The Moroccans jabbered among themselves again. Maksym knew he should have learned Berber, but had wondered at the time if he’d ever need it again. He was hoping for an island in the Caribbean or someplace else warm where he and Helena could retire and explore their passions without interruption.
He’d be as far away from the Middle East or Russia as humanly possible, basking on a sandy beach as white and flawless as the insides of her thighs. He’d be some place that was a tax haven, with more money than he could spend in his lifetime, buying fish and coconuts and occasional beers down by the wharf.
He heard Allah’s name. English was such a much better language to swear in, he thought. He regretted the Moroccans could understand it. It robbed him of the satisfaction of spewing his venom in a way that kept the meaning private, but still making the public display. Nothing better than telling your enemy you despise him while robbing him of the translation. Made it extra sweet. The world was getting to be a smaller place. Harder and harder to do now.
Patience, Maksym, Helena had said many times. He was looking forward to not having to be patient, cordial, nice, or in charge of anything but the way she moaned and pleasured him. How often he could fuck, where he could fuck and with whom, and how often he could just get drunk and lie on the beach. He wondered why, in the bowels of the ship with three smelly Moroccans, he was suddenly filled with lust for the busty and vibrant Helena.
The SEALs darted wary looks at the three dancers as they sauntered down the crew hallway. Maksym rounded the corner toward them, but he was watching the dancers over his shoulder like he was bracing for an explosion. Mark noted how troubled the junior officer looked, in his dark and brooding way. The North Africans were speaking in clipped shouts to each other, flailing their arms about, far from settled. In front of one of the doors, the tall one, the one Mark saw as the leader of the group, stood and spat at the floor in front of the closed door to a cabin. The man arched his chest like a bow as if challenging the metal and plastic door itself.
Mark saw Maksym react, shake his head and rub his chin, absorbed in some dark thought. When Maksym glanced up and their gazes connected, he saw the officer’s dark eyes widen and challenge him. Mark looked away, not because he was afraid, but because he didn’t want Maksym to know he was on to the guy. Something had set off alarm bells in Mark’s gut, and he needed space to consider what it actually was. It all stemmed from what he’d seen. He’d learned to trust his instincts, know when something just wasn’t right.
He wondered why Kyle had given permission for Christy and the other SEAL wives and girlfriends to stray further than Mark thought safe. Surely his LPO could pick up on some of the dangers lurking all around them. Maybe he’d had a private talk with Moshe and had some inside knowledge that left him feeling unconcerned. It would be like Kyle to check things out, do the advance survey of the situation.
Mark pretended not to notice Maksym hadn’t stopped drilling a stare into him. “Kyle, shouldn’t we wait for the ladies?” he finally asked, hoping to get the attention off him. It was his way of telling Kyle he was worried.
“We’re hiring our own bus. I want to make sure his creds check out before I’m letting any of the girls get on it,” Kyle answered. “And Moshe said he’d accompany them.”
“Thought he wasn’t on this tour,” Fredo barked.
“He wasn’t. He’s agreed to accompany us,” Kyle replied.
“So we got the fuckin’ bus all to ourselves, then?” Coop asked.
“Roger that. You do your sweeps, Coop and Fredo,” Kyle added as he nodded to his two trusty gadget guys.
The shiny silver and red bus was in much better condition than the buses the rest of the passengers were herded onto. The driver was an acquaintance of Moshe’s, who came bouncing off the ship with all the ladies in tow, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Mark leaned into Kyle and Cooper. “Somethin’s wrong with that picture, gents.”
Kyle pushed his baseball cap back off his forehead and repositioned his sunglasses. “Way too much fun for him,” he said and grinned.
Coop was frowning.
“She not there?” Kyle had turned to Coop, his voice barely a whisper.
Coop shook his head. He faced his LPO, holding his arms out to the side. “Don’t know why she didn’t text, but guys, I gotta stay back.”
“Sure, you go, Coop. Take care of your woman.”
Cooper jogged past the ladies surrounding a delighted Moshe, tipping his cap to them. He ran up the gangway, but was stopped and asked to go back down and up the other side. Mark was grateful he’d been stopped. He would have run into the Moroccan dancers, who burst from the bowels of the lower deck. Each sported matching new-looking black backpacks and sunglasses. Their small, skinny frames made them look like high school kids on a field trip.
Coop disappeared, ducking inside the ship just as the dancers made it out into the morning sun from the other gangplank. They gingerly swerved around the Israeli and his harem, one of them looking over his shoulder at the girls. The other two squinted at the group of SEALs gathered next to the shiny red bus. Mark could tell Azziz had no intention of getting anywhere near the Team guys, or any of the other passengers. They quietly vanished into the crowd of taxis and small delivery trucks littering the pier.
Kyle wrapped his big arm around Christy, hauled her into him to give her a penetrating kiss, and then practically carried her up the bus stairs. Devon pulled Nick up the steps right behind Christy. The two had been pretty inseparable, since they both worked in real estate and had similar all-out shopping habits. Jones and Jasmine stood close. Mia and Fredo were walking with their arms around each other’s waists.
“Boss, where’s Armando?” Mark asked after he stepped up into the darkened bus.
Kyle gave his movie star smile, complete with the white teeth and dazzling blue eyes. He winked at his wife. “Mark, I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you. You see, when a man and a woman—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Mark was getting irritated. The whole world was in love and could show it. Here he was, in some form of love or lust, and he had to keep it a secret for the good of all.
All is a fuckin’ killjoy. It felt like politics, just like the directives handed down telling them when they could or could not engage, and which sometimes cost good men and women their lives. Because of a decision made by someone who would never see a war zone and didn’t know what it felt like to put his or her life on the line.
But that had always been the way of it for the warriors of the world. Most days he accepted that. He didn’t like what was happening today, though, with innocents being exposed to crossfire.
Even if the crossfire was imaginary.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Twenty-One
Tenerife was quaint. The weather was perfect, with a wide, cloudless sky and views out to sea from the narrow switchback roads to the top of the volcano’s caldera. The air was slightly breezy but temperate, and Mark could see why European settlers had stayed up in the hills, away from the hot, crowded beaches below.
Cobblestoned streets adorned by upper-story windows with flower-laden balconies curled along rows of buildings built hundreds of years ago by Portuguese merchants. Birds chirped in the blooming bougainvillea vines that covered several cathedrals and storefronts. Sailboats looked like toys on the blue water sprinkled with whitecaps.
Mark felt time stood still here. He could easily come back to this place, spend a month in one of those upper rooms with the flowers on the balcony, watch the boats, eat and sleep and make love to Sophia all day long. Scanning the groups of tourists disembarking from busses, he was glad to know some people still got to live that way.
Maybe someday. Maybe when my work is done, when I am no longer on the front lines, maybe there’ll be something like this in my future.
He’d been pushing so hard for so many years, he wasn’t entirely sure it was possible. Just look at this cruise, for instance. He was more ten
se right now than he was sometimes in the killing fields overseas. Of course, the women weren’t there, like they were here. He was aware that violence in a place where you least expect it is even more shocking. It bothered him that he was expecting it and didn’t think anyone else on the Team was.
Kyle was walking hand in hand with Christy.
Nah, he’s got to have the same radar I have.
One of the buses backfired as it headed up the hill after spilling its content of tourists. His group’s immediate reaction was to cover the women because the echo sounded like gunfire. As the men straightened their muscular frames, Mark saw Sophia standing amidst a cluster of adults. After temporarily lowering a yellow sign with the number 5 on it, she extended her arm up and stood straight, like a beacon for the confused tourists who had scattered into the courtyard.
Their eyes met. He felt his delicious attraction to her, the need to protect her, go to her and give comfort and aid. And of course, more, if he was totally honest.
Kyle brought the group into a cooperative artisan studio while Mark headed straight for Sophia. He checked with his LPO before they could disappear through the doorway of the shop, and all he saw was Kyle’s three-finger salute.
Frantic Italian was being spoken all around him, but everything faded as he came upon her, giving her a hug. “You okay?” he asked before he could let her go. She wasn’t squirming, but God, the urge to kiss her was overwhelming.
“Happens all the time. I’ve got the jitters, I guess, just like everyone else,” she said in a whisper back at him. “Thanks.” Then she leaned in close to his ear. “Tonight?”
He nodded. She held up her hands, making five on one hand and three on the other. Eight.
Mark stepped backwards to follow Kyle and the rest of his group, and motioned with one hand and a single digit. Six.
She frowned as her group of tourists charged him, headed for the shop opening as well. She held her hands up again, and shrugged. Eight.
He blew her a kiss and nodded, disappearing inside before her enthusiastic group overran him.
Mark slipped around the corner just inside, behind a display of hanging tablecloths. As Sophia crossed the threshold, he pulled her arm, yanking her into the private space beneath the bright yellow and white, hand-embroidered tablecloths. Amid lace and fresh linen smell, he claimed her lips, holding her tight against his package. He was rewarded with the little whimper he now dreamed about just about every waking second of the day.
“Baby, we gotta get you fired. I can’t handle this,” he said as his hands roamed over her ass, as he felt the delicious juncture between her legs press against the ridge of his erection. Sophia’s sighs and smooth skin were adding fuel to the fire that was ignited because this was something they were not supposed to do, but couldn’t help themselves. She giggled as he quickly reached inside the back of her pants and squeezed the flesh of her butt cheeks.
“Marko, Marko, il mio amore, ho bisogno del tuo tocco così tanto che non lo sopporto.” she whispered.
“Don’t know what you said, sweetheart, but liking that you used that word amore—that one I recognize, at least.”
“Marko, Marko,” she said breathlessly into his mouth, “I am consumed by you.”
“Well that I love, too. You’re best in English, but I’ll take whatever you can dish out, baby.” He hugged her close, kissing the side of her neck, loving the feel of her urgency for him. He usually found himself holding some woman off, usually felt smothered. With Sophia, he wanted it all. Wanted even more. Being wrapped up in white linen and flowers didn’t temper his libido. Her tiny growl like a small bear cub was such a turn-on, he couldn’t focus on anything else.
Until Kyle pulled back the tablecloths and exposed them.
“Gezuz. Fuckin. Christ.” he barked, “Just get a room, would ya?”
Sophia’s eyes widened as she pulled her hand from the front of Mark’s pants and held her own up, since Mark had unbuttoned her top two buttons.
Mark wasn’t sure what to say. He was embarrassed for Sophia. Several of her charges were peering at her above Kyle’s shoulder, with nods of approval.
“Don’t think you two realized you were not nearly as under cover as you thought.” He pointed down to their feet. Mark could see that even though most their bodies were hidden, anyone could have seen them from just below their knees to their tennis shoes. His insides smiled at the thought that he hadn’t noticed something he would have had eagle eyes for in the arena. Her proximity was changing him, and he actually liked it.
“All right, kiddies. Just didn’t want you guys to properly embarrass yourselves. My job is done,” Kyle said, grinning and throwing Sophia his blue charm. He let the tablecloths fall back around them.
“I guess we better wait for 8 o’clock, then, baby?”
“I think so. But I won’t be thinking of anything else but what you’re going to do to me in that little boat at eight.”
“Count on it.”
Mark watched her thread her way through the rows of leather purses, through displays of necklaces and lace shawls. Her little smiles thrilled him. She was sighing as she talked to people, a blush on her cheeks. She’d scan the room, looking for him, and he’d hide, only to pop out when she least expected it. He’d walk in front of her, trying to cut through a line, and brush against her, leaning down to whisper, “Excuse me, darlin’,” in front of her group, who seemed to be enjoying it as much as he was.
He’d not felt this preoccupied by a woman in his entire life. Just being goofy, playing little tricks on her, finding any excuse to get his fingers on a sensitive body part of hers in some totally inappropriate but hidden way, was so much fun he didn’t want to join his group on the bus when Kyle signaled him.
“Remember what Moshe said, Mark.”
“I don’t fuckin’ care,” he said. The rest of their group had mounted the bus steps. “I’m in love with her, man.”
“Sure you are. Who wouldn’t be?” Kyle said.
“Fuck you, Kyle. It isn’t like that.” He was looking for Sophia’s group, since their bus had also arrived.
“Come on, you sick puppy. Maybe I can get some beers into you at lunch and then you’ll wise up.”
Mark frowned. “Like when you met Christy? That kind of wise? You fuckin’ almost forgot to pull your cord one time, I’m told.”
“That’d never happen and you know it,” Kyle said as he patted Mark on the shoulder. “You’re gonna need your strength, so let’s hit the road.”
Mark did as instructed. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he waved to Sophia, just before he saw Roberto come barreling out of a private taxi and head straight for her.
“Wait! Wait!” he called out to the driver, who stopped. He began to run down the aisle, Kyle right after him, trying to restrain him.
“No you don’t. You stay right here.”
“That Brazilian dick just drove up in his taxi. Not leaving her alone with him.”
Kyle shrugged his shoulders, resigned to letting him go. “We’re waiting, then,” but he turned to face a sea of groans. “Okay, I guess we’re not.”
Mark ran toward Sophia. Roberto had hold of her wrist and, just as he had done in the dance demonstration, had twisted it back painfully.
There was only one course of action, and Mark knew it wasn’t smart at all. The Brazilian immediately crouched for the blow he thought he was going to get. At the last minute, Mark landed a kick to the dancer’s knees and watched as he nearly collapsed on the cobblestones. But the guy was like a cat, pushing off with his hands and righting himself, throwing Mark a roundhouse kick that sent him back into a flowerbed.
“Stop it!” Sophia shouted. Several tour bus drivers stood by watching stoically. No way would there be assistance coming from any of those rotund gentlemen. A shopkeeper was on her cell phone. Mark figured she was calling the local police, and he didn’t want anything to do with them.
“You leave her alone,” Mark said as he righted himself.
Roberto had a wild, almost feral look in his dazed eyes. His grin and squint were pure evil. “She’s not yours to abuse and play with. Especially now,” Mark added.
The wide smile he got back would have been sickeningly sweet, if it hadn’t been for the hatred shooting from the dancer’s eyes. “She is not yours.”
Like hell she’s not. I own every cell in her body, and that’s the way she wants it, you cretin.
Mark backed up, trying to look compliant in case the police were just around the corner. He didn’t mind that he looked weak to the emboldened Brazilian, who was still going to come after him. Sore loser didn’t even begin to describe the man. Deranged was closer.
The sound of the two-toned police or emergency vehicle pierced the sunny late morning. Roberto rubbed his palms on his designer jeans and sneered at Mark, who still stood in the flowerbed. Sophia was distraught.
The shopkeeper ran to meet the little blue and white car, and entered into a heated discussion. The two police got out slowly and sauntered over to Roberto, who didn’t appear to notice them, his glare was so focused on Mark.
Although Mark wasn’t sure, it appeared the shopkeeper had told them Mark had come to Sophia’s aid. He decided it was safe to walk over to her, but she met him halfway and flew into his arms.
The signs of a budding love and a third wheel were probably obvious to the police, who took Roberto away in the car without handcuffing him. The diabolical laser look he shot from the rear window as he was being driven off would have been exciting, if it didn’t mean more problems for them all aboard the cruise ship.
“What was he so pissed off about?” Mark asked her.
“I was supposed to help him this afternoon. But the tour won’t get back in time. I left him a message, because I knew he wouldn’t let me go.”
“He can’t do that, baby. He doesn’t own you.”
She wept into his chest. “He scares me, Mark. He really scares me now.”
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but maybe it’s about time you called your fiancé and told him what is going on.”
Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors Page 74
