My Donut Princess: The Navy SEAL Series, Novella

by Stone, Odette

  I needed those arctic blue eyes to open and focus on my face.

  I needed to kiss him and feel his breath on my lips.

  I was a woman on a mission. I was going to tell him how I felt. I wanted us to try. For real. To be in an honest-to-god relationship. I needed him in my life. I had realized last night, when he passed out in my arms, that my life had no meaning without him in it.

  I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  I could see that his door was propped open. My steps quickened. Almost there.

  I stopped short. The room was empty except for the neatly made hospital bed.

  WHAT THE FUCK.

  I flew to the desk of the nurses. “Where’s Aaron?”

  A nurse blinked up at me. “Who?”

  “Room 431. He came in with a gunshot wound.”

  “The hot one?” she frowned.

  “Yes!”

  “He checked out last night.”

  “What?”

  She typed on her computer. “Against doctor’s orders, he checked out.”

  “Where did he go?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Panic seized me. Where was he? Why did he leave? Did he wake up alone and think I didn’t care?

  I shoved the flowers towards her and raced outside while trying to dial my phone at the same time.

  “Clark.” I was out of breath.

  “Femi.”

  “Do you know where Aaron is?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I went to the hospital, and they said he checked out.”

  “Um, well I don’t know what to say.” Clark sounded distant.

  “Clark,” I yelled. “Listen to me. Aaron is missing. Where would he go?”

  “He’s not missing, Femi. He left.”

  “What do you mean HE LEFT?”

  “He wanted a clean break.”

  I could hear my heartbeat.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  “What do you mean he wanted a clean break?”

  “He’s done, Femi.”

  I sat down on some bench, mostly because I lost all feeling in my legs. “With what?”

  “With this job. With me. With whatever he had with you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Femi,” his voice went soft. “Let him go, okay?”

  The whole pressure of the last 24 hours overflowed. I had kept all my emotions at bay because I had been so focused on Aaron. On seeing him. On making sure he was okay.

  Now. Now I started to feel.

  I sobbed. So hard, I could barely breathe. “Why’d he leave me?”

  “Femi.”

  “I-I love him.”

  “Aaron knows what he’s doing, okay?”

  “He-he didn’t say goodbye,” I put my head in my hands and wept. “Why-why would he do that to me?”

  “Femi, where are you?”

  “I-I need him. So much.”

  “Where is Jason? Is he nearby? Can you get him to bring you to the hotel?”

  “Please…I need to talk to Aaron.”

  “Femi. Wait right there, okay? Jason’s coming to find you.”

  Chapter 30

  Femi

  I didn’t get out of bed for three days. I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak to anyone.

  Aaron left. He didn’t love me. He didn’t even care about me enough to say good-bye. The pain of this was so great that I feared if I started to cry, I might never stop.

  Only when Mom rushed into my suite and wrapped her scented arms around me, did the floodgates open.

  She held me for a lifetime while I wept, sobbing out the entire story to her.

  She soothed me by rocking me, exactly like she had when I was little.

  Then, exhausted, I laid on the bed while she instructed two maids to pack up my stuff.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  I didn’t argue. I simply got dressed and let her lead me out of the hotel.

  We spent six weeks in the French Riviera.

  I felt listless and apathetic about life.

  We flew to Spain where she planned elaborate dinner parties.

  I avoided them all and spent most of my time wandering the streets.

  She forced me to fly to Mumbai with her, where we spent two months in the heat and monsoon rains. She visited with her distant relatives. I existed.

  Waiting for the pain to end.

  Waiting for my heart to heal.

  Waiting.

  But I didn’t feel better.

  I missed him so much.

  I thought about him constantly.

  I replayed our last moments together over again and again in my mind. Looking for clues. Looking for a reason why he’d leave me.

  My only bright spots in my life were when I allowed myself to call Clark.

  These are how those conversations went.

  “Femi, how are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Mumbai.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “He’s doing fine, Femi.”

  “Does he ask about me?”

  “Femi.”

  “Is he’s okay?”

  “He’s okay.”

  “Will you tell him I’m thinking about him?”

  “I’ll tell him you called.”

  “Okay.”

  “Take care, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mom dragged me to Paris for Spring fashion week. I refused to go to any shows, spending most of my time at the Louvre.

  We ate dinner, at one of the finest restaurants Paris had to offer. My food tasted like paper. I pushed it around my plate.

  “Darling,” Mom said softly, “It’s been six months.”

  I shrugged. “So?”

  “Shouldn’t you be thinking about your future?”

  “I guess.”

  She pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms on the table. “If you could have anything, what would you want?”

  I glanced up at her, but I didn’t answer.

  “This man has made it clear he isn’t interested.”

  “Why did he leave? He should have at least told me why he wanted to leave.”

  “Would that help you?”

  “What?”

  “Asking him these questions? Getting these answers?”

  I swallowed. It’d help to see him. “Yes.”

  “So go to New York and find him.”

  I blinked. “But Clark said he was done with me.”

  “You’re Femi Payne. It’s done when you say it’s done.”

  I sat there frozen. “You mean, I should go and find him?”

  “If you need to hear him say it’s over and explain why? Then yes. You should go and find him.”

  The thought thrilled me. And terrified me.

  “I can do that?”

  “Darling, you can do whatever you want, but be ready for his answer.”

  “But what if he sees me and still doesn’t want to be with me?”

  “Then,” she paused. “Then you get mad. And you get on with your life.”

  It took me four days to get up the courage to do exactly that.

  * * *

  Without telling anyone besides my mom, I packed one knapsack (not my usual nine Luis Vuitton cases) and flew coach to New York. I stayed at the Ramada Inn. The room felt small and reminded me of that first night I had slept in Aaron’s bed.

  I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the simplicity of the room. It felt cozy, and it reminded me of Aaron.

  The next morning, I took a cab to Clark’s office.

  “Femi.” He stood up at his desk, his eyes wide. “No one told me you were coming to New York.”

  “I need your help.”

  His wary gaze assessed me. “With what?”

  “You need to tell me how to find Aaron.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  �
��Yes, you can. You can and you will.”

  “Femi.”

  “Aaron left without an explanation. You need to show me where he is.”

  He sighed and slumped back in his chair. “The guy will kill me.”

  “I’m your client. And hopefully your friend. I need answers.”

  He lifted up both his hands. “What exactly do you want?”

  “To talk to him. Is he in the country?”

  He tossed his pen on his desk. “He’s stateside.”

  “Take me to him.”

  “I can bring you to him, but if he doesn’t want to talk to you, this has to end. You have to stop this obsession.”

  “I promise.”

  “Pack your bags. We’re going to Virginia.”

  I hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “I’m already packed.”

  Chapter 31

  Femi

  The road trip took five hours. We passed through a small quaint town and then drove past the gates of the military base without attempting to access the base.

  “Isn’t that where we should be heading?”

  “He doesn’t live on base. And he’s probably surfing right now. Tides about right.”

  I sat up straight in my seat, my heart frantic, as I took in the coastal water on the side of the highway.

  He passed a seafood shack and then turned down a long sandy road. We bumped along until a small clearing came into view.

  “There’s his truck.”

  I sat, looking through the windshield. “Is he surfing?”

  “I suspect.”

  I got out, and without looking at Clark, I started walking toward the beach. The white sand burned hot. The waves crashed hard on the shore. I saw some gear on the sand. I sat nearby, shielding my eyes, watching as the surfers sat on their boards, facing away from the shore, waiting for the next big wave.

  Then they paddled and disappeared as they dove beneath the break. I gasped when a surfer appeared on the wave. I knew it was Aaron the second he stood up.

  His beauty stole my breath. He rode that monster wave as if he owned it.

  I wanted to stand up and scream his name.

  I wanted to wade into the water and swim out to him.

  I wanted so badly to touch him.

  But the last six months had taught me a lot about patience.

  It taught me how to be still.

  I waited. And I watched.

  He didn’t notice me.

  He didn’t see me.

  He paddled. And surfed.

  Paddled. And surfed.

  I sat there until my skin was damp with sweat.

  Until I needed to pin my hair back up off my neck.

  I sat and waited for the most critical moment of my life to happen.

  I should be planning on what I wanted to say, but I figured I had already had this conversation a thousand times in my mind. I was ready.

  He would see me, and I would know. There might not even be a need for words.

  I needed to see the expression in his eyes, and I’d know.

  Did he love me?

  Did he want me in any capacity?

  I’d know with one look. And from there, the rest of my future would be decided.

  A lifetime passed, and then he began to paddle to shore.

  He didn’t see me at first, or if he did, he didn’t notice that it was me.

  His head jerked back when he recognized me.

  I drank in his body as he walked towards me. His muscular body was more magnificent than I remembered. His hair, wet and slicked off his face, seemed longer. His features seemed harsher. But he was so beautiful it made me ache.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice sounded harsh, but his eyes drank me in. Like a starved man feasting. My future.

  I smiled a stupid smile. I knew. It was going to be okay.

  He just didn’t know it yet.

  “I came for answers.” My tone sounded flippant.

  He bent over his bag and dug around for a towel. “What answers would those be?”

  His tone sounded clipped. Cold. But he didn’t fool me. His eyes were glued to my face, as he stood up to towel off.

  I stood up and saucily crossed my arms. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

  “It took you six months to figure that out?”

  “Why’d you leave, Aaron?”

  His eyes watched my mouth before he lifted his steady gaze to mine. “I told you this would never last.”

  “Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  I stepped forward and put my hand on his wet chest. He put his hand over mine to lift it off, but instead, he pressed my hand harder to his chest. I could feel his heart beating. Steady and solid.

  God, I loved this man.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  I tilted my face up to his, drinking in those features. That mouth. Those eyes. Those chiseled cheekbones. “Last time I checked this was a public beach.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I stepped a fraction closer. “You left me, and you hurt me.”

  He winced. “I told you this wouldn’t last.”

  “I told you otherwise.”

  “You need to go.”

  “I’m not leaving without an explanation.”

  His arm snaked around my waist, and his mouth descended onto mine.

  Relief.

  Heaven.

  Passion.

  Lust.

  Love.

  My head swam as he moved his mouth over mine, pouring all his emotion, all his feelings into our kiss. He gave, and I received. His kiss expressed so much meaning, so much depth, so much emotion, it overwhelmed me.

  He ripped his mouth from me and stepped back. “You can’t be here. We can’t be, Femi. I told you that.”

  I watched as he picked up his board and his bag and started to walk away.

  “I love you, Aaron.”

  He dropped his gear and moved so fast that I only got my arms up, and then he lifted me in his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist. The salty water on his body soaked through my clothes as we pressed our bodies together.

  This kiss had no more finesse than the first one.

  Searing, blinding heat. Two desperate souls that were trying to close the gap that they had been forced to endure.

  He lifted his mouth and pressed his forehead to mine. “Femi. Fuck, Femi.”

  I pushed my hands through his wet hair. “Aaron. Please. I’m begging you.”

  He let out a big sigh. “We can talk, but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  “Please.” I begged. “We can figure this out.”

  He lowered me to the sand. “Come on. We can talk at my place.”

  Clark, at some point, must have seen the embrace, because he no longer sat in his vehicle and my knapsack sat next to Aaron’s truck. Aaron tossed it on the back along with his surfboard. And then we began to drive.

  * * *

  He pulled up at a pier. He carried his surfboard and bag, and I brought my bag. He led me down a long dock and then jumped onto a small boat. He reached back, took my bag and then offered me his warm grip before he hauled me onto the boat.

  “Make yourself at home.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I need to shower.”

  The boat had a nice deck with pillows. Below, were the most cramped quarters imaginable. My bathroom at the suite in New York had been more spacious. I marveled at the tiny sink, the one burner stove. The little table. And the long couch that I assumed made into a bed.

  He came out of the washroom, wrapped in a towel. My eyes glued to his muscular body as he pulled on a pair of boardshorts and a t-shirt. He shoved his sturdy feet into flip-flops.

  Hands on his hips he studied me. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  He bent down to the smallest fridge imaginable and pulled out two cans of beer.

  “Come up on the deck. We’ll have more room there.”
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br />   I followed him up the narrow steps and sat down on the soft bench across from him.

  He cracked his beer and sighed. “How have you been?”

  “Sad. I’ve missed you.”

  He shut his eyes. “Femi.”

  “Aaron.” I leaned forward. “Why did you leave without talking to me?”

  “Femi, you couldn’t handle dating someone like me. I don’t even want to make you try.”

  “Why?”

  “Look around. This boat is tiny. The shower is over the toilet. There is a single closet for all my clothes.”

  I thought about that statement. “You’re talking about me moving in here.”

  He dropped his eyes.

  “I could get an apartment. Nearby.”

  “Femi, I’m gone for work all the time. For weeks at a time. I chose this life because I want to serve my country in the best way I know how, but I know how you live. There’s nothing out here for you. No shopping. No fancy restaurants. We have one grocery store on the base. When I come home, my team is my family, and we spend a lot of time together. You’d be sharing me with the military all the time. We have BBQs, baseball games and lots of nights out at the same crappy bar drinking crappy beer.”

  He watched my face with open honesty.

  I swallowed, thinking. “Last week, I ate dinner with my mom in a five-star French restaurant, overlooking the Eiffel Tower. The problem was, you were a million miles away. I didn’t care about the view. The food tasted like nothing. All I cared about was you. All I thought about was you.”

  “You’re dad doesn’t want us together.”

  I shrugged. “He doesn’t have any say in that matter.”

  “He does if he cuts you off financially.”

  I froze. Thinking. That night in the hospital. Dad had told me Aaron was sleeping and hadn’t woken up. That night, Aaron had left. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Aaron, tell me.”

  “Nothing we don’t know already.”

  “Did he tell you that he’d cut me off if we dated?”

  He dropped his eyes. “This isn’t the life for you.”

  My temper flared, and I shot to my feet. “He told you that. He told you that he’d cut me off if we dated. That’s why you left without saying goodbye.”

  Anger flared in Aaron’s eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Ask you to give up life as you know it? You don’t have any way of supporting yourself. Have you ever had a job?”