SEAL Warriors

by Katie Knight

  Nope.

  Sex with Sam was definitely off the table.

  His traitorous cock twitched.

  Or is it?

  No. No. It definitely was. Making love with her when they were both stressed and off-kilter and vulnerable would be ridiculous. Besides, there were still so many unknowns between them. His past, her future. The fact that he could very well be leading them into a trap with no way to defend them.

  Shit. Just shit.

  God, he hated this. Hated not knowing if he’d be enough to keep Sam and their daughter safe against her hellish father and his warmongering beasts. For over a decade, he’d fought and defended his country against all enemies. But now that he was a civilian—with too many years under his belt, not to mention bad knees and faltering confidence—he wasn’t sure he could meet the definition of “hero” anymore. It was ironic really, when you thought about it. A decorated soldier who feared conflict. Not because of his own life, but because of those of the people he cared for.

  His mom, his daughter, and yeah, Sam too.

  Contrary to popular belief—and despite the actions of some of the guys from his own SEAL team—they weren’t all sex fanatics. Sure, Jack had had his share of lovers in his life, but he wasn’t generally the kind of guy who slept with a woman just because he was bored or it was on offer. For him, there needed to be something more, some kind of feeling or attraction that went beyond the physical.

  Sure, that first night in Costa Rica had been hot as hell sexually, and lust might’ve been the deciding factor at first, given the amount of adrenaline that had been pounding through his system. Rescues always got him worked up. But afterward, in the wee hours of that morning, he and Sam had talked, about everything from current events to her job as a marine biologist to his dreams of one day raising therapy dogs. He felt like he knew her, really knew her, even if they’d spent relatively little time together.

  Then again, maybe that was just the fatigue talking. He’d not gotten more than four hours sleep in the last three days, so…

  The bathroom door creaked open and Sam came out, looking far too adorable for her own good in her flannel pajamas, her cheeks pink from the hot shower, and her feet bare. Her dark hair was still damp and curled around her face, making him long to catch a strand around his finger and see if it still felt as soft as it looked.

  “Feel better?” he asked, not looking at her for fear his want would be written all over his face.

  “Yeah. Nice to wash all the crud away.” She peeked in the bedroom at a still snoozing Glory, then took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa from him, tucking her feet beneath her. He glanced over to see her toes were still visible. Pink painted toenails. And didn’t that just add to his naughty fantasies of what he might do to said toes to make her scream his name in ecstasy.

  Get a grip, dude.

  “What are you watching?” she asked, leaning closer to peer at his screen. The clean scent of his shampoo wafted from her hair and he bit back a groan of frustration. “Is that a baby video?”

  “What?” Jack shook off the latest steamy images filling his head and squinted down at his computer, doing his best not to sound as flustered as he felt. “Oh, yeah. I like to be prepared.”

  “In case of imminent projectile vomiting?” Sam snorted.

  “Huh?” Jack scowled at the clip playing on his laptop. Apparently, somewhere during his tutorials, the feed had switched over to funny videos of kids doing hilariously gross things. Heat prickling up from beneath the collar of the black T-shirt he’d pulled on after his own shower earlier, he rubbed his damp palms on the thighs of his plaid sleep pants then closed the computer. Normally, he slept nude, but under the circumstances, that wasn’t wise. “Uh, no. I was watching tutorials on how to do baby stuff, like bathing and feeding. In case you need more help.”

  “Right. Okay.” She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Pretty soon, you’ll be as good as me with all this.”

  “I doubt that.” Jack set the computer on the coffee table in front of them, then sat back, stretching out his legs. His bad knee gave a twinge. Arthritis had set in after his surgery and didn’t that just make him feel ancient. Jesus. He was only thirty-three, but there were days he felt more like one hundred and three. He looked over at Sam again. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a brittleness about her that he didn’t remember seeing before. “Well, we should probably get some rest. Who knows what we’ll face tomorrow.”

  Sam gave a weary sigh that he felt clear to his bones. “I’m so tired, you know?” she said, her voice so quiet he might have missed it if he hadn’t been paying such close attention. “Tired of being scared. Growing up with a dad like mine—violent, controlling, hair-triggered—I’d thought that was hell enough, and that by going to the authorities and agreeing to testify, I could put a stop to it. Make things better. But they’re so much worse now. I want to be strong for Glory, you know?” Her breath hitched, and her words caught, her lovely eyes filling with tears. “But I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  All his good intentions, all his well-constructed barriers where she was concerned crumbled in the face of Sam’s honesty. Before he could reconsider his actions, Jack reached over and pulled her into his arms, the pillow on her lap falling to the floor as he settled her on his lap, her head buried against his chest and his chin resting atop her head.

  “Shh, sweetheart. Shhh. Don’t cry. Please. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.” He kissed her hair and closed his eyes, praying it would be enough, that he would be enough to keep them safe. He’d been afraid of getting too attached to her, but if the tight squeeze around his heart was any indication, it was already too late. A riptide of emotions swept through him—yearning, lust, protectiveness, need—threatening to pull him under and drowned him. He pulled away slightly, cupping her cheeks and forcing her to meet his gaze. “I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you and Glory safe. Even if it costs me everything. Understand?”

  She nodded, her tears tickling his thumbs. “I trust you.”

  Those words went straight to his heart, warming him from the inside out. “You do?”

  Sam inched closer, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips then back again. “I always have.”

  Then her lips were on his, soft and warm and oh so yielding, and Jack was lost. He’d needed her so badly, from the instant he’d seen her wandering along the side of the road. Even longer, if he was truthful. Honestly, he’d needed her back in his arms since the day they’d left each other on that airstrip in Costa Rica a year prior, even if he’d never admitted it to himself. Having her back in his life now was heaven and hell all rolled into one.

  Heaven because all of this felt so right, so true, so good.

  Hell because it couldn’t last.

  But they had tonight. If they were brave enough to take it.

  Still, Jack needed to know this was what she wanted, that it wasn’t just the situation talking. He pulled back slightly and tipped her chin up to catch her gaze. “Sam. Sweetheart. Tell me what you need? Is this what you want?”

  He lived and died and was born again in those few seconds of silence until finally a small smile ghosted across her lips. “Yes. I want you, Jack. I’ve always wanted you. Please make love to me.”

  If she’d told him right then she loved him, it wouldn’t have had a more profound effect on him.

  Without another word, he laid her back on the sofa and kissed her again, covering her body with his own. Clothes disappeared in a series of tugs and moans and giggles until, at last, they were skin to skin, soul to soul, her legs wrapped around his waist, his face buried between the valley of her breasts, the heat between her legs teasing the tip of his hard cock.

  She arched against him, her tone breathy as she whispered, “Please.”

  “Please what?” Jack growled, licking one of her taut nipples, teasing her, drawing this out into a small, exquisite eternity. “Tell me what y
ou want.”

  “I want you inside me.” Sam dug her nails into his shoulders, the pain a sweet torture. “Now.”

  “I don’t have a condom.” He kissed his way to her other breast, slipping one hand between them to tease her swollen clit.

  “I don’t care.” She pressed harder against his hand, biting her lip. “Please. What’s the worst that can happen? I get pregnant? Oops. Been there, done that.”

  Jack rose up on his elbows, staring down at her through a haze of hormones and driving desire. “Are you sure?”

  “God, yes!”

  And then he slid inside her warm, slick walls and any coherent thoughts left his head. There was only the two of them, only the now, only the feel of her around him and the smell of her shampoo and their mingled arousal. He pulled out almost completely before thrusting back into her to his hilt, loving the tiny moans and gasps that came out of her mouth, loving the feel of her heels digging into his butt, urging him onward. Loving everything about her, really.

  Warning bells went off in the back of his head, but he was too far gone to care at this point.

  All too soon, they were both teetering on the edge of climax. Jack nuzzled the side of her neck, one hand holding hers beside her head, the other supporting his weight and he drove into her harder, faster, deeper. She inhaled sharply and held him tighter.

  “Are you close?” he whispered, his tone jagged.

  “So, so close.”

  He reached between them once more to stroke her folds and she arched against him, crying out as orgasm overtook her. Jack was soon to follow, helpless to resist the gentle convulsions of her body around him. His balls tightened, and his body tensed as his own climax hit hard. Wave after wave of pleasure swept over him, drawing him under, lulling him into blissful oblivion.

  When it was all over and they’d both drifted back down to earth, they laid on the sofa, naked and sated, her fingers lazily sifting through his hair as Jack laid atop her, his head over her heart. Neither of them moved until a tiny squeak issued from the bedroom.

  Sam was the first to move, squirming underneath him as she laughed. “Bottle time.”

  “Nah.” Jack said, easing off of her and grabbing his sleep pants from the floor before slipping them on. “I got it. Time to put all those tutorials I watched to the test.”

  14

  Stefan stared at the TV screen in front of him, the national news replaying clips of his sons, Leo and Lucas, being led down the steps of the federal courthouse, armed guards flanking them. The anger in him notched higher. All of his children had abandoned him now, turned their back on him.

  Turned traitor on him.

  “Your attorney’s here to see you, Engel,” the correctional officer said. “Get up and I’ll walk you to the visitors’ room.”

  With as much dignity as he could muster, Stefan pushed to his feet, his khaki jumpsuit scratching his skin. Thanks to his sons and his upcoming trial, he was now in the custody of the Illinois Department of Corrections, complete with a private cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. His attorney had assured him the situation was only temporary. For his lawyer’s sake, he hoped the man was right.

  As he shuffled along the corridor, the guard’s hand heavy on his arm and the chains from his cuffs rattling, Stefan worked to keep his temper under control. Losing it in here wouldn’t help his case at all. Best to save his rage until he was out again, where it could do the most good.

  His twin sons had each taken a plea deal to lessen their own sentences in exchange for turning over evidence of Stefan’s many money laundering and drug trafficking schemes. Ungrateful little bastards. Stefan had been a good father to them, taught them how to be strong, how to become unimaginably wealthy, how to get whatever they wanted, and how did they repay him? By throwing him to the wolves.

  Stefan’s own father had come to America from Sicily, his father a first-generation immigrant. He’d known how to run a tight ship. He’d beaten the lessons of loyalty and silence into young Stefan and his brothers early. He was the one who had taught Stefan what he’d needed to know to survive in the cutthroat world of the mafia. And rule number one of the mob? Never, ever snitch.

  He shook his head. All of his children were dead to him now.

  Better the twins had lost their lives in service to the family, than to turn state’s evidence against him. Shameful. That’s what it was. An embarrassment. An unforgivable sin.

  And sure, he had one other boy—Nick—but he’d left the family years before and hadn’t said a word to them since. Word had it he was living in California, had a boyfriend too. Turned Stefan’s stomach just to think about it. Not because Nick was gay. He didn’t care who a man slept with. No. It was the fact that he was a coward. Ran away from his family and his responsibilities because he said he couldn’t take the violence. Stefan scoffed.

  Violence was the way of the world. Violence got things accomplished.

  Violence made a statement like nothing else did. Got people’s attention.

  They stopped at the end of the corridor and Stefan was frisked again for the umpteenth time since he’d arrived at this place. What he wouldn’t give for a nice semiautomatic to put a bullet between the guard’s eyes about now. But first, he had an empire to protect.

  Through the bulletproof glass window looking into the visitors’ room, Stefan saw a dark-haired woman sitting in the corner, and for a moment he thought it was his dearly departed wife, Gloria. Monster that he was, he’d loved her at first sight. Met her at the racetrack one day while she was training her ponies and married her six months later. She’d been a good woman, his Glory. Kind, smart, funny. She’d kept him from getting in too deep in the business, kept him sane. She’d given him five sons and one tiny daughter. Their life had been good.

  Then she’d died of cancer and the best part of Stefan had died right along with her.

  Drowning in grief and battling a hostile takeover by a rival family, Stefan had thrown himself into violence with gusto, ordering hits and showing no mercy. Over the years, his heart had slowly shriveled away until he doubted he even had one left. It was fine. Hearts and emotions only made you vulnerable anyway.

  The woman looked up and met his gaze, then glanced away fast.

  Not Gloria. Not that he’d expected it to be. She was an angel in heaven now, he was sure. He ignored the strange pinch in his chest at that thought and waited while the guard futzed with some paperwork on a clipboard.

  In truth, Samantha was the spitting image of her mother. That was the main reason he’d distanced himself from his daughter after her mother had died. Just looking at her was too hard, stirred up too many memories. The fact they had little in common didn’t help either. Sam was a bookworm, always studying, always researching things, while Stefan was a man of action. Why read about something when you could live it and be done with it? Once she’d left for college, Stefan had tucked any feelings he’d had for her deeply away. He’d always known she could be used as a pawn against him, for good or evil, so he’d chosen to keep her away. In the end, she’d betrayed him all on her own. Now he had to choose between her life and his empire. Such an inconvenience.

  At last he was let into the next room and took a seat at the table, across from his attorney.

  Stanley Pyle Jr. was not an attractive man by any means. A bit too tall, a bit too thin, with a nose like a beak and beady little rat eyes. He’d always reminded Stefan of a weasel. Still, the guy was the best mob attorney in the country, now that his father had retired, which made him exactly what Stefan needed at present.

  He waited until the guard walked away to wait by the door then leaned closer to whisper to Pyle, “Did the agent contact you?”

  “Yes. He’s tracked Sam to a cabin in the woods in rural Nebraska and is awaiting orders.”

  “Orders?” Stefan hissed, louder than necessary. He glanced around to make sure no one had heard. The place was busy, and conversations hummed around them as other inmates met with their friends or famil
y or attorneys. No one looked their way, and Stefan exhaled slowly. “Tell that idiot that he already has his orders. To handle the situation, by any means necessary.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pyle scribbled something on the legal pad in front of him, then adjusted his glasses. “Right. Okay. So, with the twins taking a plea deal, our strategy needs to change.”

  “I don’t care what you have to do, get me out of here.” A muscle ticked along Stefan’s tight jaw. At least it was Friday. He wouldn’t have to go back to court until Monday. That would give him and Pyle two days to come up with an alternative plan of attack. The center didn’t allow visitors on Sundays. “And make sure you bring the correct suit on Monday. Appearance is half the battle with the jury. The better I look, the more they’ll like me.”

  He’d been quite the catch in his younger days, with women comparing him to everyone from Sean Connery to Burt Reynolds. Sure, he’d gotten a bit older, but he took care of himself. At least the gym in this place was decent. Stefan worked out whenever he could to help burn off his stress.

  For the next hour, he and Pyle discussed everything from the charges against him—racketeering, murder, extortion, trafficking—to the weather, to the disposal of assets if things should happen to go south. Stefan didn’t enjoy that last part. With the twins taking that plea deal, and hopefully with Sam dead very soon, he didn’t want Nick to get everything he’d worked so hard for. He decided to put it all into offshore accounts if possible. If not, then Pyle was to offload as much as he could and give the rest to the church. Stefan might not be a practicing Catholic, but he’d been raised right.

  Better to give it to God than any of his ungrateful, surviving children.

  Maybe the Pope would give him a sainthood or something.

  Stefan snorted, despite the circumstances.

  “Uh, finally sir. We need to discuss what will happen if your daughter testifies next Friday.” Pyle slid a finger under the collar of his dress shirt. “I know you said—”