The Found Warrior: Navy SEAL Romances

by Hart, Taylor

  Her pulse raced. She was just as confused as he was right now. “I know what you mean.”

  Neither of them spoke. Breaking the moment, she turned to see how far they had gone. “This cab ride is going to cost you a fortune. You know we could have just gotten an Uber.”

  He grunted. “Trackable.”

  “What?”

  He was scoping out the sidewalk. “Too many people know where you’re going when you take Uber. I’ve tracked people that way before.”

  “You track people?”

  “Everyone tracks people,” he said bluntly.

  This was a lot to absorb. Sure, her father had been a United States Senator for the last two years. When she was with him, there was security, but she’d never thought too much about it. Never felt unsafe. Definitely never thought about people tracking her off of her Uber app. “Are people tracking you?” she asked.

  “People are always tracking me.” He held up his watch. “Good thing I got my guys always tracking me too. Not officially, but we can’t help but track each other. It just becomes how we do things.”

  His life mystified her. She found herself wanting to ask him a million questions.

  The cab slowed. “Here we are,” Blaine said, holding out some cash for the driver. He opened his door and got out, then waited for her hand.

  Once again, she wasn’t sure if she felt like a lady or a valuable care package he was delivering.

  He took her hand and pulled her with him through the crowds of tourists. He went at a speed she wasn’t used to, and she had to rush to keep up.

  As they walked into Grand Central Station, he didn’t seem to pause for long, deciding quickly to go to customer service. They waited in a line. Then he pulled out the key and showed the lady, inquiring whether it was theirs or not.

  The lady inspected it and shook her head. “I don’t recognize it. But we have some old lockers. I honestly don’t know what it belongs to.”

  Blaine took the key back and said, “Thanks.” He kept Elena’s hand, and they rushed through the bus station, looking at all the lockers. He tried to jam his key in all the different keyholes.

  “Do you think it goes to something here?” Elena asked.

  Blaine kept his eyes on his task, grunting. “My dad was a jerk, to put it in lady speak, but the guy took pride in always talking about never trusting the surface, what’s in front of you. You always have to dig deeper.” He shoved the key into a lock, but it didn’t work. He moved on.

  She went breathlessly at his side, thinking how different this man was from anyone that she’d ever met up close and personal before.

  For the next she didn’t know how long, she followed him from locker to locker as he tried almost all of them. Finally, he turned to her. “I don’t know if it’s here or not.” All the gusto that had previously been on his face was gone, and the man from last night appeared. The man who had shakily held the key out to her was back.

  So she did what she’d done last night. She reached for him. “Let’s go back to my place.”

  The look on his face smoothed out, and he squinted, unsure. “I should go square my father’s things.”

  Elena checked her phone. “It’s almost seven o’clock—nothing to be done today.”

  He stared into her eyes, playing with her fingers. “Would Hercules go with you?”

  She flashed him a smile, and her heart hiccupped. “I thought we established you’re not Hercules. You’re Romeo.” She pulled on his hand as she moved toward the entrance. Pulling up her phone, she pressed the Uber app. “And Romeo would come with me.”

  He let out a light laugh. “Is that what you want?”

  Their eyes met. “I think so.”

  “It’s okay.” He put up his hand for a cab. “I’ll come if we can just take a cab.”

  Frustrated, she relented. “Okay.”

  They got into the cab, and he kept her hand, but he was quiet on the way back to her place. She found that when he was quiet, he seemed absent. He stared out the window, a blank look on his face. She was struck again by the stark contrast to the man who had shared pancakes with her last night. Or the one who had read Shakespeare to her this morning.

  “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

  His hand clenched into a fist. “Leave it to my father to make it all a bit more complicated just to tick me off.”

  She sensed there were more than just regular problems with his father. “Hey, I get not liking your father.”

  He relaxed. “Yeah, maybe you do.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t talk about it.”

  Accepting this, she nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She met his gaze and couldn’t help but reach out and touch his face again.

  He held her eyes, but he didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I can’t stop doing that.”

  “No.” He covered her hand with his own, pulling it back to his face. “I like it.”

  The world froze around them. She knew this man was more than just a guy she’d been helping find the lock for a key. “I don’t know what this is between us,” she said breathlessly.

  The edges of his eyes creased as he smiled. “I don’t either.”

  Her heart raced, and she didn’t know what to say.

  Abruptly, he pulled her hand back and inspected it. “Your fingers are graceful.” He turned them over. “I noticed that earlier when you were painting.”

  “Oh, you noticed my fingers?” She laughed.

  Still inspecting her hand, he shrugged. “I notice everything.”

  The statement was very true, she thought, thinking about all that he’d told her earlier about everyone who apparently was a threat to them.

  It was almost eight-thirty by the time they were close to her apartment. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find what it belongs to,” she said, feeling helpless.

  His expression tightened. “That’s how it goes with the old man. It was never easy.”

  She knew Blaine wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to bare all of his feelings.

  “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

  She nodded. “Let’s stop and get something.”

  He ordered the driver to stop outside of a grocery market a couple of streets over.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Are you really serious about me staying?”

  Her pulse quickened, and she thought about how she was supposed to go to Washington next week. Annoyance flitted through her. “As Antonio mentioned, I’m supposed to go to Washington at the end of next week, but you could stay until then.”

  A smile spread across his face. “End of next week works, because I have to go back end of next week.”

  Go back. Go back. Go back. Elena blinked as his words hit her. This man would leave and go back to … what? Bullets flying? War? It was disconcerting to think about.

  Blaine’s face lit up. “If I’m staying, we’re buying some real food.”

  Elena pushed away the disconcerting thought of him leaving. She barely knew him. “Great.”

  That’s what they did. Elena watched as Blaine masterfully and precisely went around the market, buying certain foods, talking about how he was obsessed with eating clean, talking about different recipes and asking her if she had certain spices he needed.

  “Ah, why you snubbed the hot dog today makes more sense now,” she said as she got lost in the whirlwind of being with him.

  He grunted. “Hot dogs. Yeah, that’s just not right.”

  She smiled and followed him around. It felt so natural.

  Sporadically, he would turn to her and ask, “Do you eat steak?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you eat pork?”

  She let out another laugh. “I told you, I don’t have a system or anything determining what I do or don’t eat.”

  He grinned and kept picking things up, looking like he was inspecting things she
didn’t know about. They went to the seasoning aisle, and he browsed through everything on the shelves. “Good, a blank canvas for me.”

  She smiled at how he compared it to her art.

  As they checked out and he insisted on buying the food, he said, “You’re tired.”

  “No.” She took two bags, unwilling to admit her weakness.

  He took them out of her hands. “Yes, you are.”

  “You must be way more tired than me. You had the funeral and then a crazy day of looking for the key.”

  “Not possible. I live on interrupted sleep all the time. I slept in today. I’m fine.” Giving her a top-to-bottom glance, he shook his head. “If it’s not sleep, it’s blood sugar. We’re getting you back and getting you fed.”

  The gesture felt so caring. It touched her. She smiled to herself as he hailed another cab and they got in. “You sound like my mother.”

  He slid in next to her with a frown. “Not Antonio? Or your father?”

  It occurred to her that Blaine might be looking him up—probably had already. “No.”

  Blaine mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  They got to her apartment and went up the elevator. It was dark when they went in, and she was feeling more tired.

  He pulled out a bag of assorted candies and handed her a butterscotch. “Eat this.”

  She hesitated.

  “You have low blood sugar. It’ll help.”

  She popped it in and helped him put everything away, noting that she did feel better almost immediately.

  He reorganized the refrigerator and threw things out. “You need a better system,” he scolded as he tossed things into the trash. Her sour cream and some cottage cheese that she couldn’t remember buying had gone bad a while ago.

  “Sorry,” she said, but the apology lacked conviction.

  “Sit. Let me whip together some eggs.”

  She sat on the barstool, sipping a glass of water, and watched him whip together some scrambled eggs. They weren’t just regular eggs, though. He put different spices in them and chopped up an onion and some olives.

  Scooting into the chair next to her, he put a plate in front of himself too. He hesitated.

  “Aren’t we eating?”

  Blaine turned to face her, and he put his hand out. “Would you mind if I pray over it?”

  Taken aback, Elena thought of the last time she’d really prayed: the night her mother passed. “Uh, sure.”

  “My mama always taught me to hold hands when you pray before a meal. Do you mind?”

  Her heart raced. Somehow, this felt more personal than kissing the man. “Okay,” she said weakly. “Will you hold my hand?”

  He did so, and then bowed his head and muttered a few words. It was over quickly, and he pulled his hand back and began eating, taking a huge bite.

  Thinking about how different he was from Antonio, or from any man she’d ever known, she watched him.

  “What?” he asked after he finished his bite. He pointed to her food with his fork. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  Unable to disobey, she picked up the fork and took a bite. “Ah.” The word escaped. The food practically melted in her mouth. She chewed, and her eyes met his.

  Satisfaction softened his face, and a large smile revealed a dimple she hadn’t seen on his left cheek. He took another bite.

  She did too. It was so good.

  They both ate for a few seconds. “This is incredible,” she said in between mouthfuls.

  He laughed, a twinkle in his eyes. “Forget coffee and chocolate and popcorn. I’m going to introduce you to real food.”

  It was delicious. She ate a couple of more bites, then took a big drink of water, feeling more satiated than she’d felt in a long time. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “But chocolate is real food.”

  The side of his lip tugged up. “Okay, some chocolate is good.”

  They finished the eggs in companionable silence.

  “I’m guessing Antonio doesn’t cook either?” His tone was light, and he wasn’t looking at her. “And probably doesn’t pray.”

  Not wanting to discuss Antonio, she let out a sigh. “Ha. No. I don’t think Antonio would know how to turn on the stove if he was under terrorist threat.” She cleared her throat. “And no, he doesn’t pray.”

  Blaine grunted.

  “He’s not as domestic as you,” she added, trying to lighten the mood.

  This got a reaction. His eyes swung to hers, his lips going up. “Awesome. Domestic is always the description a guy wants from the woman he’s interested in.”

  Her heart rate kicked up a notch. Was he that interested in her? He was here. He had kissed her like that. He’d eaten pancakes with her and stayed the night. They’d gone on a goose chase together, and he’d made her eggs. All kinds of questions bubbled up about him. “So two weeks, that’s what they gave you?” She tried to keep her tone light. Partly because all of this felt so unreal.

  Letting out a sigh, he said, “They gave me two weeks, but there was a day to travel, the funeral yesterday, today, so tomorrow I’ll have twelve days left.”

  “Eleven if you count the travel day,” she said, already counting down and not liking it.

  He held her gaze, then gently reached out and moved a piece of hair that was in her face. “I guess it works with your Washington trip.”

  Their eyes locked. His fingers trailed from her hair to her chin and then, whisper-like, down her neck and behind her head.

  Chills washed over her. “I don’t want to go to Washington,” she said quietly. It wasn’t lost on her that all she could focus on was his lips. All she could think about was how soft they were when they were pressed against hers.

  He didn’t lean in, just kept combing his fingers through her hair. “What are you supposed to do in Washington? Antonio seems very concerned that you make it there.”

  She thought of her father, and the moment was lost. She stood and picked up her plate, taking it to the sink and rinsing it. “My father has a thing he’s supposed to speak at, and I’m supposed to speak too, if I want help with the gallery bills this month.” It irked her that she’d gotten roped into it. It irked her even more that Antonio acted like he could control her with it. “And I need help.”

  He grimaced. “Sounds brutal.”

  Elena nodded. She found herself searching his face, and she yearned to reach out and touch it, trace it, smooth it.

  The side of his lip tugged up. “How come I feel like you want to sculpt me in clay or something?”

  “’Cause I do.” Gently, she put her hands on his face. He was warm. “Can I?”

  “You’re already touching me, and I haven’t taken you to the ground, so that’s an affirmative,” he said gruffly.

  She laughed, loving how tough and tender this man was at every turn. She explored his face lightly through her touch, closing her eyes and feeling how she would sculpt him.

  He held perfectly still, but when she opened her eyes, they were face to face, breath to breath. His breathing was getting faster. “Where would you go?”

  The question felt rushed, and she didn’t know why he was asking it. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t want to go to Washington. Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”

  “It sounds cliché,” she mumbled.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Where would you want to go?”

  “Nope, you tell me.” His finger was gently beneath her chin, pulling her gaze back up to his. “Where?”

  “Maui,” she said simply.

  He frowned. “Why is that cliché?”

  “Doesn’t everyone want to go to Hawaii?”

  “It seems like a cool place. I’ve been to the naval base on Oahu, but I’ve never been to Maui.”

  Elena swallowed back the unwanted emotion pushing against her throat. “My parents honeymooned there, but I’ve never been.” She looked away. “Whenever my mother
talked about it, she sounded lighter and happier.”

  The center of Blaine’s eyebrows creased. “I can see why you would want to go.”

  She broke her contact with his hand and turned from him, her hand trembling as she pulled it to her chest. All of these feelings felt too confusing to be having with someone she barely knew.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She couldn’t stop herself from asking what she’d been wanting to ask. “Do you always pray over your food?”

  Looking unsure, he said, “Yeah, why?”

  A long breath pushed out of her. “I don’t know, I just … it surprised me.” She moved back into the kitchen and started cleaning up.

  “Why?” He got up and brought his plate over, helping her do the dishes.

  “My father is not religious, but my mother prayed. We would pray.”

  For a few moments, they simply washed and cleaned up the dishes. Every brush of the hand or light touch between them felt electric. She felt like her head was spinning by the end. What was she doing? He would be leaving in a couple of days. What was happening?

  Blaine paused and gave her the same intense look. “Go to bed. I’ll finish.”

  It didn’t suit her to take orders. Her temper flared up, pushing back some of the sleepiness. “Don’t order me around, Hammerton.”

  His eyes twinkled, and he put down the sparkling dish in his hand. “My bad. You’re right. It’s your place. You’re a big girl. I won’t order you around.”

  “‘Big girl’?” She scowled at him.

  He gave her a look that said she clearly wasn’t a big girl. “What do you want to do?”

  The possibility popped into her mind: paint. Yes, she could always paint, but she knew that would lead to staying up half the night and making herself sick because she was tired. Her mind flashed to him reading earlier, and she knew she was blushing.

  Clearing his throat, he smiled at her. “Are you okay?”

  She started walking away. “Fine.”

  But he was beside her, like he had Superman fast-moving powers. “Tell me.”

  His proximity to her felt unnerving. Very close and intense. Blaine Hammerton was a lot to get used to.

  She gave up and stopped walking. “Do you really believe there’s a God?”