The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “Third thing.” He’s fishing. The almighty Maverick Hart is fishing for something. I grin a little.

  “Hot,” I admit, trying to keep the blush from my face. I already know what I’m going to say if he asks for a fourth. “But that doesn’t negate predator. That came before.”

  “Way more than one word,” he says. “Number three is always number one. You lied.” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways. You’ll just have to trust me.” It’s something in the way he says it, but I do.

  “You’re wrong. I mean yes, I did lie. Number three wasn’t the first thing I thought when I saw you,” I tell him. I take a deep breath and get ready to shock the hell out of him. He folds his hands on the table in front of him and waits expectantly. Our food came during one of the lulls, so I shove some vegetables around my plate.

  “Go ahead. First word you thought when you saw me.”

  I meet his hazel eyes full on and say, “Wet.”

  He doesn’t even look surprised. He smiles at me, but this time it’s different, calculated. It’s a half smile, one side pulling up more than the other. One dimple. He nods his head a couple times and I swear between those two things alone, I am actually wet right now. I’m also blushing and totally embarrassed.

  “Someone spilled a drink on my shoe…remember? Literally, I was wet,” I say. His lips press into a firm line, but his eyes are still amused. Thankfully, I remember that part of the night to fall back on. “I want to know about you. You’ve already accrued enough information to stalk me for the rest of my life.” His gaze darts behind my shoulder again, but this time I turn around to see what has his attention. A massive guy, who could only be one of The Guys, is wobbling, very confidently, from the bar to our table.

  “Wining, dining, and then sixty-nining? That’s not your style, buddy. Introduce me to your friend,” the guy says, as he eye fucks every corner of my face and body in the most uncomfortable way possible. He’s good looking, but not nearly appealing as the guy sitting next to me.

  “Get the fuck out, Steve,” Maverick says. “Go back to the bar.” He doesn’t tell the guy my name. Shit. This is the guy Morganna is trying to set me up with. I’m uncomfortable in the worst kind of way.

  “Hey darlin’, you’re hot with a rockin’ body. Come find me when you want a real man,” Steve says. Maverick makes some inarticulate noise from behind me. Morganna is going to hear a rash of shit from me the next time we speak. This guy is totally skeevy. Worse yet, he thinks I’m a freaking frog hog. “See ya buddy,” Steve says as he ambles back to the bar.

  I am absolutely mortified when I see a bleached blonde girl grab his crotch and smile. She. Touched. His. Dick. In. Public. When I finally turn back to Maverick, I’m not sure if I’m mad, sad, or thankful he didn’t mention my name. He has his head in his hands.

  “Jesus Christ, Maverick. Who the fuck are you? I know what you do, but honestly if that,” I wave my hand over to Steve and his public mauling, and then gesture to myself, “is what you want or expect from me, then you have the wrong girl.” I shut my mouth and refuse to say anything further. This is his life, he can do whatever he wants. I am the variable for tonight. “Just one date,” I remind myself out loud.

  He takes my hand, swallows hard and sighs. “Please, forgive me for that. He’s a real jackass. I’m sure he didn’t realize I was on a real date,” he says, defending the caveman.

  “What the freak is a real date?” Now, I’m mad. I’ve settled for mad. I want to say anything to make him angry, too. “I have that guy’s phone number. Morganna has been trying to set me up with him!” I point at Steve without looking back, because the sight nauseates me. Maverick’s eyes widen a little. I swallow the rest of my wine in a large gulp and stand. He just looks at me from his seat, his gorgeous eyes lingering on my body for a touch longer than I’m comfortable with.

  He doesn’t stand. He takes another bite off his plate. “You can’t go out with him. You know that, right?”

  “Excuse me? I can go out with anyone I please. Maybe a public show of sex is exactly what I need to get my head straight,” I say, pushing in my chair, making it obvious I’m ready to leave. He sips his water and looks at me over the rim of his glass. When he doesn’t say anything I tell him, “At least I know what he wants from me. That’s more than I can say about you, Mr. T. H.”

  For the very first time, his tough guy front fades. He actually looks a little hurt. It disappears a second later as he brings the cloth napkin across his mouth, wiping away any trace of emotion. He stands up, places some cash on the table, and tucks his chair in. The quickest dinner on planet earth just took place.

  “Thank you for dinner, Maverick,” I nearly spit, a fake smile plastered on my face. If my venom affects him, he doesn’t let me know. He does grab my hand unexpectedly and leads me from the restaurant. The valet boy scurries when he sees us exit the building.

  “I’m sorry again. I never should have brought you here,” he says, confusing the hell out of me. I’m offended, my blood boils. I feel hot, and not in the fun kind of way that he had me feeling on the way here.

  “I’m sorry you brought me out, too. I’m obviously more of an idiot than I previously thought. I deserve this.”

  He just shakes his head, not even attempting to correct what I’m inferring. So, he’s sorry he took me out. Everything that means crushes me at once. When he opens the door for me, I honestly consider asking the valet boy for a ride home. Surely, he wouldn’t turn me down. Maverick’s eyes look sad, and it’s the solitary reason I get in. Like maybe he’s just as dejected as I feel, though I don’t see how that’s possible.

  The silent drive to my condo is awkward. I watch his phone pop up with a zillion text messages in the cup holder between us. Again, he doesn’t even glance at it. I wonder how many messages he got while we were at dinner. The thought sickens me. I never should have assumed this would be a real date. I never should have told him anything about myself. But, what the hell, he doesn’t give a shit about me. When he makes a move to get out of the car when we arrive at my condo, I hold my hand out to stop him.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself to the door. I wouldn’t want you to regret that, too. I’m sure you have a lot of texting and calling to catch up on anyway,” I tell him, motioning to the glowing iPhone in between us. I chance a stealthy look at his face. He is pissed off. Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m glad.

  He picks up the phone and shakes it side to side. “This? This is what you’re worried about? The fucking electronic device full of random women and faces that mean nothing to me?” Rolling down the manual car window, he throws the phone across the parking lot. It hits a telephone pole and pieces scatter everywhere. “I don’t give a shit about those texts or the phone calls.” He runs a hand through his hair and pulls on the tips before releasing them. Throwing his big hand out, he motions to me. “You are the one sitting in my car, Windsor. Women don’t sit in my car. You are the one I wanted to take out to dinner. Even as fucking disastrous as it was…I don’t see anyone else sitting here, but you. Do you?”

  I stare at him wide-eyed in disbelief. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared down to my bones. Maverick flying off the handle is terrifying.

  When he realizes I’m not going to speak, he continues. “I don’t regret taking you out. I regret that Steve made you upset. I regret that I took you somewhere where my friends might be. In all honesty, I regret the moment I ever laid eyes on you.” The gasp that fills the car is my own. The nice things he says are buried deep in the ground after utters his last sentence.

  “In all honesty,” I use his words, “I regret the fucking moment you took your first breath.” I exit the car and don’t look back. The meanest thing I’ve ever said was directed at a person I barely know. It feels good. It feels bad. It feels like I wasted my whole night on a crapshoot. At least maybe I’ll be able to forget about him and his body. I’ll ev
en tell Morganna she was right. I’m that relieved it’s over.

  I hear his car door slam and then muttered profanities under his breath. He catches up to me fast. Too fast. He grabs my arm to spin me around.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” he breathes.

  “No, I finished for you.”

  “I regret the moment I laid eyes on you because you ruined everything, Windsor.” His grip lightens on my arm.

  “That’s so much better, Maverick. Really,” I say, my anger wearing off and pure annoyance blistering to the surface. I’m annoyed that his touch is warm, and his words are confusing. I’m annoyed with myself that I can’t just walk away.

  “I want you,” he says. “You said you didn’t know what I wanted from you. I’m telling you. I want you. I want you to be mine. That’s all I know for sure.”

  I bite my lip and shake my head. “Unbelievable. I need a night to sleep on this epiphany of yours. The hot and colds are almost too much for me to keep up with,” I admit, still shaking my head. Denial. He’s said the words. Some part of me wants to believe them, but the skeptical part of my brain whispers other things.

  He brushes a strand of hair away from my face and cups my bare shoulder with his other hand. The magic shivers start again. He leans down and I have to work at controlling my shaking body. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me. He swallows and the tattoo on his neck dances. I want to lick it. The desire is back in spades. I tilt my chin up, waiting.

  And he hugs me. He gives me the awkward freaking hug. The one I give my boss when she gives me a gift card to Starbucks on my birthday. When he leans back, the one-dimpled smile is on his face. Even though I’m still mentally sorting out the hug, I want to lick that, too.

  “I’ll call you. Bye, Windsor,” he says. It’s okay for him to fuck my name with his voice, but he definitely doesn’t want to have sex with me tonight. I am seriously in need of my therapist.

  I watch him walk back to his car, which is still running, and try to decipher the Maverick code. I can’t. I probably won’t ever be able to. When I enter the condo I come to the conclusion that with a man like Maverick, you don’t try to decipher, you just ride the waves as they come and hope like hell you can hold on tight enough to enjoy the ride— or at the very least prevent yourself from drowning.

  As I try to fall asleep several agonizing hours later, my phone chimes with a new text.

  Are you awake? I got a new phone and number. It’s miraculously silent.

  I stare at it blindly, trying to decide how best to respond.

  I type back, I wish my head were as silent as your phone.

  A second later. Go out with me tomorrow. All day. I’ll pick you up at 9.

  Only if you promise not to awkward hug me ever again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Maverick

  I’VE KILLED MEN before. I watch their heads explode through the scope of my gun. I hate to break it to you, but it’s nothing like how it happens in Call of Duty. Blood sprays like a halo of red and then nothing. The crackle of life that hums in the air gets a little duller. Less life exists in the space surrounding me than it did only moments before. I don’t know how I can tell; it’s just like breathing, but death really is another sense.

  After that trigger pull I feel release and a huge sense of accomplishment. After years and years of practicing, I get to do exactly what the Navy trained me to do. Of course directly following, I question my fucking sanity for the exaltation that comes with a snuffed life. It’s not about whom you kill. It’s about what you save. My brothers are beside me—like they always are, chasing down the same sense of enlivenment that only comes from this line of work. If the monsters on the other side of the scope don’t die, one of my brothers could. Or worse, an innocent.

  Windsor is an innocent. She is so good that the opposite sense of death has reared its head. I have the urge to protect her. I want to protect her from all the bad around us. I get so caught up in her good and in the way she makes me feel that I forget that the main thing I should protect her from—that she should be fearful of—is myself.

  I’ve made the decision to try to be with her…whatever that really means. There isn’t another option. I can’t think of anything else. When I close my eyes I see huge blue eyes, her cheekbones, her white smile. Oh, I still think of her sucking and fucking, but now it’s more. Way more. I’m worried if I don’t get whatever the fuck this is out of my system before deployment, I might not be as focused as I need to be. I’m losing my normal precision control and it scares the shit out of me. I’m afraid to kiss her because I’m afraid to fuck her because I’m afraid of what that will mean. I know enough to know I can’t fuck Windsor Forbes out of my system. The tiny glimpses I’ve gotten into her world only intrigue me and make me want to know more.

  For the first time in my entire life I want more from another person and I can’t give what I take. It’s a mutual relationship with my teammates. What I give, they give back. It’s symbiotic. I can tell Windsor wants more from me, and that’s the scariest fucking thing of all. Because I know I’ll eventually give it to her. And it will wreck her completely to pieces. The damage will be catastrophic. Worse than death. The biggest halo of dark red blood spray will come from the right section of my own God damned chest.

  Currently, my pulse resides in my cock. She’s in the passenger seat of my car wearing the smallest jean shorts I’ve ever seen. Her long tan legs are stretched in front of her. Tiny gray Converse shoes tap along to music. The white tank top rides up every time she leans over to mess with the radio, and I pray that static will fuzz out a song every couple minutes so I can catch a glimpse of exposed skin. With her hair down and her face almost bare of makeup, she looks like a walking water board created especially for me. Torture on every level. I haven’t even figured out what exactly it is about her that makes her so different from every other girl I’ve met in the last five years. What holds my interest? What keeps me engaged? I have no clue. I actually sat down and made a list of pros and cons of dating Windsor. The only cons were all things that dealt with me. Things that I can’t change, that are my fault. Not hers.

  I put Steve in place the second I bought a new cell phone. He knows exactly where I stand with her, even if he doesn’t understand it. On a whim, I decided to change my number so my phone wouldn’t be blowing up with texts and calls from all of the insignificants. I meant what I told her. I really don’t want anything to do with anyone else. That said, I need to get laid badly. My cock saluted Windsor the second she came bouncing down the stairs when I picked her up. I’ve had to work at keeping it at bay as I drive, but even her damn voice gets to me. This is our fourth date since the horrible dinner date.

  A pop song blares out of my speakers, causing me to wince a little. “I love this song,” she says, curling her legs underneath her. “How can you drive without glancing at me even once?” she asks. “I mean, I’m glad you’re a safe driver, but what gives? Are you worried about crashing this beautiful piece of machinery?” I chuckle. Little does she know my peripheral vision has been studying her every subtle curve for the past twenty minutes. She refers to my car with such reverence. I love it.

  “Some things demand your full attention,” I say. To make a point I turn my head and look directly at her. She startles and her full lips part. I make a show of running my eyes down over her cleavage and back up again. She smiles.

  “Just drive, please,” she says, her voice a little breathy. I love that I affect her. “You should tell me where we’re going, too.” I focus my attention back on the bare road. Sunday mornings are always like this. I’m usually on my bike, by myself, but this…with her, feels good. She rubs her hand on the bottom of the seat, feeling the leather.

  I grab one of her hands in my right hand and squeeze. “It’s a surprise. I owe you. You granted me multiple dates so I have to make every second count,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the dip between her fingers. She sighs a little. A jolt runs from my stomach all the wa
y down to my dick. A nun or my grandpa on a cold, wet day. A nun or my grandpa on a cold, wet day. The mental distraction works.

  She captures my hand on top and starts rubbing my fingers back. “Good. I don’t want to have to call Steve for that date anytime soon,” she says, voice teasing. Jealousy. A feeling I’m not used to hits me like a brick wall. Even though I know she’s joking, I can’t stop it. We’ve shared girls before, more times than I’d like to admit, but the thought of Windsor with anyone else makes me crazed. One of my brothers? Fuck no. “Well, at least I know he wouldn’t awkward hug me after a real date,” she finishes, and I feel like she’s hit me in the gut. I’ve avoided touching her as much as possible, even going as far as not walking her to the door so I’m not tempted to kiss her goodbye.

  “I can let him know you’re interested in non-awkward hugging if you want?” I tell her, my tone far too sharp to be joking, which is what I was aiming for. She laces her fingers in between mine, fitting our hands together perfectly. Mine big. Her’s small.

  “I was joking. I’d rather awkward hug you than anything with Steve. You have to tell me though…you said you wanted me and then you hug me and then you nothing me. What’s that about?”

  “I want to take it slow, that’s all,” I admit. It’s a truth, just not a whole truth. I’m not sure why exactly I don’t want to bag her just yet.

  “Because you’ve never gone slow before?” she asks. I think she’s joking, but one look at her face says otherwise. I guess it makes sense she’d think that. I know the general public expects us to keep up fast-paced lifestyles. I’m sure everything she knows about me and my profession came from either Morganna or Dr. Google.

  “Yeah. I guess that’s about right,” I admit. “Don’t think I don’t want to fuck you five ways from Sunday, though. That would be a lie. I don’t do lies…ever. In perfect honesty, I’ve never wanted to insert my penis into a body more than I do yours.” I do look at her after I speak. I have to see her face. Sure, it was crass. I mean it.