by Tawny Weber
That was a relief. Figuring that was all the chitchat he could handle, Marc checked his watch. “I don’t think even Mrs. Peck could complain if I took off now.”
“Don’t go yet. The night is young, as they say. Come on,” she coaxed, tugging at his sleeve.
He’d follow her anywhere—except into combat. She led the way past a drained swimming pool to the pool house where she knocked—three short, three long, three short raps on the door. S.O.S. in Morse code. The Navy still used it, every SEAL knew it, but he wouldn’t have guessed she knew it.
The door opened. “Come in,” Captain Peck said, his weathered features attesting to a lifetime of surf and sun.
“Captain, I caught the Commander trying to sneak out of the party early and thought I’d take him to where the real action is,” Tabby explained.
“I don’t blame you, Commander. Who wants all that brass breathing down their neck?” He raised his voice to be heard by the Admiral and several other officers who were already inside. “I wasn’t talking about you, Dann.”
A billiard table dominated the pool house, which had been converted into a rec room. A large-screen TV dominated one wall with the remote in easy reach on the coffee table.
“I put in two hours party duty,” Captain Peck said. “Then escaped out here. This information is provided on a need to know basis only. The wife wouldn’t be happy to learn I’m not working as hard as she is for this promotion.”
Marc grinned. He’d always liked Captain Peck. He’d just never seen this side of him before, or, to be honest, taken the time to see it.
“Help yourselves to beer and sandwiches in the refrigerator behind the bar. You play, Miller?” Peck asked, taking up a cue stick.
“Oh, yeah.” Removing his jacket, Marc rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. This was his kind of party. “I sure do.”
“Pick your partner.” He introduced a retired officer. “Lewis and I’ll take you on.”
“Then you’re in trouble, Captain. I happen to know we have a pool shark in our midst.” He winked at Tabitha and she looked flattered. She shouldn’t be. She was good, but he had an ulterior motive. He wanted to see her bend over the table in that short, backless dress.
“That so?” Peck cocked a graying brow. “Well, a good game of billiards calls for cigars and brandy.” He poured a round from a crystal decanter, then produced a box of Cuban cigars from behind the bar and passed them around. “A sailor can always get his hands on the good stuff, even contraband.”
Marc took one to be polite, then put it in his mouth and gnawed on the end.
“May I?” Tabitha asked.
“Be my guest,” Peck offered with obvious surprise, holding out the box.
She sniffed the length as if it were the finest French perfume instead of tobacco.
“The head goes in your mouth. The foot, towards the floor,” Marc instructed, around the stogie clenched between his teeth.
She rolled her eyes and reached for the clippers sitting on the bar as if she smoked a cigar every day of her life.
Marc moved closer when Captain Peck went to claim his cue and break. “You could just bite it off. Like a real man.”
Without blinking, she bit off the end and shot it into the spittoon. “There are a lot of smoking rooms in D.C. You’d be surprised at the deals made there.” She drew on the head as he lit the cigar, then blew the offending fumes in his direction. “Pardon me. Does the smoke bother you?”
She couldn’t know that about him. Could she? “If you want to make deals, take up golf. It’s healthier.”
Cigar clenched between her teeth, she left his side to take her turn at the table. She leaned into her shot; her skirt inched up. She ran the table while his gaze ran all over her.
Between shots, she propped herself against the bar with her cigar in one hand and her brandy in the other. Marc observed her from a distance because she tended to blow the smoke in his face when he got near.
Smoking was not sexy. But Tabitha Chapel was.
Kissing her would be like kissing an ashtray.
He’d kissed worse.
“I have you all figured out, Lieutenant,” he said, sidling up beside her. Another pungent cloud came his way, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
Triumph lit her eyes.
“You think so?” She crossed her arms, mercifully holding the burning end away from him.
“I know so,” he said smugly. “You just wanna be one of the boys.” He picked up his cue stick. “Well, let me be the first to tell you, you’re all woman.”
The evening progressed with a second, third and fourth game. And he found himself looking at Tabitha whenever she laughed, smiled, breathed. The only woman in a room full of men, and all she wanted was to be one of the guys. What a shame.
They were in the middle of a tie-breaking fifth game when Marc took his turn and cleared the table. When he turned around she was gone.
So much for showing off.
Excusing himself from a rematch, Marc shrugged back into his uniform jacket. Brandy snifter in hand, he slipped outside. He found Tabitha behind the pool house spraying Binaca into her mouth. He leaned against the wall, swirling his brandy.
She saw him and with a deep sigh, settled a few feet away, staring at the stars overhead.
Mrs. Peck’s potted plants and trees were everywhere, providing cover from prying eyes. He breathed in the night air and sweet smells that surrounded him. The sweetest of which was the woman hiding out in the foliage—if he discounted the cigar smoke still clinging to her clothes. But even that lent an exotic air to her sultry scent.
He could hear the sounds of hearty male laughter coming from the pool house, while music from the main party drifted through open windows.
He felt like dancing.
Marc swallowed back the rest of his brandy and placed the empty snifter on a wrought iron table. Ignoring the fact that he’d be fraternizing, not to mention Miller Regs, he held out his hand to Tabitha.
She searched his eyes, then slipped her hand in his.
She knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong.
But he wanted these few stolen moments. So he drew her into his arms. His one hand slid down the length of her bare back. The other held hers.
The only sounds were their breathing, the slight breeze stirring the leaves, and the music from a four-piece Navy band. They swayed in a small circle, much more slowly than the lively tempo demanded, their bodies creating a melody all their own. Her head rested against his shoulder, her hand against his Trident.
“Your father pinned me.”
“I heard you’d trained under him.” She traced the eagle with reverence.
“He doesn’t like me very much.”
She raised her head and met his gaze, her eyes wide with curiosity. “How so?”
“I guess I didn’t live up to his expectations.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t think he’d like me dancing with his daughter.”
“I like dancing with you.”
“Even though we’re not supposed to?” Against his better judgment, he’d given her power over him. The power to destroy what he revered most.
His career. Could he trust her not to tell?
“Especially because we’re not supposed to,” she answered. She peeked at him through lowered lashes.
“A rule-breaker,” he commented.
“And you’re not?”
“Used to be.”
“Not anymore?”
“I didn’t go from enlisted ranks to Officer Candidate School without a lot of discipline.” He’d done it because Prince had told him he’d never amount to anything. And now he was holding the man’s daughter in his arms, still feeling as if he didn’t measure up to her father’s standards—though he hadn’t seen him in ages.
“You’re breaking the rules now, Commander,” she reminded him.
Sometimes they were worth breaking.
He pulled her closer to his chest. Closer to his heart.
“I’m going to break all the rules by becoming a Navy SEAL,” she proclaimed.
Marc took one faltering step back to reality, then stopped dancing altogether. “It’s not going to happen, Tabitha.”
“It is. And you’re going to be the one to pin me with a Trident.” Her fingers brushed the symbol that meant so much to him.
He’d never seen anyone who wanted it as badly as she did—unless it was himself. But he couldn’t let her believe he’d ever pin her when he’d be the first to blackball her, if she even made it through training. “No, I’m not.”
She leaned into him. “I can make you change your mind.” Her words were a husky whisper, easily taken out of context. But he didn’t take them that way. She meant she’d show him—with a toughness to suck up anything he could throw at her.
Still, it was a good thing he was her Commanding Officer and not some scumbag who’d take advantage of her. And he could take advantage. She wouldn’t even know what hit her.
He shook his head.
She’d know. She was too smart, too focused. He had to wonder, though, if she’d put any limits to her ambition.
“Hypothetical question.’’ He cleared his throat. “Just how far would you go to guarantee a slot in SEAL training?”
“Is that an offer?”
“Where’s your integrity, Lieutenant?”
“Where’s yours? You asked.” She looked taken aback.
“Hypothetically.”
“Well, hypothetically, I’d like to sleep with you.” She pulled away from him and crossed her arms. “And it has nothing to do with anything else. But let me ask you, would you sleep with me to keep me out of the SEAL program?”
In a heartbeat.
She raised both brows at his silence. “I guess we’ve established that hypothetically we’d each like to sleep with the other. Would sleeping with you—”
“Don’t even go there.”
“I wasn’t! You propositioned me.”
“I didn’t proposition you. But I’d do just about anything to keep you out of SEAL training and off the teams.”
They stood facing each other. She looked a little bewildered, her eyes wide with both innocence and outrage. And for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what had just happened either. One minute they were dancing, and the next...
Marc raked a hand through his hair. He was in hot water here, and he’d never be able to get out because the truth was he wanted her even though he was trying his best to ruin her life. “I said some things...and I apologize. I hope you know I’d never put you in that position.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Commander. I...” She took a deep breath. “Just wanted to see if I could drop you to your knees.” Instead of explaining that sentence, she pushed past him and left him standing alone.
He didn’t really need an explanation.
Her meaning was clear enough. Now she knew she had power over him.
The line was drawn again. She was back to calling him Commander, not a good sign. He needed a minute to regain his bearing, but he didn’t have that kind of time. The Chief of SEALs rounded the corner of the pool house.
“Miller, walk me to my car. I need to speak with you before I go.” The Admiral checked his watch. “I have an early flight tomorrow so I’m heading out now.”
Marc nodded. Duty called. They took a path that led to the front of the house.
“Ogden’s brought it to my attention he’s behind on some of his SEAL quals due to his desk duties. I’d like to leave him here so you can bring him up to speed.”
“No problem.”
“Good. Run him through the paces and send him back to D.C. as soon as possible.”
They reached the front of the house, and Radioman Armstrong scurried down the front steps with their hats and gloves. Marc put on his cover. Slapping his gloves distractedly against his palm, he looked around for Tabitha.
The Admiral’s driver pulled to the curb, and Admiral Dann continued toward his waiting limo. Ogden got out on the passenger side and opened the rear door.
“Where’s Tabby?” the Chief of SEALs inquired impatiently.
“She’s coming right now, sir.” Ogden nodded toward the door.
Marc turned just as she stepped outside.
“Good night, Commander,” she said distantly, courteously. As if those moments in the garden had never happened. As if he hadn’t made just about the biggest mistake of his military career.
“Good night, Lieutenant.” He didn’t take his eyes from her even though she didn’t look at him again.
He stared after the disappearing taillights. “The black Dodge Viper.” He handed his keys to the non-rate with valet duty before he realized what he’d done.
1159 Saturday
BACHELOR OFFICERS' QUARTERS,
Coronado, CA
Closing the door to her room, Tabby kicked off her heels and made a mad stumbling dash through the dark for the ringing telephone.
“Hello?” She flicked on the bedside lamp.
“Talk to me, Tabitha.”
Her heart started beating again. “I wasn’t sure you’d call tonight.” But she’d been hoping. She sank to the bed with relief.
“I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”
A long pause followed. She didn’t know what to say about earlier. They never should have danced. But he’d looked incredible this evening—like Prince Charming military style. And she’d been caught up in the attraction, with no thought of consequences—especially to him. Only a wall had separated them and the Chief of SEALs. “You apologized to me, but I never apologized to you.” Instead she’d run.
“It’s not necessary. You have every right to have me hung from the Navy’s highest yardarm. I’m responsible for my own actions.”
Responsible but not to blame.
“Door locked?” he asked, going through his nightly security check.
“Yes.”
“Window?”
“They’re both locked.”
“Keep ’em that way.”
And if she didn’t? Would he rappel down the side of her building and into her room? If he wanted to get in a lock wouldn’t stop him. Though maybe it would make him think twice.
Something they both needed to do.
“Good night, Tabitha.” He paused, then said, “This isn’t hypothetical. I want to know you in every way possible. But you have to understand—I’m caught between wanting you and wearing the uniform.”
She waited for the click before letting out her breath and hanging up. Wrapping her arms around the pillow, she rolled onto her side.
The proverbial rock and hard place had them both trapped. Because she was caught between wanting to be a Navy SEAL and wanting to be with one—him.
Was wanting him enough? She ticked off his faults. Controlling, overbearing, sexist...though there was a part of him that wasn’t any of those things.
Still, too many women gave up their dreams for men.
She wasn’t going to be one of them. But that didn’t explain why she left her window unlocked when she went to bed.
“Hey, Tiger. What ya doin’?” Her father sank to the floor beside her.
She continued dressing Barbie in G.I. Joe’s uniform. “Barbie’s going off to war.”
“She is? What about old Joe there?”
“Oh, he’s going to stay home with the babies.”
“I think he’d like that. I know I would. But I came to tell you, Daddy’s got to go away again.”
Tabby dropped Barbie and threw her arms around her father. “I don’t want you to go, Daddy.”
He hugged her to him. “I know. But I have to go.”
“But Mommy gets sad when you go.”
“Mommy makes a lot of sacrifices to be with me. But that’s what love is sometimes. When I retire, I’ll make it up to her, to all of you. Now I gotta go. Be a big girl and don’t cry, I need you to take care of your mom.”
“I’m seven. I can take care of Bowie and Zach,
too. I can walk Zach to school by myself, you know.”
“You’ve got your hands full, that’s for sure. Just remember to take care of yourself.” He squeezed her tighter. “And look both ways before crossing the street.”
Chapter 13
1201 Friday
NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER
Coronado, CA
Tabby hit the ground running. The instructors were already on the beach for their afternoon run, which had become a regular part of her routine. She raced to catch up with the formation, falling in step with Perry.
She’d been at the laptop all morning and on the phone through lunch. Rear Admiral Gromley’s secretary had finally faxed over the requested information from Miller’s service record.
Tabby couldn’t wait to get back to her desk and read it. But for the past two weeks, she’d taken every opportunity to train with the SEALs whether it was in the gym or on the beach.
Which is where she was headed now.
The study was progressing. She’d read all the manuals, interviewed all the rollbacks and watched several hours of videotapes. With free run of the SPECWAR compound, she observed, took notes, and at night put them into something comprehensive—something that would give women the right to train with men, to become the Navy’s finest, Navy SEALs.
And while she typed, she waited for the phone to ring. He never said much, just checked to make sure her door and windows were locked. But she looked forward to his calls, because the rest of the time he was as cool and aloof as the day she arrived.
Miller set a grueling pace for their twice-daily sand torture. And even though Tabby ran competitively, it was all she could do to keep up, but she’d be damned if she’d fall behind.
Tabby stole a glance at Miller running to the left of the formation in shorts and tank top with Go Navy, Beat Army blazoned across his back. His muscular thighs tensed and flexed with each powerful step.
SEALs were known for having the bodies of Olympic athletes. She easily imagined him competing in a decathlon. But she preferred to imagine him running naked, like the first Olympians. He fell in beside her and she pulled her thoughts back to the present century.
