The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “I love you, Windsor.”

  I lean in and kiss his nose and then his lips. “I love you, T.H.”

  My words give him pause, his mouth stops working against mine. A few heartbeats pass, and he begins the kiss again, forcing me to lie back on the pillows as he buries himself inside me at the same time.

  His face in my neck, he pushes in and out of me slowly, making love to me instead of fucking me senseless. I’m already hypersensitive so it doesn’t take long before my thighs tingle and I’m clenching around him. He muffles my cries with his lips, watching my eyes as intense waves of pleasure cause me to shiver. He comes seconds later. There are no words between us as his warm body lies on top of mine, our chests heaving, trying to catch our breath.

  He licks my neck and inhales by my ear, breathing me in. I’m his. We stay connected as he rolls us to our sides. We fall asleep that way, joined as one and as close as we can possibly be. He’s mine. In all ways.

  _______________

  “I still can’t believe we’re in Vegas. You’re crazy. You know that?”

  Maverick chose the one destination that I never would have expected. He’s a recovering alcoholic for God’s sake. Embracing the mindset that he can do anything he wants to do without being tempted, and in order to prove to me that he’s in control of himself and his actions, he chose Sin City. The city of addiction of varying degrees. It’s also one of the few places where people are drunk on the streets at eight a.m…from the night before. I put all of the glittery cocktail dresses he bought to good use at Cirque du Soleil shows and eating at upscale, delicious restaurants. It’s our last night here, and it’s Sunday. I figured Sunday would be a less crazy day here, but I was wrong. I think Saturdays and Wednesdays hold the same appeal.

  “Oh, come on. You have to go to Vegas at least once in your life. Plus, what better way to convince you of your magic pill capabilities,” Maverick says, taking my hand and leading me through the insanely loud casino lobby.

  I’m still wary about his drinking. How could I not be, with Kathy as my mother? Surprisingly enough Maverick’s told me she’s stopped drinking, too. I try not to talk to her about her issues just to avoid conflict. I guess Maverick didn’t avoid anything during his time spent visiting her and Bill. He’s like a go-between now. I’ve never had that before and it’s…nice. I still don’t think any one person can be a magic pill. Until he proves me wrong, I’ll trust him to do what he thinks he needs to do.

  Machines ding and lights suffocate the eyes at every turn, no matter the time of day. We’ve played at the slot machines a few times just because I asked him to. I couldn’t go to Vegas and not pull one of those filthy handles at least once. No alcohol or any other addictive substances, other than my body—multiple times a day—have even piqued his interest. Not even at the restaurants where a glass of fine wine is almost mandatory. If it’s bothering him being in this atmosphere, I would never be able to tell. Maybe that’s the point to all of this. It also makes me wonder how much acting he’s doing. Heaven knows he’s at expert level in that department.

  A blackjack table catches his eye. “If you’re good at probabilities and have a great memory, you can beat the dealer. I’ve done it before. It just takes a lot of patience and more nerve than most people have. It’s ballsy to try,” he says, winking at me.

  Oh, I bet it’s ballsy. Everything Maverick does is ballsy and unbelievable and honestly…unexpected. Now I’m almost certain SEALs function on a different frequency that no one else can tune into. It’s like a cult. Kind of. It’s definitely out of the realm where most people understand. I like that I don’t fully get him. It keeps me on my toes—like this morning when I woke up naked, wrapped in soft cotton sheets, to the sound of a guitar. He sang me a song that rivaled my first song. This time he did it in a pair of boxers, with his impossibly irresistible bed hair tousled. He looked me straight in the eye the entire time. It’s how he conveys what he’s feeling when normal words, in his opinion, don’t make the cut. I melted like I was standing on the face of the sun.

  He points out the different games as we amble through the brightly lit aisles, while I flounce in my five-inch heels and a gold sequined dress that is probably more appropriate for Vanna White. It sparkles a million different colors. It really is beautiful…for a Vegas dress, that is. And Maverick loves it. So much in fact, that he removed it the second I put it on tonight and delicately placed it on a chair before screwing me against the huge plate glass window of our penthouse suite. My knees get a little weak thinking about it.

  I glance over at him as we exit outside, the buzz of the people around us significantly quieter than the sirens and bells of the casino. He is so dashing in a tailored suit, his muscular form evident even in clothing. Every single woman in a fifty-yard radius stares. They don’t try to hide it either. Some look to be about sixteen and others look like they could be my Grandma’s age. His appeal knows no bounds. No one is attracted more than I am. Not just to his looks, but to what’s inside that perfectly structured body. His broken heart mending a little bit everyday, his will to move on in the face of loss…that’s the most attractive thing about him. He’s a survivor. We’re two souls cut from the same cloth. I swallow down the lump in my throat. My thoughts always wind back to his letter. How strong his feelings about life and taking chances are cause me to understand him better and love him more.

  He grabs my hand in his and smiles just for the sake of smiling. He has no clue how appealing he is. Not anymore, at least. He doesn’t even notice the attention he gets from random strangers, waitresses, or even the girl who checked us in at the hotel front desk. When I mentioned it, he shrugged and said it didn’t matter who looked at him as long as I was looking at him too. I laughed it off. The man is all mine. There are no doubts how in love he is. I think that’s the thing—I know how much he loves me…I feel it. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes me so confident in every aspect of our relationship. I try to form a mental image of my relationship with Nash, paired with mine with Maverick, and it’s insulting to the years I spent thinking Nash was the one for me. Love equals confidence. Bravery. Leaping without looking. Maverick Hart.

  He looks both left and right, eyes scanning our surroundings. “I wanted to show you something,” he admits, peering down at me. “It’s just around the side here. We have time before our dinner reservations.” He pulls me against his side and kisses the top of my head.

  “As long as I don’t end up getting road rash, I’m game,” I tease. He tried to cajole me into having sex…in his driveway. Oh, did he try. His baritone laugh wraps around me, making me reconsider road rash as a bad thing.

  I wrap my arm around his back and look up. His face is blank, but his eyes are full of worry. He doesn’t know I’m looking. He peeks down and sees my case study.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, pulling away to see his whole face. He bites his lip and nods.

  “Being around this many people. It’s a cluster. My brain won’t turn off,” he explains, like it’s a normal thing every human being feels. He ushers me toward the side garden by the hotel. We took a walk through here the other morning so he knows where to lead under the dim moonlight. It’s less busy here. There isn’t any alcohol or gambling. It makes sense. The path winds around beautifully manicured bushes and trees that I’m sure require some sort of weird tools to keep up a la Edward Scissorhands.

  “Are you going to grow claws and cut my name into this bush? Don’t scar your face though,” I say pointing to a large lion shaped topiary.

  “Do you want me to do that?” A light on the walkway lights the side of his devastatingly handsome face. I see one dimple and white teeth and a hazel eye.

  I shake my head. “Nah, but I do like that movie,” I say, sitting down on the stone bench. My feet already hurt and we’ve barely walked—the price of freaking beauty. I put a pair of roll up flats in my tiny purse because I do not want to go home with another blister or Band-Aid. As it is, I’ll be wearing UGG b
oots to work with my skirts for two weeks. I cross my legs and let one of my heels pop out of the shoe for relief.

  Maverick looks up toward the hotel and checks his watch, his free hand fidgeting by his side. “Your feet hurt already?” It’s been the ongoing joke all weekend. I look around as small spotlights flick on, lighting the patio that we’re sitting in. I narrow my eyes at the onslaught of white light.

  I look up at Maverick. I lie. “My feet are perfect. What did you want to show me? The timers on these lights have perfect timing.” He runs a hand through his hair as he stares at my face, my eyes. Looking for something, no doubt. When he doesn’t speak, I smile. He smirks.

  Then he hands me a small jewelry box. My heart starts pounding. Not just pounding, but like rocking against my chest in a crazy rhythm that matches my stomach flipping. My mind goes blank, like absolutely black as I take the box from his palm. When I finally tear my gaze from the black box, I glance at him.

  He chuckles. “Go ahead. Open it. You can see it now…in the light,” he says. I watch as he swallows, his neck working. He’s nervous which makes me nervous. With shaking hands I fumble a bit, but eventually flip open the lid.

  It’s a necklace.

  To be more specific, it’s a gold trident. The same symbol he wears on his uniform—the symbol that marks him a SEAL. It’s an eagle clutching a rifle and a trident. It’s beautiful. Its significance isn’t lost on me. This is Maverick giving me part of his world. It’s him asking me to be a part of it. It’s also him asking me to accept all of him—even this part, the one that takes as much as it gives.

  “Flip it over,” he says, clearing his throat. On the wings on either side of the pendant are tiny, engraved coordinates.

  “I know what these numbers mean.” I rub one wing. It’s the same longitude and latitude that reside on Mav’s chest. The exact moment he fell in love with me. My stomach flutters as I take in a deep breath. “But what are these?” I rub my thumb on the other side, where the unfamiliar coordinates are etched. I look up to Mav. Scared freaking shitless would be the words I use to describe him right now. His hands shake by his sides, and his eyes are a little glassy. His usual cocky confidence is nowhere to be found—It’s extinct like the dinosaurs. The man standing before me now is stripped of all of his defenses, transparent as glass.

  “It’s the exact location you said yes,” he replies, his voice rising at the end. He gestures to the garden around us.

  “Said yes to what?” I ask, looking around. Did I miss a question? Is a pack of rabid animals about to attack us? Why is he acting like this? He just gave me a beautiful necklace. Maverick should be happy, secure. Not whatever it is he’s feeling. After peering around the garden I turn my confused gaze to Maverick. He wipes his palms down the sides of his black pants. I glance down at the necklace one more time and back up to him.

  Dropping to one knee he swallows once and says, “Will you marry me, Windsor Forbes? Make me the happiest man in the world. Marry me? Say yes. Please say yes.” He pulls out a second beautiful black box from his jacket pocket and opens it. A huge, and I do mean huge, glittering diamond shines up at me. Seconds pass as I try to formulate a response. When his hand wobbles, I throw myself into his arms and clutch him as tightly as I can while still keeping us from falling over. The happy tears come.

  I pull back and look into his huge, shining eyes. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. A million times yes.” He slips the enormous emerald-cut stone on the finger that it will ostensibly be on for the rest of time. He kisses it, looking at it with such reverence. Then he takes the box from my other hand and clasps the necklace around my neck. Both gleaming objects signaling his claim to me—more importantly they’re symbols of my acceptance of him.

  I bring my hand up to inspect the ring more closely. “It’s so beautiful Mav. It’s so beautiful,” I say, voice shaking with raw emotion. “We’re engaged!” I exclaim. The word sounds odd, because I never dreamed Maverick would be proposing to me. But like everything he does, it’s perfect and unexpected in the best way.

  “It’s not nearly beautiful enough to compare to you. You said yes,” he says. Of course I said yes. Our love is perfect. “We’re engaged,” he repeats. The excitement on his face is palpable. A kid on Christmas is less excited than Maverick in this moment. I don’t have answers about the future. All we have is right now, though. And right now is the best moment of my life. “I’ll make you happy, Win. I’ll be the husband you deserve. I’ll be a man worth your love. I swear it.”

  “I never doubted you would be. Of course I said yes. Was there even a question?” I ask through happy tears. He kisses me, sealing our deal. My ring catches my eye as I cup his jaw. Butterflies invade my stomach. He draws back and looks at me—at my face and my necklace, while running his hands down my arms.

  The spotlights fade and the dim lights illuminate our secret garden. Maverick shakes his head, laughing. “There was never, not for one second in time, since the day I met you, a question.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Maverick

  Six Months later

  WE DIDN’T GET married in Vegas like you’d expect. I wanted to juxtapose the person I once was with the person who I’d become, so I proposed in Sin City. Windsor deserves the huge wedding she’s always dreamed of. I’m the lucky fucker who gets to give her exactly that. And pretty much whatever else she wants.

  I’d do about anything to see her smile. All she does these days is smile. Even with the pressure of wedding planning, she laughed and smiled her way through the big decisions like they were easy. When I asked her about it, she said that as long as I was standing at the end of the aisle when the wedding march started playing, the rest were just measly details that didn’t matter. That statement is pretty much why I love her. It’s also why I haven’t so much as looked at a drop of alcohol since the bad time in my life.

  I’ve been seeing a therapist, at Windsor’s insistence, and it’s helped me understand why I drank to begin with. He said I wasn’t addicted, per se. I craved the numbness and I’d take it anyway I could get it. Distancing myself from Windsor after Stone died was another thing I used to numb my emotions. If I didn’t feel love or happiness, my sadness and grief diminished as well. I shut out everything. Healing was easy with Windsor by my side, feeding me every single good thing I never knew I needed. For the first time in my life, I’m living a full life in every respect. I’ve got the fucking world by the ass. I just had to lose myself completely to get a better grip. Something the doc told me was normal. I’m okay with the normal label when it comes to that.

  The Monica monster signed the divorce papers, freeing me from that abhorrent woman for the rest of time. Morganna probably threatened her life or something else Morganna-like, but whatever she did worked. I’ve never appreciated the sanctity of marriage until right now. When marrying the woman of my dreams for all the right reasons. Not because I have to, not because I think it’s right, but because it is right. Nothing is more right. I’m like a firecracker with a short fuse. I’m so excited to marry Windsor—to make her officially mine.

  This day, our wedding day, couldn’t come soon enough. I would have whisked her to a courthouse to seal the deal the second she said yes, but I used restraint. I’m standing at the front of the huge fucking church, the same church where I spoke at Stone’s funeral, and I’m hit with conflicting emotions. Good, bad, sappy and everything in between. The rows and rows of wedding guests are all dressed in bright, cheery colors, wearing smiles and happy tears. White and pink flowers are everywhere, stuck in arrangements, hanging from the ceiling, down by my feet, in every nook and cranny that is large enough to fit a flower. It’s pretty. It’s what she wanted.

  My parents are here today, in the front row, beaming at me like I finally did something right. I guess I did do something right to have such a great woman in my life. If that’s what it takes to get them back in my life, I’m okay with it. We’ve been talking, patching things up over the past months at Windsor’s
suggestion. Stone would be proud, I think. It’s something he always hoped for me. You always have to start somewhere in any type of relationship. Sometimes in a noisy bar with a wet shoe, sometimes at a wedding. I smile when I catch my mom’s eye. She wipes a tear and I hope she’s proud of me. I hope she thinks I’m doing something honorable and right. I hate that I want that approval, but I do. I always will. My father wraps his arm around her and whispers something in her ear. He nods my way. I tilt my head in his direction. Mending burned bridges takes time.

  Steve claps me on the back and whispers, “you fuckin’ got this man. You locked that shit up.” I smile and nod, hoping Windsor’s Grandma in the front row didn’t hear his foul mouth. We are in a church, after all. Steve’s my best man. I can’t help but get a little emotional when I think about who should be standing behind me today, but I know he’s here. Wafting in the rafters, with a towel wrapped around his fucking neck, smiling like an idiot. God, do I miss Stone. Every day. Every second.

  Windsor sent Gretchen with a pair of cufflinks and a letter this morning while she was getting ready, a process that takes entirely too long in my opinion. The cufflinks were polished gray stones. I got a little choked up when I read the letter. The simple gift is the single most thoughtful present I’ve ever received.

  I rub one of the stones when the music starts playing. The entire congregation stands and looks toward the doors, backlit with streaming sunlight. Goose prances down the aisle and stops halfway, and turns to look back at the door. Laughing, I call him. Obediently he trots over to me, while small bursts of laughter ring out. I untie the rings from the little pillow strapped to his neck and hand Windsor’s to Steve. Morganna struts down the aisle by herself, a huge grin plastered on her face. Her pink dress swishes as she walks. Steve clears his throat from behind me. I turn to give him a mini-glare. He laughs. I hand Morganna my ring and she takes her place on the other side, followed by Gretchen who sweeps Goose up into her arms.