by Anne Marsh
Her phone buzzed, signaling she had a text, and she fished it out of her pocket with a sigh. The number was unfamiliar, however, so it wasn’t an urgent case.
Incoming.
Uh. Right.
Who is this?
The answer, when it came, was explanatory.
Our next round of margaritas are on me.
Ashley.
How did you get this number?
The door opened as she read Ashley’s answer.
Go easy on him. He’s flirting with the L word.
She stared at the text and then looked up. Gray stood there in the spill of light from the doorway. He was in faded blue jeans, a black T-shirt stretched tight over his chest beneath a battered leather jacket. If that wasn’t hot enough, he wore motorcycle boots. Temporarily blinded by the sudden blast of light, she squinted at his face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Hi,” he said.
* * *
LANEY BOLTED UPRIGHT, clutching the lapels of her white coat together. He’d caught her sleeping. The pillow on the gurney sported a dent from her head, and her face was flushed. She had a crease down her cheek from lying on her hand. He flicked on the light and watched her pull herself together, although that only made him want to muss her up. Get her hot and bothered until the only person she saw was him.
Although the seeing part of today’s visit might not last long.
She shot off the hospital bed, and the nurse who’d accompanied him cleared her throat, but he was too distracted by the sight of Laney to notice anyone else. He was wheels-down on this mission.
“Can I buy you a drink?” When the nurse coughed, more loudly this time, he stepped inside the room and shut the door. He didn’t need an audience for this. Laney folded her arms over her chest and watched him come. Hell. Was that a good sign? Bad?
She looked good, though. She wore a pair of green hospital scrubs beneath an open white lab coat that was askew from her catnap. She looked rumpled and sleepy and not totally in control, although she was getting there fast.
“What are you doing here?” She shot him a cautious look, but she had a smile on her face. A tentative and surprised smile, but it was still gorgeous.
“Looking for you.” He didn’t have to think about that. Instead, he strode over and dropped a kiss on her mouth as he pulled her toward him. Fourteen nights without Laney and he was still coming to terms with this desperate need he had to hold on to her. Her lips softened beneath his and that was a good sign.
The door popped open and Laney jerked backward. The gurney jerked with her, sheets crinkling, as she butt-planted.
“Sorry.” The nurse’s giggle sounded unrepentant. “Doctor Parker, I thought you might want to know that we’re not expecting any patients for at least thirty minutes.”
“Good to know,” Laney muttered as the nurse retreated and closed the door.
When she didn’t reach for him again, however, Gray dropped down next to her on the bed. The place wasn’t the sexy digs they’d shared on Fantasy Island, and he’d never liked hospitals. A visit meant that either he was out of commission or a buddy was.
“Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t. A polite request to see Laney had been denied by the nurse. He’d been forced to resort to the truth: that he was here to grovel and beg. The nurse had liked that. And that was after he’d made it past the front desk in the ER. He’d made three-day treks across glaciers that were simpler than negotiating the hospital.
Laney looked at the closed door. “She’s going to think we’re having kinky sex in here.”
She pressed her fingers against her forehead, stifling a yawn in her arm. She had shadows underneath her eyes.
“We already have,” he pointed out. “Just not in here.”
Although he’d be happy to help her with that fantasy, too.
“Hello. She doesn’t know that. And, since being able to look my coworkers in the eye when I meet them in the break room is a good thing, I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Okay. Clearly, Laney had no intention of making anyone she worked with aware of her relationship with him. Great. That was a bad indicator of success.
“How’s Remy?” She folded her hands in her lap and stared at him expectantly. Next question.
“He’s going to be okay. He’ll be spending the rest of the year rehabbing, but he’ll be back.”
She smiled. “I bet you miss him.”
“Yeah, but injuries are part of being on the team. We’ll keep his spot warm for him until he’s ready to come back.” Damn. He’d mentally rehearsed this. He was supposed to be convincing. Romantic. He was not supposed to list the reasons a SEAL was a bad long-term relationship prospect.
“I’m glad he’ll make a full recovery.” This time she gave him the polite smile of a stranger. She looked like a stranger, too, in her hospital scrubs, stethoscope hanging around her neck. She’d also looked happy enough to see him until he’d reminded her about the death and dying part of being a SEAL. Go him. Or maybe she’d really only been interested in a vacation fling, and his showing up here was awkward.
“Thanks,” he said, because he was out of words. Ashley had offered to text him a script. He should have taken her up on it.
The silence stretched out awkwardly between them. Hell. Picking up her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers, rubbing at the muscles. He should have brought flowers. Picked out a card. Lingerie. Something. Because at least then they could fill up the empty spots talking about those things.
“Why are you here?” she blurted out.
“I...” Say the words. If he could charge an insurgent position, outnumbered and outgunned, he could do this. He could at least spit it out and hear what she had to say. Worst case, she shot him down and he slunk out that door. He’d already sussed out the exit points. There was a convenient stairwell out the door and to his left; he wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame past the nurses’ desk. “I missed you,” he admitted.
Okay. That was closer to the truth.
“Really?” She sounded skeptical.
“You bet. The chopper evac with Remy—that wasn’t how I wanted things to end. Can I be honest?” What if she said no? Then what? His whole plan consisted of tracking her down and telling her that he loved her.
“I think we do honesty pretty well.” She bumped his shoulder companionably with her own.
And that was his invitation to take the plunge. “I didn’t want things to end at all. I was really hoping we’d spend the rest of your vacation together and, after that, that there would be a way for us to keep on seeing each other.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’ve got your job here and I’m based out of Coronado, but at least we’d be in the same state. I just want to spend time with you, to figure out a way to make this work.”
Next time he had to give a speech, he was writing crib notes. On his hand, on an index card, hell, he’d hire a skywriter if he had to. Because he was running dry and she was staring at his face, as if some invisible message was tattooed across his cheekbones. He just hoped it was a good message. An I love you message.
He sucked in a breath. He could do this. He’d rappelled out of helicopters into choppy waters, stormed enemy insurgents laying down automated rifle fire and aiming to kill. Telling the woman he loved the truth ought to be easy.
Nope. So the only easy day was yesterday.
She arched a brow. “What about the fantasies?”
He’d be happy to role-play every night if that was what she wanted. “If we get together, you should know I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy in bed. Or on the beach, the back of my motorcycle or anywhere else you want. I’m aiming to make all your dreams come true.”
She blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Help me out here, then.”
“I wasn’t sure if what we had on the island was only a fantasy.” She shrugged nonchalantly, but her fingers tightened on his, that familiar little pucker creasing her forehead. “And some
times fantasies don’t translate to real life. They’re gorgeous dreams and fun and they have an expiration date.”
He sure as hell didn’t feel that way.
“I’m not going to lie. I loved every minute of our fantasy nights, and I’m going to do my best to convince you to pick out a new fantasy every week for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me. But the bottom line is that I love you.” Hooking a finger in her stethoscope, he tugged her closer. “You’re my fantasy. You’re the only woman I’m dreaming about. Where I was empty inside before, now I’ve got you. You’re right there in my heart and I’d like to wake up with you every day for the rest of my life.”
Her eyes teared up. He’d screwed up. No surprise there. But he was all in and he didn’t have a fallback position.
“I’ve got something in my eye,” she announced. “That’s all.” She dabbed at her eye with the corner of his T-shirt. The sheet on the gurney crackled loudly, and he’d bet the nurse who’d shown him in had her ear pressed against the door. At least he could make the show worthwhile. Rolling backward onto the bed, he pulled Laney over and on top of him.
“Hi,” he said again, looking up at her.
A smile lit up her beautiful blue eyes. “You came all the way out here to tell me that?”
“Uh-huh. And to offer to buy you a drink.”
“I’m working.” She sounded disappointed.
“So I’ll make suggestions and you can think about it.”
She squeaked. Or maybe that was because she’d just hit his chest. “Okay.”
“So.” He tugged until she straddled him like a cowgirl. Yeah. He had plenty of fantasies about this position. He kept on pulling until her mouth was inches from his. “Can I buy you that drink?”
“How many drinks do I have to choose from?” Her lips twitched, but she tunneled her fingers through his hair, settling down on his chest as if she’d never left.
“I’ve got three,” he said hoarsely. Don’t screw this up, soldier. “A Lover’s Lemonade, a Blushing Bride and a Honey, I Do Martini. It’s your choice, but I’m hoping that this time we can do one of my fantasies.”
“The bartender is pretty sexy. Keep talking. Tell me about this fantasy of yours.”
“I’m fantasizing about happily-ever-after together.” Time to put it all on the line. “We’ll figure out the details but, when we’re apart, I want to know I’ll be coming home to you. I love you.”
And...silence. She stared at him while he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I’m dying here. Please say something?”
She flattened her palms on his cheeks, cupping his face. “You said the L word.”
“I like you, I lust for you. And, hell, yes, I love you. I’ll read you every word in the dictionary if that’s what you want.”
“I love you, too.”
“You do?” Because that was too good to be true. He’d been shooting for a chance to win her heart, but could the battle really be already won?
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. “I didn’t realize when I went to Fantasy Island that I had a chance at my own real-life lover and hero. I knew I had a chance at starting over, but you’re someone special, Lieutenant Commander Gray Jackson, and I’m starting my own list just for you. Lovable is at the top, but I’m adding new words every day. Lion-hearted, loyal, logical...” She grinned at him. “Definitely lickable. I have big plans for us.”
That worked.
“You’re my fantasy, my everything,” he promised.
“You give good fantasy,” she whispered, her mouth meeting his.
“Real life’s even better,” he said and kissed her.
* * * * *
Ready for more of Anne Marsh’s sexy SEALs?
Watch for her next title,
PLEASING HER SEAL,
coming soon, only from Harlequin Blaze!
Keep reading for an excerpt from IF SHE DARES by Tanya Michaels.
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If She Dares
Tanya Michaels
1
THE OCTOBER RAIN brought with it a nauseating déjà vu, resurrecting thoughts of another autumn night Riley Kendrick would rather forget. Worse, the soggy weather ensured that the parking spots closest to her apartment building had already been taken.
Peering through the windshield at the dark expanse of asphalt, Riley desperately wished the two lights standing sentinel over the parking lot were brighter. Although residents had to punch in a code to raise a mechanical arm—management’s way of making sure the public didn’t use the lot for free parking—it would be easy enough to duck under the blockade or hop over the short hedges on either side. Anyone could be lurking in the dark, a thought that kept her rooted to her seat.
Get out of the car, paranoid woman.
Maybe she should have stayed home tonight. She was coming up on the one-year anniversary of The Incident, and her nightmares had returned. Lack of sleep was making her jumpy. She wished she were in her apartment now, on the other side of two dead bolts and the security bar. But her youngest sister, a cocktail waitress who had Wednesdays off, had taunted her about being a workaholic shut-in, goading her until Riley took the bait. It was almost as if she’d been her old self, the boisterous Kendrick sibling who’d never been able to resist a challenge or turn down a dare.
Okay, then. I double-dog dare you to get your ass out of this car.
She hefted her purse onto her shoulder and clutched her keys, keeping her fingers wrapped around the canister of pepper spray that dangled from the chain. Not bothering with the umbrella that was somewhere in the backseat, she locked her car and hurried across the parking lot. After The Incident, she’d wanted desperately not to feel like a victim. She’d taken self-defense classes, bought pepper spray. She even owned a Taser, though it seemed unwise to deploy an electric weapon in the rain.
It wasn’t in her nature to be a scaredy-cat, but being held at gunpoint in one’s own home left scars. Maybe it would be different if the bastard who’d robbed her had ever been caught, but knowing he was out there somewhere...
When she woke from bad dreams, it was with his gravelly, two-pack-a-day snarl echoing in her head. Don’t turn around, Blondie. You move from this spot, I’ll kill you dead. Hell, I might come back and do it anyway.
She’d been facing the wall, praying that his painful grip in her long hair was the only way he hurt her. Two days later she’d gone to a salon and had her hair shorn in a funky, bold cut. Within the month, she’d put her house on the market. She’d hoped a change in environment, to an apartment where there were potential witnesses and people to hear a cry for help, would allow her to regain her psychological footing. But—
Boom. A crack of thunder split the night. In her head, it reverberated like a gunshot. Panic welled, fight-or-flight overtaking logic. Despite the slick pavement and puddled potholes that awaited her in the dark, she broke into a run, trying to suck in more air even as her lungs tightened. The entrance defied logic, seeming to get even farther away.
Just as the door was almost in reach, a man rounded the corner of the building. A choked scream burbled in her throat. Her arm shot upward, trembling fingers locked around the pepper spray.
“Whoa!” He rocked back, raising both his hands—either in an I-come-in-peace gesture or to help shield his face in case she dispensed the spray. Betwe
en his protective body language and his Atlanta Falcons hoodie, it was difficult to tell much about his features. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just coming back from the Dumpster.” He spoke slowly, his words measured and low, as if he had practice dealing with women on the verge of hysteria. “Name’s Jack Reed. I live here.”
Impossible. “I know everyone who lives in the building.” Though she’d never admit it aloud, she’d also memorized the makes, models and license plates of all the residents’ cars. In total, there were twelve apartments, and only one of those was vac—
“What about the guy who signed a lease on 4-B last week?” His tone held a note of gentle humor. “About yea tall? I hear he’s a good-looking devil, but he inherited dimples that aren’t very manly.”
4-B! 4-B, as in the apartment across the hall from hers? Crap. She hadn’t seen signs of anyone moving in, but then, she’d taken to working all night and sleeping while the sun was up because the dreams weren’t so bad during the daylight. Plus, with traffic, dinner and a movie, she’d been gone almost five hours. For all she knew, she’d missed this guy carrying an entire living room suite up the stairs.
He looked strong enough to move furniture, towering over her at about six feet, with broad shoulders and big hands. With the hood shielding his face from the rain, she couldn’t tell if he truly possessed dimples, but there was nothing unmanly about his appearance.
“Ma’am, I don’t want to make any sudden movements, but shouldn’t we both get inside where it’s dry?” He shoved his hood back, and she got her first clear look at him. His jawline and cheekbones were strikingly well defined, his hair and his eyes dark as sin. “Jack Reed,” he repeated in that same soothing drawl. “I can show you my ID and a business card if it would help.”
