The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

The boy nodded.

  Mac handed over another five. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  “What do you boys say?” the mother prompted.

  “Thank you, sir,” they spoke in unison.

  “You’re welcome. Remember what I said.” He pushed to his feet, and Hannah stole one last look at the baby.

  “Bribery,” she said as they moved ahead of the family to finish their shopping. “Now there’s a parenting skill that comes in handy.”

  “You have a better way?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t bribe my kids.”

  “If they were mine, I would have turned them over my knee.”

  “I can’t believe you condone spanking.”

  “A little punishment and reward go a long way.”

  “So basically, if your children were upset because their father had deployed, you’d treat them like prisoners of war?”

  “First of all, if these hypothetical children were upset because their father left, then I wouldn’t be there, would I? So it would be my wife who had to deal with it and not me.”

  “So when you’re not spanking your kids you’re leaving all the responsibility of discipline to your wife?”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t have any, I don’t want any. And I sure as hell don’t want a wife. So what does it matter?” He grinned at her. “I’m not turning anybody over my knee unless you continue with this line of questioning, Commander.”

  That earned him a wink from the retired gentleman in front of them when they pulled into the long checkout line. But the old gent was wise enough to keep any comments to himself. And nosy enough to check out the items in their basket. Aside from junk, like peanut butter and crackers, they had the makings of an intimate dinner for two. And then some.

  Hannah lowered her voice. “Did your father spank you?”

  “You’re kidding, right? My dad was a long-haul trucker, he was never home. And when he was, he never raised a hand to any of us.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Nooo.” He dragged out the single syllable. “She disciplined with a look—” he demonstrated “—and the wait-till-your-father-gets-home threat. But thank you for being so concerned about my welfare. I suppose you’re going to raise brats with ‘time outs’ and ‘boundaries.’” He supplied the air quotes.

  “Of course. Only my kids won’t be brats,” she said, taking offense at his comment.

  “Good luck with that. It’s easy to see you’re from a small family. There are no boundaries after the third kid. Take those two boys and the pregnant stressed-out mom carrying a baby, double that, and you have some idea of what it was like to grow up in my family.”

  Six kids? Eight kids? How many kids were in his family? Terror must have shown on her face, because he seemed all the more amused by it. “I guess it’s a good thing those brats of yours are hypothetical,” she snapped.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DOUGLAS HOUSE BACHELOR OFFICERS’

  QUARTERS

  Fallon, Nevada

  BY SOME UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT Mike got stuck with kitchen duty while Hannah showered and changed out of her uniform. He had steaks grilling on the hibachi outside, potatoes baking in the microwave and vegetables sautéing on the stove by the time he heard the shower shut off.

  He really had tracked her down at the commissary to apologize. But the dinner invitation had been inspired. He’d just kept piling items into her cart. Then he’d given her a ride back to the BOQ. And since his room was right across from hers, there was no reason for him not to help carry her groceries…

  It all felt a little underhanded on his part, but they really did need to stop avoiding each other.

  Moving between the kitchen and the small patio in his Kiss The Cook apron, he felt more relaxed than he’d remembered being in a long time—until Hannah emerged from the bathroom. Mike could almost convince himself that someone who looked that hot in a white tank top and blue jeans with strategic rips didn’t care about a big bank account.

  She never wore makeup in the field. But tonight she’d added a hint of natural color to her lips that he wanted to kiss off. She had that homey, comfortable look as she padded around him in her bare feet. “How is it you know how to cook?”

  “How is it you don’t?” He stopped long enough to hand her the bottle of ouzo he’d brought over from his room. “Make yourself useful and pour,” he teased.

  “Where did you get this?” She reached for two glasses above the sink.

  “I have a whole case, compliments of HCS-5.”

  “Guess I owe you an apology for that.” She poured two fingers in each glass and handed one to him.

  “I’m the one who was out of line today. You were right to call me on it. I can’t turn back the clock and change things I’ve said and done to hurt you, Han. I’m not sure I would, even if I could. I’m not sorry for those things, only sorry that I’ve made such a big mess of them.”

  “To no apologies, and no excuses,” she said, clinking their glasses.

  He slammed back the ouzo.

  The anise-flavored liquor cleansed his pallet, but not his culpability. “I’d like to drink to homonoia,” he said, measuring out two more shots. “Greek’s a little rusty, but it means oneness of mind.”

  “I’ll drink to that, though Alcibiades and Socrates argued that men and women couldn’t live in agreement. Homonoia described the male bond. So to hell with ancient scholars.” She raised her glass. “What do they know?”

  He leaned back against the counter. “What’s the word for the male/female bond?”

  “Homophrosune. It means oneness of heart.” Blushing, she raised her glass to her lips.

  Oneness of heart. And oneness of mind.

  He’d drink to that.

  “You didn’t answer my question about cooking,” she said, and the moment for oneness was gone.

  “Bachelor training,” he said, while hanging up his apron. His own father had been a stable influence despite his long absences. But the responsibility of a big family, which included a child with special needs, required sacrifices Mike was unwilling to make. Selfish, maybe. Realistic, yes. Especially in his line of work.

  “Let me guess. First lesson, the art of seduction.”

  “Starvation. Learn how to cook or starve.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you. I’ll bet you know plenty of women who’d cook for you.” She picked up two plastic wineglasses in her free hand and grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, then led the way out to the patio where he’d set their table.

  “One or two,” he answered modestly. That was not the conversation he wanted to have with her.

  The seat of her jeans fit snugly across her curved bottom. Oh, baby. And him with only four packs of condoms.

  She sat down, tucking one foot under her other leg.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  She poured the wine while he tended the grill and fixed their plates. “Never all that interested in cooking. I like eating though,” she said, taking a bite of a sautéed green pepper. “I remember wanting an Easy Bake oven. I must have been seven.”

  He served, then joined her at the table. “My sisters had one of those. You didn’t?”

  She shook her head and took another swallow. “Didn’t have a birthday that year.”

  “Why not?” he asked, settling in for the conversation.

  She studied a crack in the stem of her plastic wineglass. They’d picked up the glasses at the package store along with the wine.

  “That was the year my father died. We had a funeral instead. I don’t think anyone even remembered it was my birthday. Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

  They drank in silence for a while. Her father had died while doing what Mike loved. Those things would always be there. Which was why he wasn’t even in the running with Petrone.

  “Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?”

  “I guess I get a little morbid around my birthday. But let me give you a hint, wom
en don’t like to talk about getting older,” she said, steering him clear of the subject.

  He liked listening to her talk about herself, and even though she shied away from intimate details, he encouraged her to keep talking so he could keep listening. The fire in her sultry voice made the arid desert night crackle.

  She told him about her college days, where she’d met Petrone. About joining the Navy, flight school, helicopters, about hitting the glass ceiling that kept her subordinate to the men in her unit and how she finally broke free as a civilian only to take up the challenge of switching from being a conventional pilot to a special warfare pilot as a reservist. “I thought if it was going to be that hard for me as a woman, I might as well make it even harder on myself. I was surprised to get the command nod though,” she admitted, glancing down at the remains on her plate and pushing it aside before meeting his gaze.

  “You deserve it, Han,” he said with all sincerity. “You’re the best damn pilot out there, today and every day.”

  “I don’t know if everyone would agree with you on that. But you’re right, I deserve it. It almost makes me wish I’d stayed active duty…because here I am.” She raised her hands in surrender. “Almost,” she emphasized. “Not quite.”

  “Can’t wait to get back to your civilian life?”

  “Aren’t you sick of hearing me talk about myself? Tell me what it was like growing up in a big family?”

  He picked up the quarter he’d been playing with on and off all night and gave her the rundown on all his sisters while skirting the issue of Buddy’s disability. She wasn’t the only one shying away from intimate details.

  The candle burned low in his makeshift wine bottle candlestick holder, and though he thought the air-conditioning in the building had come back on, they continued to hang out on the patio.

  He filtered out the background noise of a Saturday night at the BOQ with residents coming and going. Lights from their building and others flickered on and off around them.

  It took him a full minute to realize neither of them had said a word in some time. She was intent on watching his hand as he rolled the quarter over and under his fingers. “Want to give it a try?”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  He took her left hand in his. “It’s a good exercise in dexterity for your nondominant hand.” He placed the quarter on her knuckles between two of her fingers. “Raise this one, lower that one. Raise, lower, flip.”

  “Like that’s so easy.” She laughed at her attempt.

  He kept her at it, and before too long she had the hang of it. Technically, she was holding the quarter and he was holding her hand. But when he brushed his thumb across her ring finger, she turned her hand and touched him. And they were holding hands across the table.

  “Petrone’s a lucky guy,” he said, thinking it was time for him to call it a night. But instead of letting her go, he tugged her hand and guided her around the table and into his lap.

  She cradled his face, brought her mouth to his and kissed him. Sweet, soft, openmouthed kisses that held the fruity taste of wine, the spicy taste of ouzo and another drug beside the alcohol that could only be called desire.

  She took him deeper into addiction with her tongue.

  Blood rushed from his brain. His last coherent thought was that Petrone’s luck had just run out. His groin grew heavy, then hard against the curve of her hip, aching to mimic the play of their tongues.

  “I want you,” he murmured against her lips, so there would be no mistaking where he wanted to go.

  HANNAH REACHED UP and turned on the bedside lamp.

  McCaffrey’s weight shifted on the bed behind her. “Now you want the light on,” he said in a groggy voice. “It’s two in the morning, Han. Go back to sleep.” He reached up and turned the light off.

  “I think you should leave.” She turned it back on.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m staying.”

  “Somebody might see you.”

  “This isn’t a boot camp, Han. Nobody is coming around to do a bed check. I’ll leave in the morning. And no one will see me, I promise.” He reached around her and turned off the light. This time his arm came around her and he snuggled up to her backside.

  How had they gone from holding hands to ripping off each other’s clothes? She couldn’t even claim she’d had too much to drink because she hadn’t lost consciousness, only her conscience. What was she thinking?

  She slipped out from under his arm. Putting on her tank top and her boy-cut briefs, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light.

  She couldn’t even face herself in the mirror. She fumbled around in the medicine cabinet while she filled a glass of water. After taking the pills, she felt some of the tension leave her body. She squeezed toothpaste on her toothbrush and began brushing her teeth.

  “Should I be insulted that you’re in here scrubbing your mouth out after kissing me?” McCaffrey asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “I always brush my teeth before bed.”

  Kiss didn’t even begin to describe the intimacy. She’d kissed him, yes. But she’d also taken him deep into her mouth, kneeling before him as if he were some sort of demigod, and she his willing slave.

  He stepped into the bathroom. Naked. A fully locked and loaded Navy SEAL with a hard-on.

  She rinsed her mouth. And tried to keep her eyes in her head where they belonged. He borrowed her toothbrush. While brushing his teeth, he read the package for the pills she’d taken. “What’s the deal?” he asked when he finished. “Why emergency contraceptives?”

  How could she explain? She was that afraid of another pregnancy. They were already bound by a child she loved, but hadn’t told him about. “You said it had been a while, I just had an uneasy feeling,” she admitted.

  Actually, he had said… “Stop torturing me with that mouth of yours. I don’t know if I can hold out much longer. It’s been a while…since us.”

  Since us. And she was lost.

  She’d sheathed him in that Day-Glo condom. They’d had a good laugh over how much it looked like the green glow sticks the SEALs strapped to armbands when swimming at night. Then she’d straddled him and confessed, “Since us. I haven’t been with another man, Mike.” And when she whispered, “I’m not going to marry Peter. I never was,” Mike didn’t hold out on her any longer.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her to him. “I wore a condom. You’re wearing a birth-control patch.” He sneaked a hand under the hem of her tank top and brushed his thumb along the evidence at her hip. “We’re safe. How about we take a shower together and scrub some other body cavities?” he teased.

  He pushed her briefs down her hips and she tugged them back up. “Let me light a candle.”

  “Again with the lights?” But he turned them off. The soft glow of candlelight surrounded them as he turned on the shower.

  The darkness hid the changes in her body that she didn’t want him to see. But she couldn’t hide from the shame she felt for not telling Mike about Fallon as she made love to her baby’s father for a second time that night.

  ACTIVITY FOR THE DAY. SATURDAY AND SUNDAY. TAKE ONE DAY OFF AND USE THE OTHER DAY FOR ENDURANCE TRAINING ACCORDING TO YOUR PREFERENCES. ALL PERSONNEL. UNIFORM: CIVILIAN CASUAL. REQ SOPA ADMIN PASS TO HCS-9 AND ST-11.

  HANNAH RIPPED the memo from the bulletin board. According to her preference, last night qualified as endurance training. She didn’t need to beat herself up about it any more than she already had.

  She thrived on routine. Sunday had always been her day to catch up on laundry for the coming work week. She entered the laundry room juggling an overstuffed collapsible hamper and laundry supplies to find two of the dryers stopped with the BDUs just sitting there getting wrinkled. Why was it men never stuck around long enough to tend to their clothes? Or anything else for that matter? That wasn’t really fair—McCaffrey had left her bed early this morning at her request.

  As for the washing machines, she opened lid
after lid only to see that all but one of them was full. Damned if she’d wait around all day for the owner or owners of the uniforms to come back. She opened the finished dryers with the intention of unloading them, so she had some place to put the washed clothes. But after she did that and started her first load, her type A personality took over and she started folding cammies and stacking them neatly in a pile.

  McCaffrey walked in carrying a box of laundry detergent. “If I’d known you were so domestic I’d have proposed long before Petrone.”

  “And what would you have proposed? That we shack up so I could do your laundry? I think I’ll pass. I take it this is yours.” She finished folding a green T-shirt and set it on top of the growing pile.

  He picked up another and started folding alongside her. “Are you sure? Because I could really use a laundress. I could see some fringe benefits.”

  “I’m sure you could. Unfortunately I can’t see any for me.”

  “Can’t picture yourself in a lacy little apron? Me chasing you around the house?”

  “A, you’d never be home. And B, you’d never catch me in an apron, cute or otherwise. The domestic-goddess fantasy is a guy thing.”

  “You’re forgetting I can cook. What if I put on the apron?” He lifted a suggestive brow.

  “Now that would be something to see.”

  “So did I have all the machines tied up, is that what you’re complaining about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ran out of soap. Got some whites in the washer ready to go. Not a full load if you have something you want to toss in.”

  “It wasn’t this machine, was it? She lifted the lid and dug up a pair of his wet briefs. “Am I as pink as these, do you think? I’m sorry—” she tried not to crack a smile “—I didn’t see anything in there.”

  He sighed heavily. “Guess I need to head back to the Navy Exchange for some bleach, or the whole men’s locker room will be laughing at me. Since it looks like we’re going to be here a while, why don’t I grab a pizza from the food court?”