[When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated

by Anne Marsh

  All true.

  “Are you dating?”

  Shit. He wasn’t supposed to talk about it. On the other hand... this was Abbie.

  “I—” hope so. He said the words in his head and waited for panic to hit him. It didn’t come.

  “Can neither confirm nor deny. Got it.” Abbie tossed the paint chips onto the porch and stretched her legs out in front of her like the ground was a plush lounger. She started a complicated series of running stretches. “So if you were hypothetically dating Mercy, I would be congratulating you, except you’ve got that unhappy guy face that says something’s fucked up.”

  She paused for a moment, reached for her toes. He’d bet she wouldn’t be doing that in another three months. “Or you fucked something up. Hypothetically.”

  Since Abbie clearly knew what was going on, he gave in. “She doesn’t want anyone to know we’re dating.”

  Which meant he was definitely a booty call and not a boyfriend. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have minded being used for his penis. Mercy was different. He had no idea how, but she just was.

  Abbie nodded and switched legs. “I’d heard as much. Strong’s a small town. We don’t have secrets, particularly not when it comes to who’s sleeping with whom.”

  Story of his life. Every person in town had the inside scoop on his sex life or believed she had it.

  “You heard about Officer Belcome?” From the look on her face, she expected him to have memorized the video frame by frame.

  “We’re not making sex tapes.”

  Abbie widened her stance, dropping her chest to the ground as she loosened up. He shifted away because it was move or get kicked. Message received loud and clear.

  She made a face. “I hope not, but she’s got a new job and people talk. I’ll bet the sheriff’s department is being extra careful right now. Why would she want to risk her job for a little hot sex?”

  Well, damn. “It’s not like that.”

  Or maybe it was.

  “Then how is it? Because it sounds like she’s taking you for a test drive.”

  Time to change tactics.

  “How do you know when you’ve found the right person? The kind of person you can imagine spending the rest of your life with.”

  Abbie teared up. Fuck. Yeah, that hadn’t been sensitive, had it? She’d just lost Will, the guy she’d planned on spending the rest of her life with.

  “Sometimes it takes a while. Sometimes it’s a lightning bolt from the sky. Either way, it’s awesome and it rocks your world.”

  Which explained why she missed Will so badly.

  “So how do I know?”

  “You already do if you’re sitting here asking me, although I’m no Dear Abby. You might want to get a second opinion.”

  Jesus. He had no idea how to make this work.

  “How do you do it?” She blurted out.

  He froze in mid crouch. “Do what?”

  “Get up in the morning. Keep going.”

  “Left foot then the right foot,” Kade growled from behind them. “The same way I do it. Or some mornings, when I’m feeling ornery, I mix it up and start with the right foot just to fuck with fate.”

  Abbie glared at him. “Which must be every day ending in ‘y’ because you’re the pissiest person I’ve ever met.”

  Kade snapped her a salute. “Happy to help.”

  “I’m going running,” she said, shoving to her feet.

  She turned and trudged down the path. When she hit the edge of the woods and the trail, she kicked it into high gear. The soles of her sneakers flashed as she flew down the path like she was training for a sprint.

  Kade stared after her. “She took that well.”

  Joey punched him in the shoulder. “You need to work on your people skills.”

  “And she needs to grow a pair. She’s not dead. She’s got a baby on the way. Do you want me to catch her?”

  Punching his friend again was looking better and better. “Can you?”

  Kade shrugged. “My knee prefers turtle speeds.”

  Abbie disappeared around a bend. How far did she run?

  “You think it’s possible to fall in love like that?”

  “You mean do I think Will was some kind of freak exception? Yeah. I guess you can hope though.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I may have a bum knee, but I’ve still got two eyes. The deputy sheriff has the hots for you, and from the stupid grin on your face, she made you a happy man last night.” He paused. “This morning. Hell, maybe both, in which case it’s my turn to hit you.”

  “That could be just sex.”

  Kade looked at him. “Which is why you’re having a heart-to-heart with first Abbie and now me.”

  Yeah. Or it could be something more.

  9

  Mercy had suggested he slow down and smell the roses. Slowing down wasn’t something Joey did, but for her he was willing to give it a shot. Problem was, he didn’t have any roses. Or stuff that smelled good. Mercy was it, so she needed to provide his fix.

  She drove him crazy in the best possible way. Which undoubtedly explained why he was standing in her front yard at midnight with a truckload of rose bushes and a shovel. Since she didn’t want anyone knowing the truth about their relationship—not that he knew what that was himself—he’d decided an after-hours operation was the best way to keep the secret. No one in Strong would believe he’d decided to moonlight as a gardener.

  Mercy lived in a Craftsman bungalow, all high quality, fine lines and orderly, just like Mercy. Although he hadn’t stopped to appreciate it the other night, her front yard consisted of twenty yards of neatly trimmed grass, half on one side of the concrete and half on the other. He should ring the bell and ask permission, but that would ruin the surprise. Instead, he grabbed the shovel and got to work.

  At some point, while he was swearing at the hard-packed dirt and contemplating renting a jackhammer, she came out and dropped down onto the top step. She looked cute and relaxed, and he wanted to see her more often in sweatpants and the beat-up flannel shirt she wore open over a tank top. She definitely hadn’t bothered with a bra, either, which was his new favorite look for her. Everything about her was mussed and sleepy.

  After a while, she got tired of the silence. “You do realize it’s midnight, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.” He hit another iron-hard patch. Didn’t grass require dirt to grow? Now he knew why the garden center lady had insisted he buy not only dirt but bags of dirt improver. Mercy’s front yard sucked.

  Mercy was quiet for another moment. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”

  He liked her calm too. She hadn’t come out shrieking. Hadn’t called the cops on him either, although he supposed she was the cop and she could check out her own call. He looked quickly, but he didn’t see her service gun.

  She smiled. “I’m not planning on shooting you just yet.”

  She leaned forward to get a better look at what he was doing, and the position gave him a direct view down the front of her tank top. Definitely no bra. Instead, he had a perfect view of the pretty mounds of her breasts. He looked down at his hands. Since he hadn’t bothered with gloves, he had dirt everywhere. Maybe he could talk her into a shower.

  “I’m planting you a rose garden.”

  He liked the idea of something with roots, something that wasn’t cut and shrink-wrapped. Something that would grow.

  “At midnight.” She sounded skeptical. Fine. He’d prove it to her.

  He started dragging the bags of dirt and crap from the truck. “You said we needed to keep our relationship on the down low. I’m being respectful of that.” When he opened the first bag, a pungent odor wafted out. “Hell. The smell the roses part needs to come later, doesn’t it?”

  She hopped down off the porch with a laugh and padded over. Whipping out her phone, she shone the light on the bag to read the label. “Apparently, a great many cows and pigs contributed to this bag.”

&n
bsp; It certainly smelled like it. Nothing like a romantic gesture literally going to shit. Proving she was a good sport, she laughed. “I’ll have the biggest flowers on the block in June. Thank you.”

  She planted a kiss on his cheek. God, he loved the way she could overlook the stink and just see the good stuff.

  “Don’t count your roses before they bloom.” He just hoped like hell they did bloom, because he’d feel like an idiot if he’d just planted a bunch of scratchy, leafless sticks in her front yard. Bare root roses had to be the ugliest damn thing he’d ever seen.

  She grabbed the next rose out of the bucket of water it had been soaking in and handed it to him so he could stick it in the hole. “What did I do to merit roses?”

  “You like flowers. They don’t have to be reward, although if you’re planning on behaving really badly tonight, I’ll spring for another dozen,” he said hopefully. He could fill her tiny yard with roses, which surely had to up the chances that something grew.

  She laughed. “I like chocolate too. I don’t see you planting a chocolate tree in my front yard.”

  And that was where she was wrong. He pointed to a rosebush. “That right there is a chocolate rose.”

  She read the tag, because she clearly didn’t trust his newly acquired horticultural skills. Wise woman. He’d read the label twice himself, because a Hot Cocoa rose sounded too good to be true.

  “It doesn’t look like chocolate.”

  Yeah. He agreed with her there, although the fancy description of chocolate-orange petals certainly sounded edible. Or like that Christmas candy orange that came in the bright orange foil and that you knocked the shit out of to split up into segments. So what if the roses had ridiculous names? He liked the pictures, and he liked imagining what her yard would look like in six months.

  “Guess I’ll find out in June.” She took the empty buckets back to his truck, dumping the muddy water out into the street. “You know this is a rental, right?”

  “If you move, I’ll dig them up for you.” He had a perfectly empty front yard, for example. Her roses would look damned pretty there too.

  He looked around, but the baby rose bushes were planted and there was nothing left to do but wait for Mother Nature to do her thing. He made a mental note to buy a book on rose care. It took more than a hole, some water, and a whole lot of time to make her roses bloom.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Most guys find it simpler to buy the flowers at the grocery store and then knock on the door,” she observed.

  ***

  “I’m not most guys.” Joey grinned, and something melted inside her. Darn it. She was supposed to be the strong one, the one who could resist sexy bedroom eyes.

  The problem was, he was right. He wasn’t most guys.

  He was the one man who made her want to break all of her rules.

  “You need a shower,” she said, because if she stared at her new roses for too long she might cry. And she never cried, ever.

  “Are you offering?” A small smile tugged at his mouth.

  “Come on in,” she said.

  “I’m getting naked in your living room,” he warned.

  Fine by her. She shut and locked the door—it was Strong, but there was no point in being stupid about personal safety, and she had to set a good example—and then she gave him a once-over. It was hard to see too much in the pale light from the table lamp, but he was definitely dirty. Mud and dirt streaked his jeans and caked his boots, and he had a matching streak of dirt on his cheek. He was also big and heated and one hundred percent hers at the moment. That was even better than the roses, although she had no intention of telling him that.

  “Go for it,” she said, meaning every word.

  “For my next trick, I’m going to beg for the use of your shower.” He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the tile by the entranceway. It was a good start. She loved looking at him, and his stomach could definitely be described as more eight-pack than six-pack. In addition to being all cut muscles and broad shoulders, he was still faintly tanned, apparently because the man lost his shirt on a regular basis even in the winter months. The dog tags he always wore glinted in the light. Was it bad she wanted to fist those tags and yank him closer?

  “Roses and a show. I’m a lucky woman.”

  “Fortunately for you, I’m available.” He winked at her. “And I’m a sure thing.”

  He bent over and unlaced his boots while her eyes trailblazed a hot path down his body. She definitely had plans for him tonight, even if she was currently plastered up against the wall, staring. She should say something sexy. Or go start the water for him. Find him a towel. But wanting Joey made her stupid, so she stayed where she was, watching him strip in her hallway.

  His boots hit the floor, and he eyed his socks. “Man’s eternal dilemma. Lose the socks and freeze your feet on the way to bed, or keep ’em and lose the sexy?”

  “I don’t think you have that problem,” she said, meaning every word. A pair of socks wouldn’t change how she felt about him, unfortunately. It was also kind of cute. She’d let him jump into bed wearing socks anytime.

  “Uh-huh. You say that now.” His hands went to the button at his waist. Faster, her inner sex demon demanded. We want naked. Now. He popped the first button, baring a teasing vee of skin—and something else. Oh, yeah. Her firefighter was very, very happy to see her.

  “I promise to respect you in the morning. Strip faster.”

  “I knew you liked watching.” Despite the satisfaction filling his voice, he didn’t seem in any hurry to lose the pants. He slid another button free, even more slowly than the first.

  Time to up the ante. She kicked off her flip-flops, instantly regretting the move because he was right. The floor was polar-ice-cap cold. Think of the greater good. Before she could get cold feet—literally—she shimmied out of her flannel shirt.

  His eyes darkened. “You’re changing the rules of the game.”

  “Are you complaining?” She fisted the hem of her tank top and wriggled it up. She’d skipped the bra because she’d been in bed when he pulled his front yard makeover.

  It was the work of an instant to pull the tank top up and over her head. The move left her standing half-naked in her hallway, wearing only a pair of old sweats. By rights, she should have felt awkward. Instead, she felt sexy and powerful. “And FYI, I’m winning the naked war.”

  “Not for long,” he growled. He shoved his jeans down. He must have decided against keeping the socks while she wasn’t looking, because he was suddenly, gloriously naked. With a laugh, she darted down the hallway toward the bathroom.

  “You cheat!” His bark of laughter followed her.

  She made it to the bathroom first, thanks to her head start, but he was right behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her back against him. His erection nestled against her butt while his other hand pulled and her sweatpants hit the floor.

  “You wore panties.” He ran his thumb back and forth beneath the waistband.

  “Good ones too.” Her panties were silky and red, with lace panels in both the front and the back. She’d imagined all sorts of naughty possibilities when she’d picked them out of the drawer this morning, but apparently they weren’t destined to stay on her for long. He tugged again, and the panties hit her ankles. “You can appreciate them later.”

  Picking her up, he set her, feet first, on the bathmat and then reached into the shower to turn on the water. “You’re going to get cold.”

  Uh. No. Not a problem when he was around. In fact, she was burning up. The hot water steaming up the bathroom helped too. Unfortunately, she knew from painful experience that the hot water fix was temporary. “The hot water tank’s not too big. You’ll have to be quick.”

  “Got it.” He didn’t get in right away, though. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her. A really good kiss too, but he’d known how to kiss her from day one. He threaded his hands through her hair and held her in place, angling her mouth so
he could kiss her deeper. Her brain flipped off—thank you, Jesus—and she kissed him back, sliding her tongue against his, demanding more. He gave it to her, because when had he ever said no? And it was perfect, just what she’d needed even though she hadn’t even known that her night had been missing this. Missing him.

  When he pulled back and ran his thumb over her cheek, she felt strangely bereft.

  “Now there’s dirt on you too,” he said, satisfaction filling his voice. “You need to get in the shower with me.”

  He was full of good plans tonight. She ran her hands up over his chest. God, what did he do to get so large and muscle-y? Because he was rock hard and hot, so very, very hot. She pressed a kiss against his nipple.

  “If I say please, will you do it?” His hoarse groan, she decided, wasn’t a complaint.

  “I could be convinced.” His other nipple looked lonely. And deserved equal treatment. Being a fair person, she should do something about that, right? She kissed him again, swirling her tongue around his nipple. He tasted so good.

  “No dirt there.”

  “Yeah. Thank God,” he muttered. “That gardening shit stank.”

  Wrapping his hands around her waist, he swung her into the shower and followed her in, reaching for the soap. He sniffed and winced. “We need to talk about your soap choices.”

  “You’ll plant roses, but you won’t smell like them?”

  “Apparently, I have limits.” He grabbed the soap anyhow.

  “You could bring your own,” she suggested.

  “Are you granting me shelf privileges?”

  Well, yes. He stared at her, rose-scented lather covering his hands, and she had no idea what to say. Silence felt awkward. And her shower was too small for two people. She should get out. And... do what? Sit on the toilet lid and watch?

  “You’re overthinking things again,” he said lazily. “We can figure out whether or not I get shelf privileges later. Hands up.”

  Not waiting for her to move, he lifted her hands and pressed them against the slick shower tile. Water cascaded down her head and shoulders until she couldn’t see. Close her eyes or drown. Those were her options. That, or get out of the shower. She closed her eyes and waited. In her dark cocoon, he slicked up his hands with more soap and ran them down her neck, over her shoulders. Finding and pressing tension spots.