SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle

by S. M. Butler

  She certainly was cute as hell when she let loose and fell asleep. She’d twisted her blond hair up in some kind of tall coil and secured the mess with what looked like a rubber band and two pencils. He wondered if she even knew they were there. She wore denim shorts and a pink tank top. Deelie definitely liked her pink. She’d thrown on a thigh-length kimono made out of white lace. He could see her skin through the fabric and, yeah, it drove him crazy. It was the kind of thing a woman wore in the bedroom if he was lucky. Very lucky. He’d like to see her naked and in just the kimono.

  And those shoes… fuck if he wasn’t going to get hard from now on whenever he saw polka dots.

  When he pulled into the entrance of the campground and flashed his fire credentials at the ranger checkpoint, Deelie stirred sleepily. “Are we here?”

  “Almost,” he said gruffly.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then she proceeded to take down her hair and reconstruct a new tower. And… just like that, he was hard again. Apparently, everything about Deelie gave him an erection.

  “You may not like what we find,” he warned as he started down the side road leading to her illegal campsite.

  “Story of my life,” she said lightly, but he couldn’t help but notice that she looked worried. The burn wasn’t too bad near the checkpoint, but the further they drove, the more damage he saw.

  His heart sank when he pulled up to Deelie’s campsite. It was every bit as bad as he’d feared. The fire had turned the bottom two-thirds of the tree trunks black, stripping off the leaves and leaving behind black char. A few patches of red paint peeked through the charred sides of her car, but the glass was gone and the inside looked like a barbecue pit. The air stank of smoke.

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice, already pulling open the door and hopping down. Fuck. He threw the truck into park and went after her. Her pretty shoes weren’t made for this, and it wasn’t like there was anything to salvage here. She stopped next to the wreck of her car, wrapping her arms around her middle. Instinctively, he pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into him.

  “Sorry, baby,” he said against her hair. He should have come out here and done a precheck. Should have spelled out the possibilities or done something.

  “It wouldn’t start.”

  “At least you weren’t in it,” he pointed out, and she sniffed. Wrong thing to say, asshole.

  “What kind of insurance did you have on it?” Maybe she’d insured the damned thing like it was a Lamborghini and the carnage was actually a bonus.

  She gave him The Look. “Basic collision.”

  Yeah. She’d get about a dollar and some change from her insurance company on that policy. Her only collision had been with a wall of flames, and he didn’t think her insurance company would buy that. Needing to do something constructive, he pulled out his phone and took some pictures.

  “File a claim anyhow. See what they say. The campground should have some kind of insurance too.”

  Of course, her illegal choice of a campsite wouldn’t help, plus he was fairly certain that forest fires fell in the “act of God” category, but there was always the chance that someone would pony up.

  She started poking through the ashes, clearly determined to salvage something. He fetched work gloves from his truck and then came over to help her sift through the stuff. An hour later, she sat back with a groan. They’d found precisely zero possessions still intact. He was just grateful that he wasn’t pulling her body out of the mess.

  She sighed, surveying the burnt-out wreck. “My butt’s going to be a whole lot smaller once I’m walking everywhere.”

  He gave her points for trying to be optimistic, although there was no missing the note of sadness in her voice. She had to be worried about money if she’d been camping in her car to save a few bucks, but she didn’t need to worry now. She had him.

  “We’ll get you set up with a new car.” At the thought of her worrying, his gut clenched. She shouldn’t be walking home alone after a shift at Ma’s. Strong was about as safe as a place could get, but bad shit happened everywhere and they were right on the highway. All sorts of people passed through, and he couldn’t give her a ride home every night.

  She clapped her hands together. “We must have passed a money tree on our way into the campground! You pull over on our way back, and I’ll load up. Problem solved.”

  Apparently, a bank loan wasn’t an option. An underemployed cocktail waitress probably didn’t cut it. That was okay. He had enough for both of them.

  “Money’s just money. If I’ve got it and you don’t, I can fix that. In the meantime, we can share the truck.”

  “I’m not taking your money. Or your keys.” The way she looked at him, you’d think he’d just offered to roast her puppy or pay for sex.

  “There aren’t any strings,” he said gruffly. Why was he the bad guy here? He was just trying to do something nice for her.

  Without looking at him, she stood up and headed toward the truck. “I was living in that car.”

  And he’d picked her up at Laura Jo’s last night, so clearly she didn’t have the cash to just go and rent a place.

  “You’ll stay with me.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could think them through, but they felt right. Really, they’d known each other for years, since high school, and life as a SEAL had taught him the importance of seizing the moment. Sometimes tomorrow didn’t come, so a smart man made the most of today.

  “Hello. How about ask instead of tell?” Clearly, Deelie didn’t share his carpe diem sentiment. Damn it. The woman had a stubborn streak a mile wide.

  He stalked toward her. “Please move in with me.”

  She looked at him. “No.”

  Hell. He paused. “I don’t even merit a no, thank you?”

  She shrugged and leaned against the truck. “I don’t need rescuing.”

  They seemed to be focusing way too much on what she didn’t need when he’d rather be talking about what she did need. He’d been kind of hoping he topped that list, hence her wild-monkey-sex request.

  He shook his head. “Your problem is that you don’t want rescuing. You think everybody who comes into your life is already on his way out. You don’t give them a chance to stay.”

  Deelie snorted. “If we’re listing character flaws, let’s talk about how you think you’re Mr. Fix It. You’ve got everything planned to a T. I’ll bet you were that guy standing in the back of the plane yelling Go, go, go as the soldiers bail out with their parachutes.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a plan.” He’d loved the discipline and structure of military life. And, okay, so he was kind of an old sobersides, and the fire team routinely called him Gramps.

  She shrugged again, whistling for Vicious, who promptly jumped in and curled up on the floor.

  “Do you even know how to have fun?” she asked pointedly.

  Absolutely. He racked his brain trying to think of an example to give her. In the past week, he’d worked four double shifts, run thirty miles, and… gone to the bar. “I went to Ma’s.”

  “To pick up your keys.”

  “I’m not the kind of guy who dances.”

  “And yet you danced last night with me,” she pointed out. “Badly, but it counted. Makes a gal wonder.”

  “I told you I don’t dance.” Although if it turned out to be a deal breaker, he’d learn.

  She smiled again, like she was lost in her own head. “I thought you meant you didn’t like to—not that you flat-out couldn’t.”

  He caged her against his truck, his hands on either side of her head. “Are you questioning my dance moves?”

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Insulting her ride out of the woods probably wasn’t Deelie’s wisest move. A prudent carless person would shut up and smile sweetly now. Maybe toss in a little admiration for his buff forearms and incredible patience as she sifted through what was left of her car (not muc
h). Unfortunately, she’d always lived dangerously, so keeping her mouth shut wasn’t happening.

  “I’m laughing at your dance moves,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

  “That’s even less nice.” He shifted closer, which shouldn’t have been possible. His jeans rubbed against her bare legs. She should have worn more clothes. Or fewer. Yeah. Fewer. Getting naked sounded like her best idea ever.

  She tilted her head back. Luke being nice and supportive was kind of strange and had to come with strings attached, but the sexy pressure against her legs—and higher, oh yeah—that was familiar territory. She loved the closeness, the way it felt like her body melted into his and her only anchor to reality was eight inches of hot, hard penis. He nipped her mouth with his.

  “No woolgathering,” he said. “You’ll give me a complex.”

  “Are we still working on the date portion of today, or have we moved on to the next item on the agenda?” Her car was a total loss, but her sex life didn’t have to be.

  His eyes darkened. “Hot monkey sex?”

  “Only if you promise to be really good.” She could feel her mouth curving up into a smile. She seemed to do a lot of smiling around Luke. “Or really, really bad. I’m flexible.”

  “God, I hope so,” he groaned.

  He scooped her up, opened the door, and dropped her onto the seat. While she gaped—because, darn it, hands-off hadn’t been what she’d been going for—he moved rapidly around the truck. Sex was so much better than worrying about her lack of a car. Or her lack of a paycheck, home, or meaningful personal life. Luke Dawson should be good for at least an hour of hot, sweaty, toe-curling oblivion.

  Except that he slid behind the wheel, and instead of dragging her onto his lap and finishing their kiss, he turned the key in the ignition and backed the truck out of the clearing. Maybe he needed a map. Or directions.

  She turned and looked at him. “You do understand how sex works, right?”

  He grinned but kept his eyes on the road. “We can play show and tell in about ten minutes.”

  Oh. She thought about that for a moment. “Change in venue?”

  “You really want to do it in the front seat of my truck in a burned-out patch of woods?”

  “I’m not romantic.” She shrugged. “I’m not holding out for an overwater bungalow in Bora Bora. Plus your truck has a bed. There’s more room there than here.”

  She patted the seat beside her.

  “I’m suddenly understanding your reputation,” he said, and a pang of hurt shot through her. If he’d been hoping for a vestal virgin, he had the wrong woman in his truck. She’d be lots more fun though.

  “The guys on the team said you run through men like crazy.”

  “This is not a good way to get laid,” she said, interrupting him. “Slut shaming went out in the nineties.”

  He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you terrified them and they ran.”

  The man was blunter than a pickax. “You don’t date much, do you?”

  “I’m pretty much a dating virgin,” he said cheerfully, turning the truck down an unfamiliar road. She was pretty certain that the highway and Strong were in the opposite direction. “Think of the next two weeks as a public service.”

  “I was thinking of it more as doggie obedience school.” She patted him on the thigh. “But you can call it whatever you want.”

  “The guys you’ve slept with are damned lucky,” he said roughly. “At least, that’s what I think. I’m planning on finding out for myself.”

  She was totally on board with that plan. She probably should have had more pride though. Or been less damned lonely.

  “I don’t care about who’s been first. I care about who’s last. And best.” He grinned. “I plan on being your best. Fair warning.”

  While she stared at him, speechless, he pulled the truck off beside a river. The spot was pretty, showing no signs of the recent fire. It was also private. The river was partially dammed up here, spilling over the rocks in a foamy cascade to form a deeper pool. If she’d known this place was here, she’d have come out every weekend. It was the perfect place to go swimming—and to do other, sexier things.

  While she admired the scenery—slowpoke—Luke got out, pulling his shirt over his head.

  “Hello.” She put her feet up on the dashboard. Might as well be comfortable while she enjoyed the view. “You didn’t tell me that there would be entertainment.”

  He laid the shirt over the side of his truck. Vicious started yapping, clearly onboard with the whole plan, so she let the dog out so it could run around and pee on trees. She, on the other hand, had a man to ogle.

  Luke bent over and unlaced his boots, toeing them off. White socks shouldn’t be so sexy. It just wasn’t fair.

  He looked up. “You’re slacking.”

  “Excuse me?” Because she hadn’t been planning on fingering herself and taking care of all the foreplay on her own. That was his job. It really was.

  He made an up-and-down motion with his fingers. “Get undressed.”

  Apparently, Luke thought sex was a self-serve operation, more like a cafeteria-style buffet with plastic trays than fine dining at a five-star restaurant. Maybe he’d be worth it. She could give him one short. She pulled her tank top over her head, dropping it on Luke’s empty seat.

  Fortunately, today’s bra was a really good one, blue-and-white checked with a little bow between her boobs and enough padding to put her in Dolly Parton territory. When she moved her hands to the button of her shorts, she felt kind of like she’d time traveled back to high school. That wasn’t so bad, but she also didn’t look like she was still seventeen. Or, hell, eighteen, twenty, or even twenty-eight. Gravity and Cheetos were a bitch.

  Sex in the front seat of a truck was doable, but it wasn’t ideal. Maybe he’d be up for moving to the back where there would be more room. Luke wasn’t a small guy. They’d be banging elbows and knees on the dashboard. When she leaned out the window to holler at him with the suggestion, he was rummaging in the silver toolbox. Holy. Wow. What did he need in there?

  While her mind went to a dozen different kinky places, he pulled out a perfectly boring blanket and a couple of towels. Then he strolled toward the river and dropped the towels on a handy branch. Even better, he bent over and arranged the blanket—hello, fine butt—before he finished unbuttoning his jeans. She definitely wouldn’t mind watching him clean a house naked.

  “You coming in?”

  Swimming.

  He wanted to go swimming? Disappointment trickled through her, followed by something else. She wasn’t sure what that something else was. Date nights—or afternoons—were pretty straightforward. Go to the bar, have a couple of drinks, go back to his place and screw. Afterward, she’d get up and leave. Leave it to Luke to be complicated. The man seemed determined to make sure she didn’t get laid anytime fast.

  Luke wasn’t waiting around though. He shoved his pants and his boxer briefs down his thighs and strolled toward the water. God. He was even more gorgeous than he’d been in high school. He’d bulked up some, adding muscle to his lean form. He also had the most amazingly tight ass and powerful legs that ate up the ground. He was a tasty golden brown all over, except for the slightly paler skin of his butt. Either he swam naked a lot or he sunbathed in the nude. She was making a mental note to ask him which one when he turned around by the water’s edge and gave her the money shot. His penis was every inch as spectacular as it had been twelve years ago, thank God.

  Getting out of the truck, she padded over to the blanket in just her bra and shorts. “You sure you want to waste that on the river?”

  She pointed a finger at his dick. The man had an impressive hard-on, and California river water was notoriously cold.

  He smiled slowly. “You can still have your way with me in the water.”

  Oookay. Before she could extort a promise from him, he dove in. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine him as a SEAL. He cut through the surface in a sleek, fast
line and disappeared.

  After a minute, she started to worry when he didn’t pop up for air. Damn it. He’d been a SEAL. That made him a Navy boy and pretty much guaranteed he was a world-class swimmer. He couldn’t drown in a river. Could he? Just in case, she shucked her shorts. The rest of it—her bra and her panties—could stay on. She was vain enough to want both the extra lift and the fancy packaging. Not that Luke would appreciate it if he was drowning. Shoot.

  He was fine. He had to be, right? Guys like him always were. But just in case… yeah, she had no idea what she’d do. He’d rescued her once, so this was just kind of an evening of the scales. No big deal. The right thing to do, even if she usually chose to do the wrong thing.

  Jump first, ask questions later.

  The river water was icy cold, the bottom dropping away in a matter of feet.

  “Luke?” She’d lost all feeling in her feet, thank God, because she hated slimy river bottoms.

  Strong arms wrapped around her middle, scooping her up and against a muscled chest as Luke erupted from the water. She glared up at him, torn between wanting to drown him for real and pulling him close.

  See? Her inner good girl chortled. Everything’s fine. Back to our regularly scheduled programming. She twisted her fingers in his dog tags and yanked his head down.

  “Let’s not play drowning games, okay?”

  He looked momentarily confused. “Sorry, honey.”

  He actually seemed sorry. Of course, she’d one-night-dated plenty of guys who’d also parroted “Sorry, honey” in one form or another—usually as they walked out the door on her.

  “Fuck.” He tightened his grip. “Okay. Oversight on my part. What do you know about BUD/S and drown-proofing?”

  Apparently nothing. “Keep explaining.”

  “You go in the pool with your feet tied together and your hands behind your back. As soon as you hit the bottom, you kick for the surface. Then you go back down and do the whole thing again. You don’t worry about drowning after that. I can hold my breath for over two minutes.”

  “So the one of us who is a super stud at holding his breath should notify the other party that he’s perfectly happy hanging out on the bottom of the river for obscene amounts of time.”