed about losing this bra and panty set. Do you know what they’re worth?”
“Not a clue. Probably a hundred bucks or so.”
She snorted. “Not hardly. Try five hundred for the bra and six-fifty for the tap pants.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Agreed.”
He tossed her his black V-neck. “Put this on. I’ll find you some sweatpants.”
She followed him into his bedroom. “I should probably have gone by my place for clothes.”
“Not without me and your security detail. Until they identify who’s behind this, I’m sticking to you like glue.”
“Hmm. I like glue.”
He chuckled. “This can’t go on for long. Now that your dad has made his statement that he’s staying on the ticket, the FBI expects your kidnappers will be contacted.”
“To kill me.” She sighed. “Assholes.”
He nodded.
“Fuck,” she said with a growl.
He smiled. “Give me a little time. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
That made her smile. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
They went back to the living room and turned on the television. Liz’s disappearance was the lead story on all the twenty-four news channels. Speculations ranged from her eloping with Chris Hemsworth, to her stealing the lingerie set to sell on eBay—that made her laugh—to her being kidnapped by an alien spaceship. The White House Press Secretary battled the media, trying to say something without saying anything.
At six a.m., Christmas morning, Liz brewed coffee and carried two mugs back to the sofa. At seven, the local station broke into the regularly scheduled program.
She held her breath as the screen went to the local station’s news bureau.
The newscaster’s face was quite solemn. “We have this breaking news. Senator Stanley Cotton of Kansas and Harold Granger, the personal attorney to billionaire David Kroats, were arrested today and charged with the kidnapping of Elizabeth Chanel.”
A split screen replaced the newscaster. Two videos ran showing the arrest of each man.
“The President and Vice President will do a live news conference beginning at eight this evening. Stayed tuned for more on this developing story.”
“Holy shit,” she muttered.
Liam pulled her against him and held her tight. “I didn’t see that one coming,” he admitted. He turned her to face him. “And no matter what happens today or tomorrow, next month or next year, I’ll be by your side. I love you, Liz. I hate your life, but I love you.”
She kissed him. “Good. Because that was my last runway walk.”
“I don’t want you to quit for me. If it makes you happy, I can make it work. It’s easier than being with you, because without you, my life’s shit.”
“Me, too, babe.” She climbed into his lap. “Besides, I’m starting new job in January and it involves keeping my clothes on.”
He chuckled. “I think I like that. I don’t want anyone to see those luscious curves but me.”
She nuzzled her nose into his neck. “Don’t you want to know what I’m doing?”
“As long as we’re together, I’ll make it work, whatever it is.”
With a chuckle, she said, “I’m the new morning host on the New York NBC station, so it’s going to be early mornings.”
“Merry Christmas, babe. You’ll be great in that job.”
He kissed her. Early mornings weren’t a problem for him. Sure, she’d still be in the spotlight, but at least she’d have clothes on over her fancy underwear. They were together. He couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas present.
Hello! This is Cynthia D’Alba. I hope you enjoyed this short sample of my writing. The best thing you can do for any author is leave a review…an honest review. Reviews can have significant impact on sales and online listings!
I have other, and much longer, Hot SEAL stories. I’ve included samples and links to my other books, as well as to all the books in the Hot SEAL series from the other authors who write in this world.
Please check us all out.
Thank you for reading Hot SEAL, Secret Service.
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Cynthia D’Alba started writing on a challenge from her husband in 2006 and discovered having imaginary sex with lots of hunky men was fun. She was born and raised in a small Arkansas town. After being gone for a number of years, she’s thrilled to be making her home back in Arkansas living in a vine-covered cottage on the banks of an eight-thousand acre lake. When she’s not reading or writing or plotting, she’s doorman for her border collie, cook, housekeeper and chief bottle washer for her husband and slave to a noisy, messy parrot. She loves to chat online with friends and fans.
You can find her most days at one of the following online homes:
Website: cynthiadalba.com
Facebook:Facebook/cynthiadalba
Twitter:@cynthiadalba
Pinterest: Pinterest/CynthiaDAlba
Newsletter:NewsletterSign-Up
Street Team:D’Alba Diamonds
Or drop her a line at [email protected]
* * *
Or send snail mail to: Cynthia D’Alba PO Box 2116 Hot Springs, AR 71914
Read on for excerpts from
other Hot SEAL books
by
Cynthia D’Alba
Hot SEAL, Cold Beer
Diamond Lakes, Texas Book 2
An ex-Navy SEAL agrees to play fake lover for the Maid of Honor at a destination wedding only to discover that what happens on a Caribbean Island can sometimes follow you home.
* * *
Nicholas Falcone, aka Nikko, aka Falcon, is five months out from active SEAL duty, putting his pre-service accounting degree to use while going to law school at n
ight. He’d love to take a vacation between semesters, but every buck is earmarked for his education. When a fellow accountant approaches him about his sister needing an escort for a destination wedding, Nikko jumps at the idea. With the wedding families footing the bill, what does he have to lose?
* * *
Surgeon Dr. Jennifer Pierce is still stinging from a broken engagement. Going to a destination wedding at the Sand Castle Resort in the Caribbean would be great if only her ex-fiancé and his new wife weren’t also attending. Her options are to find a date or not go, but not going isn’t really an option. That means letting her brother set her up with a guy from his accounting office…Heaven forbid. When did accountants start looking like this?
* * *
** Cold Beer ** is part of the Diamond Lakes, Texas Series and Sand Castle Resort series. Each book can be read as a stand-alone. They do not have cliffhanger endings.
* * *
**Hot SEAL, Cold Beer** is also in the “SEALs in Paradise” connected series. Each book in the multi-author branded SEALs in Paradise series can be read stand-alone, and individual books do not have to be read in any particular order.
Read on for an excerpt:
If there was one thing Dr. Jennifer Pierce hated, it was not being in control. She’d rather tell people what to do than be told. She despised surprises and was much more comfortable in situations where she had all the information. And, most importantly, she maintained a firm discipline over all emotions, especially her own.
However, right now, she was as nervous as a first-year med student holding a scalpel in surgery, and that irritated her, which only amped up her anxiety.
She agitated the martini shaker violently, the ice clanging against the stainless-steel container like a hail storm. After pouring the dry martini into a glass, she took a long, steadying sip.
Yeah, that didn’t help her nerves.
On the other hand, the stiff drink didn’t hurt, either.
With a resigned sigh, she walked to the living room and sat to await Nicholas Falcone. Her brother, Robert, had suggested Falcone as her potential date for a fast-approaching destination wedding. She loved her twin brother and trusted him...mostly. Because historically, the men he believed perfect for her had been so far off the mark as to be not even in the same book, much less on the same page. But she was between a rock and a slab of granite.
All she knew about this Falcone guy was he worked at McKenzie, Gladwell and Associates with her brother and had been a Navy SEAL. Weren’t they called jarheads? Hell, she didn’t know. She took another gulp of the cold vodka. What she knew about the military wouldn’t fill a shot glass.
She’d give her brother credit for one thing. If Falcone’s online photo was anywhere accurate, Nicholas Falcone looked the part she needed him to play. When Robert had called her to tell her about his solution to her dateless dilemma, she’d pulled up her brother’s accounting firm on the internet to look at the staff photos and had been pleasantly surprised. The picture had been of a gorgeous guy with a neatly trimmed beard, a sexy smile, and mischievous eyes. Man, she hoped he could carry on a decent conversation and not grunt answers to everything.
Her doorbell pealed, and her heart jumped in response. Pressing her hand over her quaking stomach, she drew in a calming breath, not that a calming breath had ever helped. So she took the next best option to deep breathing and finished off her martini.
Carrying her empty glass with her, she opened the door and looked at her potential blind date. Her brain hiccuped or maybe quit functioning altogether. He didn’t look at all like she’d expected and prepared for. In person, he was…more. A whole lot more. With his chiseled cheeks and sharp chin, he was a million times more attractive in real life. His green eyes—a billion times more beautiful than that black-and-white photo showed—held an amused twinkle that coordinated handsomely with his amused smile. And his body? Dear lord. Broad shoulders pulled a white, oxford shirt tightly across them. Long sleeves rolled to mid-forearm exposed thick, ropey muscles that bunched and flexed when he extended his hand.
“Dr. Pierce. I’m Nikko Falcone.”
She stepped back, embarrassed that she’d been staring at him. “Of course. I’m sorry. I was…never mind. Not important. Come in.”
He lowered his hand and stepped into her foyer. The roomy area shrank. She’d expected tall and well-built, but the degree of just how brawny he was registered with a clunk upside her head.
Taking a step back, she gestured with her martini glass. “I’m having a drink. Can I fix you something?”
“A cold beer, if you have one.”
“Sure. Have a seat.” She flipped her hand toward the living room.
Beer in her refrigerator wasn’t the norm. She wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but since she hadn’t known much about Nicholas Falcone’s drink preferences—or anything at all about him really—she’d stocked a six-pack of beer as well as red wine, white wine, and the makings for any mixed drink imaginable. Always prepared, was her motto.
She would have made a hell of a boy scout.
She pulled out a cold bottle, cracked off the top, and got a chilled beer stein from her freezer. While she was there, she also poured herself a fresh vodka martini. Realizing she had too many items and not enough hands, she loaded everything on a tray and went back to the living room.
“I brought you a glass,” she said, setting the tray on the glass coffee table in front of him. She lifted her martini and took the chair across from him.
“Bottle’s fine,” he said and took a long draw off the bottle.
She hid her discomfort with his drinking beer straight from the bottle. The people at the destination wedding they would be attending ran in high-society circles. Beer from bottles had been fine back in college, but now that they were all in their thirties, she was sure her friends, like her, had progressed to more sophisticated drinks and glasses.
Mentally, she made a note to talk with him about appearances.
He leaned back on her white sofa, stretched his arm across the back, and crossed an ankle over his knee. That’s when she saw a tattoo peeking out from where the sleeve of his white oxford had been rolled up. From this distance, she could make out tines. A trident? As a doctor, she knew all about the infections that went with tattoos, and she wanted to disapprove. Instead, she got a little turned on. She didn’t like that, or she shouldn’t like that.
Damn. He had her all confused.
“So,” she said, trying to gather her wits and the reins to the conversation. “What did Robert tell you?”
“In a nutshell, you had a fiancé. A big-time corporate lawyer. Said legal-eagle dirtbag got his secretary pregnant. Married her. Dumped you when he got back from his honeymoon. That about right?”
She winced. “In a nutshell.”
He lifted the bottle to his lips—which she couldn’t help notice were full and soft. Of course she noticed. She was a doctor. She always observed the human body…especially one like this.
He swallowed. His Adam’s apple rose and fell with the action.
She had to get her air conditioning fixed. This room was too warm.
Hot SEAL, Black Coffee
A Dallas Debutante/SEALs in Paradise/McCool Trilogy (Book 1)
* * *
Dealing with a sexy ex-girlfriend, a jewel heist, and a murder-for-hire can make an ex-SEAL bodyguard a tad cranky.
Trevor Mason accepts what should be a simple job…protect the jewels his ex-girlfriend will wear to a breast cancer fundraiser. As founder and owner of Eye Spy International, he should send one of his guys, but he needs to get his ex out of his system and this is the perfect opportunity to remind himself that she is a spoiled, rich debutante who dumped him with a Dear John letter during his SEAL training.
Respected breast cancer doctor Dr. Risa McCool hates being in the limelight for her personal life. Her life’s work is breast cancer treatment and research, which she’d rather be known for than for her carefree, partying debutante ye
ars. She agrees to be the chairperson for the annual breast cancer fundraiser even though it means doing publicity appearances and interviews, all while wearing the famous pink Breast Cancer Diamond for each public event. The multi-million dollar value of the pink stone requires an armed bodyguard at all times.
Past attractions flame, proving to be a distraction to the serious reality of the situation. When Risa and the millions in diamonds go missing, nothing will stop Trevor from bringing her home, with or without the jewels.
Copyright © 2018 Cynthia D’Alba
All rights reserved — Riante, Inc.
At two-thirty Monday afternoon, Dr. Risa McCool’s world shifted on its axis. He was back. She wasn’t ready. But then, would she ever be ready?
Four hours passed before she was able to disengage from work and go home. As she pulled under the portico of her high-rise building and the condo valet hurried out to park her eight-year-old sedan, her stomach roiled at the realization that Trevor Mason—high school and college boyfriend and almost fiancé—would be waiting for her in her condo, or at least should be. She pressed a shaking hand to her abdomen and inhaled a deep, calming breath. It didn’t work. There was still a slight quiver to her hands as she grabbed her purse and briefcase from the passenger seat.
She paused to look in the mirror. A tired brunette looked back at her. Dark circles under her eyes. Limp hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. Pale lips. Paler cheeks. Not one of her better looks.
Would he be the same? Tall with sun-kissed hair and mesmerizing azure-blue eyes?
Hot SEAL, Secret Service: SEALs in Paradise Page 3
