SEAL’s Accidental Family: SEAL & Veteran Series: Book Two

by Leslie North

  Stop. He held his head against the memory of the explosion, the yelling, the chaos. No! Curling over the table, he knocked into the books, desperate to shove the visual and auditory replay back into the dark hole where they belonged. Dwelling on the events in therapy was making the flashbacks worse, not better.

  “Harris?”

  Something touched the back of his head and he jumped out of the seat, ready to defend himself—

  “Rachel,” he uttered hoarsely, his heart pounding in his throat. “You’re awake.” Duh. Get it together. He pointed to the coffeemaker in a frantic bid to keep her from seeing the ghosts haunting him until he had a chance to rebury the memories. “I made coffee and it hasn’t left my sight.”

  Her eyes flicked to the new machine, widened, then flew back to him. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” He attempted a smile while forcing his muscles to relax.

  “Hmmm.” She canted her head. “Not very believable, Mr. McCallister, but I won’t press. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  Relief helped drain the last of the tension from the flashback, and he started closing the books to dispel the nervous energy filling him.

  Strolling to the coffeemaker, she poured herself a cup. “I see you’ve been a busy bee this morning. Besides grocery and appliance shopping, what else have you accomplished?”

  “Not much.” He began putting the books away. “Just reading up on the treasure. Now that you’re awake and know the coffee’s safe, I’m going to tackle the trim outside.”

  With that announcement he strode from the room. Fine. He fled, but he did it in manly style. Snorting at his folly, Harris marched to the shed that used to be a carriage house and muscled the long, aluminum ladder to the front of the house.

  Buckling the leather and canvas tool belt he had found the other day, he climbed the ladder he’d rested against the left side of the house. The three bedrooms utilized for guests on the second floor each had their own balconies. Two were facing the ocean, and the other faced the landscaped lawn. In a large portion of the upstairs on the left side, Rachel had carved out her apartment with one bedroom facing the lawn, the other, the ocean. She also had an office she’d converted out of a smaller bedroom on the right, lawn side.

  The inspector had marked the loosening trim above the balconies as a “safety hazard.” A bunch of bullshit if you asked him, but the delicate, lacy-style wood was pretty to work on and nailing it more firmly in place was an easy fix. After this morning’s flashback, he craved the mind-numbing task. It had been so long since he had something simple to handle, a painless decision on what to do with straightforward rules and logic.

  He blessedly lost himself in work.

  Pound. Pound. Pound. He finished securing the nail on the last of the trim. His stomach let out a growl, and he snapped his chin down and blinked at it. Huh. The sun was high in the sky, letting him know he had probably missed lunch. At some point, he remembered waving to the nice family checking out. They were on a leisurely road trip, heading on their way to Disney World from Maine before school started in three weeks.

  He hadn’t realized he’d lost track of time, but it was worth it. Putting the ladder away, he couldn’t wait to tell Rachel that another task could be checked off the list.

  Sauntering down the main floor hallway, he found her plumping a set of pillows on a freshly made bed in one of the bedrooms vacated by the family. She gathered a pile of used white sheets off the hardwood floor and startled at finding him in the doorway.

  “Oh. Hey.” She glanced around the large room that had its own bathroom. “I just finished cleaning up.”

  He frowned at the tightness around her eyes. “Not feeling good again?”

  She sighed and slumped. “I swear, it’s like this baby is not satisfied unless I’m constantly queasy.”

  A plan began to formulate in his mind. He would put it into action this evening.

  “Walk with me.” Harris leaned against the doorway of Rachel’s office. The sun had lowered in the sky and he’d been able to mark two more things off the list, but it was now time to focus on the mother-to-be.

  Rachel’s chin snapped up and she whirled from staring at the computer screen. Pieces of what looked like a marketing or advertising plan, along with a few social media sites, filled the monitor. “What? Walk?”

  “Yes.” Harris crossed his arms. “I want to see the property. All those books contradict themselves, and I need to see the layout for myself.”

  “But I already know this land like the back of my hand,” Rachel insisted stubbornly. “I used to constantly search it when I was growing up.”

  “Then you’ll be my guide.” Harris refused to give up. “If you don’t start moving, the nausea’s going to get worse. You need endorphins to feel better, and walking is a great way to fire them up.”

  Rachel sighed, then snapped her shoulders back. “I’m willing to try anything to keep from hugging a toilet bowl.”

  He laughed. “There’s the spirit.”

  It didn’t take them long to settle into an easy gait. He hadn’t realized how much property she owned. Beyond the section of beach, her land went on for acres. Trees, tall grass, and what had probably been crop fields passed under their feet. As they walked, he pointed out landmarks and parts of the land that had seemed obvious to him, but she had admitted to never noticing.

  “You’re really good at this,” Rachel complimented, her skin practically radiating.

  “My unit likes to call me Kemosabe.” He chuckled. “Not politically correct, I know, but they mean it with affection.” He shrugged. “I just seem to have an affinity for the land, a wicked-good sense of direction, and a sixth sense on paths we should take—”

  His throat closed, and he tried to unwind his hand from hers but she clamped harder.

  “Talk to me, Harris,” she prodded gently. “I’ve dumped my burdens on you, I want you to know that you can do the same with me.” She bumped his bicep with her shoulder. “We’re a team, remember?”

  Staring at the leaves on a full canopy tree, he fought the visions trying to take over. “All my senses failed my best friend, Shawn, on my last mission.”

  She stilled, then pulled him beneath the shade of the very tree he had stared at. Nudging him down, she gave him all her attention. “Go on.”

  He tried to get comfortable on the ground, but his soul hurt too much. Picking up a fallen leaf, he began to play with it. Did he really want to talk about this? He got enough grilling in therapy, but Rachel had a point. It wasn’t fair if he kept this bottled up from her but asked her to confide in him.

  He twirled the leaf by its stem. “I can’t tell you everything,” he said slowly, still trying to figure out how much he wanted to share. “We were in a jungle, ferreting out a drug cartel that decided to branch out into arms dealing. It was my responsibility to find the safest path and lead the unit through the thick vegetation. We had just finished a mini conference that was more hand-signals than hushed words about where we should look next, when I pointed to the direction calling to me.” He dropped his head into his hands and shuddered.

  Warm softness from her palms stroked his thigh, but Rachel kept silent.

  “God, I wish I could take that moment back.” The mental video tried to replay in his head, and he did the best he could to mute it. “I stood to resume my position when Shawn beat me to the front of the line.” Helplessness pulled him down and tried to drown him. “He wasn’t supposed to lead. That was my job. I couldn’t make a sound, but I tried to get him to fall back behind me. He just peered over his shoulder with a smirk.”

  The image of that smirk burned bright in Harris’s mind.

  Rachel squeezed his thighs, but still remained quiet, not rushing him and intuitively knowing he couldn’t handle a barrage of questions.

  “That was the last expression of his I ever saw. Two steps later, he triggered the IED buried shallowly beneath the dirt.” He tried twice more to continue but couldn’t form anymore wo
rds.

  “Oh, Harris.” Rachel wrapped her arms around him, helping to anchor him in reality instead of the nightmare.

  “All hell broke loose after that,” he stated huskily. “But it was my fault Shawn had died.” He shuddered again, fighting against the rage and tears. “I chose the path that killed him. It should have been me—”

  “Hey.” Rachel forced his chin up. “Don’t say that. If you had died, then our baby wouldn’t exist.”

  His focus lasered on her face. “Rachel,” he drew out in anguish.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Harris.” She clamped a hand on his cheeks and kissed him. He resisted at first, but she climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips. The second her center scraped over his groin, electricity roared through him, sparking the inferno now racing through his veins.

  He twisted and laid her on her back. Attacking her mouth, he plundered its depths with a ferocity he had no control over. She met his fever with her own and tore at his T-shirt. He wrenched away to rip the damn thing over his head, then whipped her tank top off with her help. Shoving her red lacy cups beneath her breasts, he feasted on both rosy buds.

  She cried out and arched, smashing his head against her. With his teeth, he scraped over a distended bud and she squirmed and mewled.

  With long licks and small bites, he savored the taste of her skin as he worked his way down her stomach. Red, blue, green, purple, black, and more danced with her movements, making the tattoos come to life.

  “My fierce fairy,” he murmured, biting her right hipbone after he unsnapped her denim shorts. “So full of life and color.” Lick. Nibble. “I love this gorgeous art and the way you change the shades of your hair.” Working her panties off with her shorts, he salivated at the wetness already coating her folds. “You are such a fantasy.”

  Before she could reply, he dove forward and licked her from her opening to the tip of her clitoris.

  A long cry rumbled from her chest and he did it again. And again. And again. He sucked and licked until she was writhing. Then her whole body froze. A piercing wail emanated from her and she clutched his head with her thighs as she rode out her orgasm.

  The moment her legs spread wide, he unzipped his pants, pushed his boxer briefs down and entered her. Wet heat gripped him hard, and he groaned at the exquisite feel.

  “Harder,” she demanded, raising her hips to meet his.

  He rolled, keeping them linked, and settled her on top. “Ride me as hard as you want.”

  And she did. Planting her palms beside his head, she bent forward and set a blistering pace, taking him deep. Her breasts swayed with her movements, driving him to clamp onto her hips.

  Thrusting upwards, he fucked her brutally. Lifting his head, he latched on to a nipple and sucked. Slam inside. Suck. Slam. Suck.

  Animalistic sounds filled the space between them, and she swiveled her hips as she plunged back down onto him.

  His dick pulsed and fattened, filling her so full her inner walls squeezed him powerfully. His balls drew up, and the orgasm hovered only moments away.

  “I’m about to come,” he warned, gutturally.

  Rachel’s answer was to cry out as her channel gripped him violently. Milking him and coating him with her ecstasy.

  “Fuck.” His orgasm barreled through him, ripping out a moan so loud, birds flapped away from the tree and cawed in indignation.

  Rachel slumped against him, her body dead weight.

  Neither one could catch their breath, and she rose and fell with his chest heaving along with hers.

  After God knew how long, a small giggle filtered into his ear and he turned to find her peering at him with bright, satisfied eyes. Her giggles turned into laughter and he couldn’t help but smile at her joy.

  “We’re lucky those birds didn’t take out their displeasure in a nasty way.” Her laughter turned into huge guffaws and he hugged her tight, breaking into laughter too.

  “That would have royally sucked after such an epic orgasm.” His laughter slowly died. “You’re going to be the death of me, Ms. Winchester. I’m not sure I can keep up with you.”

  “Oh really?” She sat up and rocked her hips.

  His semi hard cock started to rise again and he grinned unrepentantly. “You’re sexy as fuck. What can I say? My dick really likes being inside you.”

  Locks of blue hair fanned forward and he brushed them behind her shoulders. She settled against his hips and he lightly skimmed his fingers over a large tattoo depicting a full blooming garden spanning her chest and part of her collarbones.

  “Tell me about your tattoos.” He continued to trace the detailed design. “What made you start? Which one was your first?”

  Rachel shuddered and lazily rolled her hips, pleasure causing his dick to thicken fully. She shifted her leg in a feat of athleticism he’d have her duplicate when he was deep inside her again, and tapped a sparrow in mid-flight located on her ankle. “I guess at first it started as a rebellion. I figured I should live up…er, down?...whatever, to everyone’s expectations, but then I found the experience empowering.” A blush stole over her face and she ducked her head. “Sounds stupid to you, I’m sure.”

  “Hey.” He smoothed his hands up her thighs and plunged upward.

  She groaned, dropped her head back, and picked up her pace.

  “None of that self-doubt,” he uttered, losing his concentration but wanting to finish the important conversation. “I’ve said repeatedly I think you’re amazing.” Thrust. Thrust. “These tattoos are a part of what makes you beautiful. Of course it’s empowering to choose them. You determine what people see and that’s sexy as hell.”

  Tears crowded the corners of her eyes and she blinked rapidly. “You get it.”

  He wanted to say more, but she chose that moment to turn up the heat. He couldn’t form another thought until after they both recovered from another vision-stealing orgasm.

  The sun was lowering in the sky when he and Rachel headed languidly toward the beach. Something caught his attention and he paused. “You see that?” He pointed.

  Rachel stared that way, but shrugged. “See what?”

  “It’s a divot in the land.” He led them over and stood beside the indentation. As if the land spoke to him, he knew exactly what he was seeing. “A tree used to be here.”

  Rachel smiled wide, her eyes beginning to twinkle. “It’s like generations ago, someone didn’t want this tree to be found.”

  He gauged how close they were to the beach and her house. “Or it could’ve been hit by lightning or been riddled by rot.”

  “Or it could be one of the markers,” she insisted, bumping his shoulder. “I thought you were all about having a treasure hunting adventure? We need to look at those maps again. This could be why no one’s found anything.”

  9

  Scraping the last of the poison ivy vines off a relatively healthy, green shrub with a heavy-duty metal rake, Rachel walked them backwards, then shook them from the tines. The pile now languishing in the sun had flourished on the side of the house without her realizing it. It figured the building inspector found the menace and marked it as a “safety hazard to wayward guests.”

  The heat index had hit ninety-two, and she wondered why she and Harris were outside working. Three o’clock on a hot Sunday afternoon deserved either napping under an umbrella on the beach or laboring indoors in the air conditioning. But, no. They were gluttons for punishment. She had an entire house to contend with, beds to change, bathrooms to clean, laundry to do, and a food replenishment list to create, but she had come outside just to be close to Harris.

  The past two days, the B&B had been filled to capacity with guests. Some were family visiting Marines stationed on Parris Island, one couple was celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary with a romantic beach getaway, and one guest was a gentleman who had been waylaid on his business trip and decided to stay with her instead of a chain hotel. His statement had swelled her chest with pride and made her weekend. Thankfully, th
ough, they all left by noon. She was exhausted and needed the break—not that she was taking one.

  While she was grateful for the business, the downside was that she had barely gotten to spend any time with Harris. He had opted to continue working on the list while she took care of the guests and saw to the operating needs of her business on her down times.

  One big change had happened for them personally though—Harris had moved out of the spare bedroom and in with her. Waking up with a man in her bed had been disconcerting…until the first time she saw him look so peaceful asleep. God, he was gorgeous, and she loved having him all to herself in those moments. And to really drive home the one-eighty her life had become, they planned on converting the spare bedroom into a nursery this week.

  Snatching the bottle of herbicide that was supposed to only kill poison ivy and not her grass or shrubs, she used the long plastic hose it came with to spray the area, appreciating how it allowed her to keep her distance. She already had on old sweatpants, a long-sleeve shirt, and gloves just in case she touched the vines or leaves, and this canister allowed her to stay clear. Luckily all her precautions just made her sweat.

  My fierce fairy. For the thousandth time, Harris’s huskily uttered words from three days ago whispered in her mind. The endearment hadn’t registered at the time, but now she couldn’t stop thinking (obsessing) about it. If anyone else had called her a “fierce fairy” she would’ve probably got in his face, but coming from Harris, she loved it. Loved how he accepted all her colors and made her feel beautiful…but her mind kept going back to the first word in the endearment. He’d specifically said my. Had he meant it like a possession or was he just caught up in the moment? Sure, he called her “sweetheart,” but this felt different. Like a claiming, but was she reading too much into it? Gah! Pregnancy hormones were going to be the death of her.