by Cindy Dees
“Rise and shine, buttercups!” Cal called as he strolled through the instructors’ Quonset hut entrance.
Griffin groaned. He couldn’t have gotten more than an hour or two of sleep altogether last night.
“Rough night?” Trevor asked as they bent down to lace up their boots, their heads close.
“I’ll live.”
“You sure about that?”
“Mind your own business, Crumpet Stuffer.”
“I know whose crumpet I’d like to stuff,” the Brit retorted.
“Don’t even think about it,” Griffin growled.
Trevor grinned. “If it had been me getting cozy with Tate like that yesterday, I wouldn’t have slept well, either.”
Griffin scowled at his teammate. “Fine. She’s hot. I admit it. But she’s still a woman, and I still don’t want her here.”
“Yes, but you do want her. And that’s the hell of it,” Trevor responded heavily.
The guy said that as if he understood what Griffin was going through. Was Trevor getting closer to Anna than he was letting on? More often than not, the two of them did end up paired together for training evolutions. And they were swim buddies, after all. Griffin wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed that he wasn’t the only man out here struggling against attraction to one of the ladies.
He stood up and strode over to Cal. “What’s on the agenda for today, boss?”
“I thought we’d take the ladies for a swim. See how they feel about drowning.”
From across the hut, Axel hooted. “Right on! This is gonna be fun.”
Learning how to swim with feet tied together and hands tied behind the back was one of the trippier evolutions in BUD/S, and one that all SEAL candidates dreaded.
Dammit, he ought to be pleased at the prospect of terrifying Sherri out of the program or, failing that, drowning her out. Instead, Griffin’s gut was unnaturally tight. What did he have to be nervous about? He could swim all day tied up. Swearing some more, he stomped out into the early-morning light.
Sherri was just stepping out of the girls’ hut, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when he caught sight of her wearing combat boots, fatigue pants, and an olive-drab T-shirt. Her hair was messy, with bits of it wisping around her face. It formed a nimbus backlit by the rising sun that made her look downright angelic. Her cheeks were rosy, a perfect match to the pink hues of the sunrise. Yup. An angel. Whom he desperately wanted to get naked with. Which surely made him not only a sinner but also a sicko.
She stretched her slender arms overhead and leaned first to the left and then the right, working out yesterday’s kinks. Man, she was flexible. The things he could do with her… Stop. That.
Turning his gaze away, he decided he was not going to fantasize about having sex with his swim buddy just before he climbed into a pool with her and put his hands all over her. Not while he wore a bathing suit that could no way no how disguise his woody.
Thankfully, Kettering had sent them for a run around the long loop this morning. The 15K run gave him time to clear his mind and dissipate the hard-on making his whities too damned tighty. Afterward, they ate breakfast and did a classroom session on calculating windage and elevation adjustments for various weapons.
They did a short training session on how to make a proper fist and punch a person correctly, and then Cal gave the order Griffin had been dreading. “Everybody, go put on bathing suits and meet me at the swimming pool.”
Griffin got there first and dipped a toe in the six-lane-wide, twenty-five-yard-long pool. It was freezing cold. For once in his life he was grateful for the coming misery. He jumped in, and the cold clenched him violently. He ached from head to foot instantly and had to forcibly ignore an urge to leap out of the water.
He surfaced, treading water easily as he watched the women approach the pool.
Trev groaned under his breath beside Griffin. The guy sounded like he was in physical pain. Yep. Griffin totally related.
Truth be told, the women all had great bodies. But Sherri… Sweet baby Jesus.
Those legs, good grief. Surely, they weren’t legal. He wasn’t even particularly a leg man, but hers were so smooth, so slender and muscular, that he couldn’t look away if he tried. The pageant girl definitely knew how to work a bathing suit, and was doing so. She walked all slinky and sexy, like a goddamned cat. It was enough to make a man have trouble swallowing.
Eventually, he managed to lift his gaze to the rest of her. Words failed him as he stared at the perfection of her body, swathed in baby-blue spandex. The one-piece racing swimsuit shouldn’t be particularly sexy, but on her, it was eye-poppingly hot. How she managed to be both strong and feminine at the same time, he couldn’t fathom. But she did it. With cleavage to spare.
Mind effing blown.
She dived into the pool, knifing cleanly through the water and surfacing a few yards away from him, laughing. Droplets of water sparkled like tiny diamonds on her skin, and with her hair slicked back, the raw beauty of her face was revealed. No mermaid princess had ever been more gorgeous or had better cheekbones.
He scowled in her general direction. “SEALs generally jump feet first into water in case it turns out to be shallower than it looks. That way you won’t break your neck on a shallow bottom.”
She sighed. “It’s always a lesson with you. Can’t you ever let down your hair for one second and savor the moment? You’re such a killjoy.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve worked long and hard to become this curmudgeonly,” he declared.
She laughed again, a musical tinkling across the water, as he’d secretly hoped she would.
Anna did a cannonball into the water, landing only a few feet from Trevor, splashing him hard. The Brit responded by ducking under the water, grabbing her ankle and yanking her down to the bottom of the pool. Lily, watching that exchange, slipped into the water more sedately, sitting on the edge of the pool and then merely pushing off the side into the shallow end and waiting quietly for the training evolution to begin.
Griffin swam over to where the three women had gathered, standing in chest-deep water, and announced, “SEALs wouldn’t be SEALs if we weren’t outstanding swimmers. The first thing you women have to learn is the combat swim stroke. It’s a combination of the freestyle and a sidestroke. It’s highly efficient and maximizes distance, speed, and endurance.”
Here goes nothing.
“Sherri, I’ll need you to help demonstrate the stroke.”
She swam over to him, and he put his hands on her narrow waist, marveling at the inward curve of her sides and at how deceptively muscular her stomach actually was. Supporting her body horizontal on the surface of the water, he talked her and the others through the mechanics of the stroke.
Trevor helped Anna practice the stroke, and Axel got to Lily first to help her.
Sherri was awkward at first, but quickly got the hang of the movements. He turned her loose to swim to the far end of the pool while he swam beside her, watching and making corrections. Her outstretched hand bumped into his chest, and her head jerked up.
“Oh! Sorry.”
“Situational awareness, Tate. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
“I was concentrating on getting my movements right.”
“You have to stay aware of your surroundings at all times,” he snapped.
She sighed as if she was sick of hearing him say those words. Tough. He would keep saying them until it became second nature for her.
“I know, I know,” she groused. “I’ll get kicked out of BUD/S if I don’t learn this and every other lesson to perfection.”
“If it’ll get you kicked out of BUD/S, it’s because it will get you killed someday. We keep all the guys who won’t die like damned fools and get rid of the ones who will.”
She retorted sarcastically, “Got it. Don’t be a damned fool
. Check.”
He closed in on her as she treaded water. Their legs bumped against each other as they kicked, and their arms brushed just below the surface. Interestingly enough, she didn’t back away from the contact with him. In fact, her pupils widened and her cheeks flushed a brighter shade of pink.
Maybe that wasn’t attraction to him. Maybe she was just out of breath from laboring with the new stroke. He prayed it was the latter. Honestly, he was starting to worry he wouldn’t find anything that would exclude Sherri from the SEALs. But being a lousy swimmer was a one-way express ticket out the door.
“Out of the pool, everybody,” Cal called from the deck.
As the women squeezed water from their hair, Kettering passed out zip ties to the men. Griffin took two and moved to stand behind Sherri at the edge of the pool.
“Why are you smirking back there, Caldwell?” she muttered suspiciously, throwing him a stink eye over her shoulder.
Smart girl.
“Hands behind your backs, ladies,” Cal ordered.
Griffin reached out with a zip tie for her wrists. She blurted out, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“This evolution is called ‘Drowning.’ You’re gonna love it,” he muttered.
When he squatted down to secure her ankles together, she squawked, “Are you freaking kidding me?”
He grinned up at her, testing the snugness with his finger. “Like I said. Fun times.”
For the first time since he’d arrived in North Carolina, he saw fear in Sherri Tate’s eyes. So. He’d finally found her Achilles’ heel. She was afraid of drowning.
“Into the pool, ladies,” Calvin ordered.
Anna and Lily jumped right into the ten-foot deep end of the pool, but Sherri hesitated. Griffin leaned forward and placed his mouth practically on her ear. “Don’t make me push you, Blondie.”
She threw him a defiant look over her shoulder and jumped into the pool. He watched impassively as she submerged and started dolphin kicking frantically toward the surface. If she didn’t relax, she wasn’t going to make it back up to air. He started counting in his head.
For the next thirty seconds she kicked for all she was worth but, because she failed to relax, all her vigorous flopping didn’t propel her upward sufficiently to break the surface. Athletes with low-enough body fat tended to sink naturally, and these women were no exception.
As Sherri’s swim buddy, his job was to make sure she didn’t drown. He kept his gaze fastened on her every movement, carefully gauging how well, or how poorly, she was doing. At the moment, she was burning a crap-ton of oxygen flailing around like that. She would run out of air sooner rather than later.
He gave her thirty more seconds. Her movements were jerky now, definitely panicked. With a sigh, he jumped into the pool beside her. He planted his feet on the bottom and parked his shoulder beneath her tush. With easy strength, he shoved her up to the surface.
He let her breathe for a few seconds and then slipped out from underneath her, letting her sink again. Once more, she commenced flopping ineffectively.
Shaking his head, he surfaced behind her, grabbed her by the armpits, and hauled her over to the edge of the pool. She continued to struggle most of the way. If he had to guess, she was out of her mind with terror.
He heaved her onto the deck and hoisted himself out of the pool beside her. “You can relax now. You’re not going to die.” He added direly, “Yet.”
She lay there, gasping for air, her respiration taking way too long to return to normal for an athlete of her caliber. Well, well, well. Miss Sherri Tate, Perfectionist Incarnate, was terrified of water. Or at least of dying in it. That was going to be a hell of a problem for her if she planned to become a SEAL.
“You can quit right now,” he murmured persuasively. “I’ll cut you loose and never throw you back in the pool. Just ring out, and it’ll all go away.”
“No. No bell,” she panted.
“You know you want to.”
That made her open her eyes. Glare up at him. “I’m. Not. Quitting.”
“Won’t matter if you can’t swim. You’ll get washed out for failing the evolution. We’re Sea, Air, Land operators, not Air Land operators.”
“Again,” she gritted out from behind clenched teeth.
He had to give her credit for guts. She’d been scared to death and half-drowned a minute ago, but she was demanding to try again.
“You have to relax and keep your upper body still,” he lectured. “Pretend you’re a mermaid, and let your legs do all the work.”
She stared up at him balefully as she lay on her side. She might look like a drowned rat, but she was still a hot drowned rat. “Ready to die?” he asked.
“You’re hilarious.”
“You have to pass this evolution to pass BUD/S.”
“I got that memo. Thanks,” she replied dryly.
“Again, then.”
He reached out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. Pleasure exploded through his brain at merely touching her like this. Her gaze snapped up to his in surprise, and a surge of possessiveness coursed through him—which did a whole lot more than merely surprise him. It shocked him to his core. What was wrong with him? Women didn’t affect him like this. But then, he’d never been around a woman training to be a SEAL, either.
He jumped up and helped her as she climbed awkwardly to her feet, her hands and feet still zip-tied.
Appalled at his reaction to touching her, he unceremoniously tossed her in the pool. It probably wasn’t the most chivalrous thing he’d ever done. Stop being a shithead, and do your job. He followed her back into the water.
No matter how many times he pushed her up to the surface to catch her breath, she just didn’t get the hang of relaxing and working with the water instead of against it. Kettering called time on the evolution without her succeeding at swimming while tied up.
One last time, Griffin grabbed her under her arms and hauled her over to the edge. But instead of lifting her onto the deck this time, he pulled a knife out of his calf sheath and quickly slashed her zip ties. Sherri instantly flung her arms wide and kicked her legs hard, propelling herself out of the pool.
Speculatively, he watched her practically run away. Huh. Was it the water that had freaked her out, or had being tied up done her in? He boosted himself out of the water and followed her more slowly toward the locker room.
* * *
Sherri stood under the hot water, scrubbing her hair furiously. Damn, damn, damn. She hated failing, and she hated looking weak, especially in front of Griffin. She didn’t know what had happened out there, but when she went under the water and couldn’t move her limbs, she’d panicked every freaking time.
She didn’t have much time to fret about it though, because, like every day, the training continued at a frenetic pace. Kettering hustled them out of the shower and into another session at the shooting range. At least she was reasonably good at this.
Today, five-foot-long, bull-barrel sniper rifles mounted on tripods were waiting for them when they arrived. Griffin gestured for her to lie down on the ground beside the weapon. Again, he stretched out beside her to demonstrate using the weapon.
Thing was, she liked being close to him like this.
What did that say about her?
Cut yourself a break. All it said about her was that she happened to be attracted to an extremely attractive man. It didn’t make her a weirdo or a villain—just a girl who liked a boy.
She glanced to her right and saw that Trevor was similarly plastered against Anna’s side. And her teammate didn’t look like she minded being cozy with the hot Brit one little bit.
“The key to being an effective sniper is breath control,” Griffin murmured from so close behind her that his breath stirred the short hairs curling around her ear.
“Careful,” she muttered for his
ears only. “I could get used to all this cuddling.”
He exhaled in a gust of what felt like humor. But his words, spoken at a volume Kettering could hear as the commander strolled up behind them were, “The other key to becoming a decent shooter is focus. You have to erase everything else from your mind.”
Right. Erase the feel of his muscular body unyielding against hers, ignore his heat, ignore all that simmering charm of his—
Not happening. Not with him spooning against her like they were lovers. Aaaand, there went the rest of her breath control. Rats.
“I’ll act as your spotter. I’ll call out windage corrections, and you’ll input them into the scope the way Cal taught you in class. Ready?”
Sherri usually liked the single-minded concentration that shooting required. She enjoyed settling into the Zen state where there was nothing but her and the weapon. But today it was her and the gun…and the man. Which, as it turned out, wreaked havoc on her accuracy.
“What’s wrong with you today, Sherri?” Griffin asked after her third shot went well wide of the bull’s-eye.
“You.”
“Come again?”
“You’re distracting me,” she confessed.
He snorted. “How are you going to hit your target when there are rockets exploding around you and hostiles shooting back at you?”
“That won’t bother me,” she retorted.
“But I do.”
She lifted her eye away from the rubber cup of the sight to glare at him. “Well…yes.”
“You and me. We’re having a conversation about this—” Kettering strolled down the firing line just then, coming to a stop behind them. “Later,” Griffin added under his breath.
Louder, he said, “Tracers are screaming overhead. The ground is shaking beneath you. Bullets and shrapnel are flying all over the place. Your team is pinned down a few hundred yards below you, and you’re on overwatch to save their asses. You spot the sniper trying to take them out, and he’s”—Griffin paused to check out the paper target through his spotter’s scope—“four-hundred yards downrange. Windage is two clicks left. Now, blow his fucking head off.”
