Navy SEAL Seduction

by Bonnie Vanak

  They took him into custody. And as they led him in handcuffs to the police car, Jean looked straight at Lacey and screamed he was innocent.

  She didn’t care anymore. All the fight had drained out of her.

  Soon as the police left, Lacey collapsed onto the sofa. The cops had questioned everyone on the compound and took photographs. The coroner had discreetly carried away Caroline’s dead body in the hearse. A woman had died, perhaps not in her compound, but now her charity would have the pall of the murder hovering over it. A young woman, killed in the prime of her life. And for what?

  The police promised to investigate, but she knew how the system worked in this tiny island nation. And other than Jean as a suspect, they had nothing much to go on but rumors. The mysterious Mr. Big Shot, whom locals claimed had charmed Caroline, was a phantom. No one knew where he lived or what he did; indeed, no one even knew if the man existed, for he’d never shown his face in town.

  He could have been a myth and Caroline could have been killed by someone else, for cutting out hearts to use in black magic hoodoo rituals was a practice started by a former president of the island, one cop had informed Lacey. President Gerard “Petit Homme” Fournier was a cruel dictator who made his enemies disappear and cut out their hearts, using them for black magic ceremonies to weave terror through the populace and those who opposed his regime. Fortunately, Petit Homme had been overthrown more than three decades ago, but the practice still lingered in the country.

  She wondered if she should have moved to the city. It seemed safer there, even with the protests and burning tires and random gunfire.

  She had worked hard to provide a good living for those under her care, and now her compound had become a crime scene. The man she’d hired because he needed a job had betrayed her. All for money.

  What if Fleur had seen the body? Would she regress back into the same fugue state she’d been in when Lacey rescued her from the orphanage? Lacey wrapped her arms around herself.

  The front door opened and closed. Jarrett came into the living room, his hair tousled, his expression grim. He sat beside her. Saying nothing, he pulled her into his arms.

  It felt so good to have him hold her, push back the darkness surrounding her thoughts. He was steady as a rock, an anchor in a turbulent sea. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she buried her face against his rock-hard shoulder.

  “The women in the compound are locking their doors for the first time since they moved into their new homes,” she mumbled against him. “They’re terrified and I don’t blame them. Everything I’ve worked for is crumbling to pieces, Jarrett. But that doesn’t matter as much as one thing...that poor girl’s death.”

  Sitting up, she took a deep breath and looked into his solemn face. “When I think about Fleur seeing what happened, and what it could have done to her...and how she could have regressed back to being a terrified little girl sitting next to her mother’s body...I think about packing everything and giving up. Turn my back on everything and let the grass take over this damn compound. Turn it back into the abandoned farm it once was. Let them win, whoever is doing this.”

  He pushed a lock of hair gently from her face. “You’re a fighter and you can’t quit now.”

  Lacey sat up straighter, stunned. “You’re the one who wanted me to leave.”

  “I still do. I want you the hell out of here, and Fleur, for your own safety. Find someone else to take charge and run operations. But I don’t want you to shut this place down. I saw the faces of those women you’re helping. You have done so much already to help them find their own place in the world. They need this NGO. They need what you have accomplished here.”

  His grip around her tightened. “And I’ll be damned if I let them win. We’ll find out who is trying to drive you away.”

  “How? The police think Jean did it.”

  “Do you?”

  Jean couldn’t have done that. She’d seen the fear in his eyes when he looked at the dead girl. And though he did have a problem with gambling, and was desperate, she instinctively knew the man wasn’t capable of that kind of evil.

  “No. The real killer is connected to whoever wants me gone. This is bigger than locals resenting me because I’m a wealthy American who is empowering women. There’s some other reason they want me out of here. But I don’t know who or why.”

  She had never felt this sense of helpless anger and hopelessness. Not after she’d lost the baby and their marriage broke up, not even when she’d spent days trying to track down Fleur, going from orphanage to orphanage after the police had removed her from the crime scene. Somehow she’d always managed to pick up the pieces, forge ahead and keep a determined sense of purpose.

  Not now. Her purpose had been sabotaged.

  Jarrett glanced at the china clock on the living room table. “It’s barely past 2300. Why don’t you call Helen and see how Fleur is doing? It will make you feel better.”

  Lacey removed her cell phone from her jeans pocket. She started to dial then stopped. “This afternoon, after you’d told me about Jean, I spent a little time in the gardening shed. I wanted to check out the red paint and see if it was the paint someone had donated.”

  She flipped through the photos on her phone and showed him the labels on the paint buckets. “And it wasn’t. The donated paint was from an overseas company. This paint had labels from a local store. Damn it! I wanted to tell the police and forgot.”

  Jarrett went still. “Where did it come from?”

  “Either Jean bought it or someone smuggled it into the shed. I want to check out the store tomorrow. Maybe the clerk will remember who bought it or have a record. I’m glad I have these photos because the cops took the paint as evidence.”

  “Good. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

  “We?”

  “You’re not going alone,” he said quietly.

  His determination came as a relief. “All right.”

  Lacey went outside and called Helen, who told her Fleur was in bed, sleeping in Sally’s room. The girls had played a game of LEGOs with Gene, who slept in the guest bedroom near theirs. He wasn’t leaving Fleur’s side.

  When she hung up, she felt grateful for friends like Gene. Her father might be paying him for this assignment, but the man had gone above and beyond duty.

  When she returned to the living room, Jarrett was cleaning a weapon. Her heart thudded against her chest.

  “That’s a machine gun,” she said, sitting next to him.

  “Submachine gun. Ace brought it over earlier.” He set the gun down on the cocktail table. It lay there like a gleaming, lethal black snake, waiting to strike. “I needed reinforcements other than my service pistol. Don’t worry. I won’t let this baby anywhere near Fleur and I keep my weapons bag locked. But I’ll be damned if anyone tries to hurt anyone in this household.”

  She tried to smile but failed. “I wish you had been around when Caroline was here. Maybe you could have convinced her to work harder so I didn’t have to fire her. And then she...”

  Words failed her. Lacey wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the terrible image of the dead woman.

  “Hey,” he said gently. Jarrett pulled her against his chest and began stroking her hair. “It’s going to be okay, Lace. You did your best for her. You couldn’t force her to stay here. It was her choice.”

  It felt so good to be held, to know he was there. She’d remained strong for a long time, but seeing Caroline’s body had unglued her. For once she wished she didn’t have so many people relying upon her and could run away.

  Jarrett pulled away and studied her. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some shut-eye? I’ll be there shortly.”

  Lacey trudged up the stairs and into her bedroom. She couldn’t sleep. Maybe a shower would help. But the warm water failed to erase the image of Caroline. Lacey dried off and pulled on a soft cotton sleep shirt and curled into her bed. A tide of cool air drifted through the open windows, along with a
chorus of cicadas in the nearby trees.

  Heavy footsteps alerted her to Jarrett’s presence. She sat up in bed, hugging her knees as the silhouette of his big body filled the frame of her doorway.

  “You okay, Lace?” His voice was deep and concerned.

  “No.” She swallowed hard, knowing the consequences of her next words. “I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me.”

  Maybe this was a bad idea because she didn’t want to reunite with Jarrett. He’d broken her heart once before. But he had never mistreated her, and his strong protective streak proved a balm to her weary spirit right now. Jarrett was one of the good guys—honorable and noble, who would never beat a woman or kill her, listening to her screams of pain and fear...

  “Lace.” He did not move, but his voice deepened. “You sure about this, sweetheart? Because I’m dying here.”

  Lifting the corner of the sheet, she moved over. “Stay with me, Jarrett. Make the nightmares go away.”

  Moving silent as a wraith across the floor, he stopped before the bed and tugged his shirt over his head in a one-handed move. The rasp of a zipper sliding down echoed in the room. When he’d fully undressed, he slid into bed with her.

  Jarrett’s palm was warm as he cupped her face, searching her eyes in the dim light. She rested her cheek against his hand, feeling the heat of his body erase the deep chill seizing her bones. Beard stubble covered his cheeks. He looked a little wild and dangerous, but his gaze filled with tenderness.

  “You sure about this?” he repeated.

  A hint of vulnerability shaded his tone. She sensed the wired tension in him, not from the night’s events, but a deeper, more frenzied sexual need. It had happened when he’d come home from a deployment, all cranked up and craving release.

  “Absolutely.” Lacey curled her fingers around his wrist. “I’m scared, Jarrett. Scared that when I close my eyes, all I’ll see is Caroline and...”

  “Don’t think of her,” he said roughly. “Don’t think at all. Just feel.”

  He kissed her, a gentle, almost sweet kiss. Lacey shut her eyes, concentrating on the sensation of his warm, firm lips feathering over hers, the commanding way he held her, the slight sigh of her own breath as he deepened the kiss and slid his tongue inside.

  Beneath the passionate lover had been a considerate man hiding beneath a protective layer of warrior. Jarrett was strong, fiercely loyal, courageous and would fall on his sword before harming her. She missed this, the intensity of passion, and the pleasure.

  “I’ll try to take it slow. But around you, I’m always going to lose control.” His deep whisper sent a delightful shiver coursing down her spine.

  He left her mouth, trailed a line of soft, warm kisses down her neck, making her shiver. Her body hummed instinctively to the sultry call of his demand.

  A small moan escaped her as he kissed the underside of her ear. Lacey clasped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin. She explored the length of his body, dropping a hand between them to his groin. The rigid length of his arousal met her palm. She stroked, enthralled by his desire.

  A low growl reverberated through his deep chest. Lacey leaned closer. Fisting a hand through her hair, he crushed his mouth against hers. It was no gentle, teasing kiss, but a man staking his possessive claim. His tongue boldly thrust past her lips, tasting her, exploring the wet cavern of her mouth. Moaning, she writhed, needing more.

  He kept at it, exquisite sensual torture, the tension simmering just below the surface. As if his life depended on her.

  He nipped her bottom lip then licked it in a lingering caress. She opened her eyes, startled at his hot, intent look. Jarrett gazed at her as if she was the most precious thing on earth. As if nothing else mattered, not his being a SEAL. Only her. The sheer tender longing stirred something deep inside her she thought had died the day the divorce papers were signed. No man since their divorce had ever made her feel like this. She needed this.

  They were a man and a woman, with this burning need between them.

  Very gently, she kissed the inked tattoo, tracing the pattern with her tongue. Muscles quivered beneath her touch, then he shuddered as she lapped his skin, tasting the salt.

  Heat smoldered in his gaze as he turned. Never had anyone looked at her with such fire, such stark craving.

  Lacey pulled off her sleep shirt. Her body tingled with arousal, hungering for the contact between them. She was naked, shivering as the cool mountain air blew in through the open window, caressing her breasts.

  Beneath the warmth of his gaze tremendous heat suffused her. Lacey arched as Jarrett thumbed her cresting nipples. When he bent his head and took one into his mouth, she clung to him, dizzy with need, her core growing wet and throbbing. He swirled his tongue over the taut peak, then suckled her. She was growing hotter now, a fire stoking inside her as the sweet tension braced her body.

  As he kept kissing her breasts, she whimpered, her hips rising and falling off the bed.

  “You like this, sweetheart?” he whispered.

  “Don’t stop.”

  Jarrett kissed her deeply, his hand drifting over her belly, down to her feminine curls. She made a startled sound, which he soothed with his kisses, as he slid a finger across her wet cleft.

  Lacey held on to him as he began playing with her. Slowly he began to pleasure her. He wanted to absorb her, brand her with his mark of passion. She burned the memory of the erotic bliss into her brain.

  Because this wasn’t destined to last and she wanted this memory to last a long time.

  It was consuming, setting her on fire, every inch of her body crying out for something more. Lacey strained toward him as he teased and stroked, his hands sure and skillful. The ache between her legs intensified and she pumped her hips. Every stroke and whorl sucked air from her lungs until she gasped for breath, ready to burst out of her skin. Tension heightened, spiraling her upward. And then the feeling between her legs exploded. Lacey screamed, crying out his name.

  Her eyes fluttered as she fell back to the bed, spent and dazed.

  Finally, her breathing eased and she lifted her head. A hint of untamed danger lurked in his eyes.

  Then he gave a dangerous smile and pushed her thighs wide open. She felt him kiss the inside of her thigh, then he blew a breath on her hot skin. Jarrett opened her legs wider.

  He stared at the wet, pink flesh of her center. “You’re so beautiful, Lace.”

  Then he put his mouth on her.

  The first touch of his warm tongue made her jerk backward in delighted shock. He slid his tongue between her folds in slow, steady strokes. Stubble on his cheeks slightly abraded her inner thighs. She smelled the hot musk of sex, his aftershave and the night-blooming jasmine drifting in through the open windows.

  Lacey cried out, her hands fisted in the sheets, feeling the excitement gathering, the crescendo of sweet tension ready to shatter her once more.

  When she screamed his name, he stayed with her until the shudders ceased. Then he looked up with a small smile, wiping his mouth.

  “Don’t move, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  Move? Her leaden limbs still trembled from the pleasure he’d delivered. Lacey turned her head and watched him get out of bed, muscles on his ass moving fluidly as he went into his bedroom.

  He returned and dropped a few foil packets on the nightstand then ripped one open. Jarrett rolled the condom onto his erection and then joined her.

  His heavy weight covered her, pinning her to the bed. Silky hair from his thighs sensually rubbed against her legs as he lay between them. This was the moment, then, when she shed all her cares and thoughts and joined with him.

  Needing this closeness, wanting to share herself with him.

  Jarrett laced his fingers through hers, his gaze fierce and glittering. Slowly he pushed into her. She wriggled, trying to find ease as he penetrated.

  He dropped tiny kisses over her face, soothed her with a whisper. Then he thrust forward again. Slight pain accompanied the od
d fullness. It had been a long time since she’d had sex and she’d forgotten how big he was.

  He stayed still, watching her. A drop of sweat rolled off his forehead, splashed upon her like a tear. Lacey became aware of just how much control he exerted, how much this meant to him.

  He pulled back and began to stroke inside her. His muscles contracted as he thrust, powerful shoulders flexing and back arching. This was Jarrett, who would lay down his life for her.

  The delicious friction was wonderful, the closeness of his body to hers, his tangy scent filling her nostrils. She pumped her hips as he taught her the rhythm, feeling the silky slide of the hair on his legs. He began to move faster, his gaze holding hers as he claimed her with every thrust into her body, with each soft word of reassurance he murmured.

  She could fall in love with him all over again. Emotions crowded her chest as she stroked his back. It felt as if he locked her spirit in his, a closeness she’d never experienced. She focused on his expression, the intent pleasure on his face, the intimacy threatening to shatter her even more.

  His thrusts became more urgent. Close, so close...she writhed and reached for it, the tension growing until she felt ready to explode.

  Screaming his name, she came again, squeezing him tightly as she arched nearly off the bed. Above her Jarrett grunted and then threw his head back with a hoarse shout. Collapsing atop her, he pillowed his head next to hers.

  For a few minutes they lay tangled together, the sheets damp with perspiration, the cool night air sweeping over their bodies. Then he rolled off and held her close, as if fearing to let go.

  Jarrett curled his big body next to her slender one, and draped a muscled arm about her waist to anchor her to him. She snuggled against him with a tiny sigh. For a few minutes they remained like that, as Jarrett caressed her damp hair. His deep chest rose and fell with his breaths as she pillowed her head on his muscled shoulder.

  “I miss this. Holding you like this,” he said quietly.

  “You always were a great cuddler,” she teased.

  But he did not smile. He stared at the ceiling, his gaze distant. “It burned into my memory. Every time I went on an op, I thought of you and the times we’d shared. Yeah, the sex, but this, too. Watching you fall asleep and knowing you were safe in our house. That fueled my purpose when I fought. I was fighting for my country, but also to protect you and any kids we would have. It made it more personal and helped on those nights when I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.”