A SEAL's Fantasy

by Tawny Weber

“Sure, he was upset. How often is Dominic Castillo called out on being wrong?”

  “Was he wrong? Or was he simply not telling you what you wanted to hear?”

  Ouch.

  Lara wasn’t the kind to expect sympathy and hand-holding, but come on—wasn’t a big brother supposed to stick up for his sibling, maybe pat her on the head a few times before gently guiding her to reality?

  “I’m just saying that often, truth is relative depending on a person’s perspective. I’m not defending Castillo’s actions. Just suggesting that perhaps you should take a wider, less personal view of the situation.”

  But she didn’t want to.

  She wanted to be justifiably angry.

  After all, fury kept the hurt at bay much better than logic. But, finally, Lara nodded.

  Then, unable to let it go, she frowned at her brother.

  “So, seriously...is he ever wrong?”

  Phillip’s grimace was a work of art.

  “Let’s just say that some of his arrogance is well earned.” Phillip paused, then reached into his jacket pocket. Lara’s mouth dropped when he pulled out a wad of cash.

  “I understand I owe you. Time and a half, right?” he said, handing her the money.

  “I was just needling Castillo,” she protested, pushing the stack of bills back across the table. “I’m not a charity case. I don’t need your money.”

  “Take it. If not for me, you’d still have a job, an apartment and most of your belongings.”

  “No, if it weren’t for those goons I’d still have that stuff. And none of it is anything I can’t live without.” Like Phillip, she wasn’t a fan of guilt games. She was happy to dump a lot of things at her brother’s feet. Irritation, bafflement, maybe a little disdain. But not guilt. He had enough scars—he wasn’t carrying the blame for that crap, too.

  “Take it.” He paused, then with another grimace, added, “Please.”

  Lara laughed. She couldn’t help it. He looked so pained saying that precious word.

  “Look, it’s not much. Besides, morally you’re entitled to half the Banks estate,” he pointed out. Frowning, she noted that he didn’t refer to them as his parents, either. Interesting.

  “Legally I’m entitled to nothing,” she returned with a shrug. She wasn’t bitter; she’d made her choices and had no problem standing by them.

  “I said morally.” For the first time since they’d reunited that morning, maybe for the first time in her life, Lara saw regret in Phillip’s eyes.

  She’d never questioned his moral stand. If there was anyone who had a clear view of right and wrong, and firmly planted himself on the side of good, it would be Phillip.

  She frowned, studying his face. The lines were tight in the grooves of his mouth. His eyes, the same green as her own, held secrets. From his capture?

  What had they done to him?

  Lara had to glance away, knowing the sight of her tears would irritate him.

  “Look, take the money. Give me your bank account number and I’ll transfer more. I don’t have enough liquid assets to cover half of the estate until I sell the house. But I can send enough to give you time to decide what you want to do.”

  “You’re selling the house?” Lara asked, not really caring but needing to buy time to figure out how she felt.

  “Unless you want it?”

  “God, no,” she exclaimed so loud the teenagers behind the counter turned to stare.

  Phillip’s nod made it clear he felt the exact same way.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, truly curious.

  “Does it matter?” At first he calmly returned her impatient stare. Then he shrugged. “I know I wasn’t much of a brother to you when we were growing up. I’m not trying to make up for that. I figure we were a product of our environment and it is what it is. Regrets, lamenting over the past—those are a waste of time.”

  Lara blinked, surprised to hear her own attitude coming out of his mouth. She couldn’t imagine that was something genetic—their parents had been the king and queen of using the past as a weapon. Maybe she and Phillip had more in common than she’d imagined.

  “Okay,” she slowly agreed, sliding her hand toward the money, but she didn’t put it in her purse. Not yet. “On one condition.”

  “You’re putting a condition on accepting money you obviously need and deserve?”

  “Yep.” Lara wet her lips, looking down at the tray, empty but for a scattering of salt and a smear of ketchup. She needed a second to reel in her emotions, knowing neither she nor Phillip would be comfortable otherwise.

  Finally, she met his patient gaze again.

  “I’ll take this, and I’ll help you sort through and settle the estate if you want.”

  For a second he looked surprised, then relieved. Then he nodded for her to continue with her terms.

  “But in exchange, you can’t tell Castillo where I am.” Agreement clear on his face, he opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, Lara held up one hand. “And you promise to talk to me.”

  He shook his head. Not in denial, she could tell, but in confusion. Lara took a deep breath and reached across the table to lay her hands over his.

  “We might not really be family, and I doubt we’ll ever be friends,” she said slowly, putting all the sincerity she felt in her eyes. “But maybe we don’t have to be strangers.”

  * * *

  DOMINIC WHALED ON the bag, putting all his weight, frustration and aggravation behind each punch.

  “Castillo.”

  Jab. Jab. Uppercut, right cross, jab.

  “Castillo.”

  Fury flew from his fists.

  A loud metal snap rang out.

  Panting, Dominic stared blankly at the black bag as it flew across the floor, the metal stand heading in the opposite direction.

  “Looks like you killed it.”

  “Huh?” He looked around, blinking the sweat out of his eyes, then scowled. “Lane. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.” Brody nudged the busted punching bag with the toe of his boot. “I lost the draw.”

  Dominic frowned. What were he and Masters up to? The only guy smart enough to know better than to pit his ego against Bad Ass’s luck with the cards was Masters—he always insisted they draw straws.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “You’re moping.” Brody held up one hand before Dominic could tell him where to shove that opinion. “You’ve been moody, pissed at the world and a general pain in the ass for the past month.”

  “So?” Dominic snapped, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. Better to see when he punched his friend.

  “So when Landon started talking about having his wife chat with you, we figured we’d do you a favor and give you a chance to fix your attitude.”

  Dominic winced. Landon’s wife was gorgeous, sweet and seriously fun. None of that made up for the fact that she was a psychologist.

  “So because you drew short straw we have to have a heart-to-heart?”

  “Sucks, but yeah.”

  “I’m heading home on leave tomorrow for my cousin’s wedding. How about I work on my mood while I’m there and we skip this little chat?”

  Brody looked as though he was considering it, then shook his head.

  “Sorry. Duty is duty.”

  “Dammit.” Dominic threw the towel on the bench, glancing around for something else to punch.

  “How about I make it easy. I’ll talk, you nod.”

  Dominic rolled his eyes.

  “You’re having lady problems. Your girl hooked you hard, then she left. Right?”

  Shit.

  “How d’ya figure?”

  “A month ago she was all you could talk about. You were corralling everyone, wanting to do date nights and crap.” Brody shrugged. “Then you stopped talking about her and started bitching about everything else.”

  Dominic ground his teeth. The only thing worse than this situation was everyone else knowing
about it.

  “Fine. I’ll stop bitching.”

  “Too late. You triggered the Alexia threat,” Brody said, referring to Landon’s wife. “Now we gotta fix this.”

  “Hey, it’s no big deal. I was hot for a woman and it didn’t work out. Just as well,” Dominic said with an offhand shrug. “It’s not like we had a chance anyway.”

  “Why? She one of your cousins?”

  “Funny.” Dominic debated admitting she was worse—Banks’s sister. But figured that’d definitely land him on the shrink’s couch.

  “I’m not a serious-relationship type of guy,” he said instead. “Military, SEAL. That just doesn’t scream committed relationship, you know.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve read the stats. I’ve played designated driver plenty of times for guys who are drowning their heartbreak. Military and marriage, it’s not a great mix,” Dominic pointed out. His gaze landed on the ring Lane wore when he was off duty, making him wince. “Not knocking you, buddy. Genna is amazing, you guys are great together. I’m just...”

  “Scared?”

  Fury flashed. Dominic’s fist swung before his brain engaged.

  Shit.

  He realized what he was doing an inch before he made contact with Brody’s face. At the same time, his friend’s hand whipped out.

  His hand wrapped over Dominic’s fist, Brody arched one brow, then gave a slow, pitying shake of his head.

  “You pulled that, Auntie. You throw a punch, you better put a little more effort into it. Otherwise you’ll end up flat on your ass.”

  “I remembered at the last second that I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Brody laughed. “Right, you go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

  Dominic yanked his hand away, resisting the urge to shake off the sting. Hard to believe the guy had been out on medical leave a few months back. He had a grip like a vise.

  “Landon takes a dim view of fighting among the ranks,” Dominic added, knowing it was lame but figuring it was better than admitting he’d lost his cool.

  He never lost his cool.

  Something else to blame Lara for.

  Right along with his poor sleeping, lousy appetite and nonexistent sex drive. At least, as it applied to other women. In the month since Lara left, he’d had plenty of sexually driven thoughts about her. But the second he considered taking those thoughts elsewhere? Nada. It was unmanning how fast he went from firm to fail.

  “Damn, Bad Ass, you suck at consoling,” he said, feeling crappier than he had before he’d beat the hell out of the punching bag.

  “Next time we play five-card stud,” Brody muttered as they both turned toward the door.

  “What’m I missing?” Genius asked, sauntering into the gym.

  “Auntie here is sharing his wisdom on the topic of doom and gloom as it befits the military and marriage,” Brody told Masters with a grin.

  Hell.

  Dominic dropped to the bench, resisting the urge to drop his head into his hands, as well.

  Dominic stared at those hands instead, surprised to see the knuckles scraped bloody. He glanced at the bag, wondering how long he’d been punching without feeling a thing.

  “You ever worry that you’re gonna disappoint?” he asked quietly. “That you’re in this relationship that makes you feel good—light and happy, you know? But that you’re chaining her to something that’s not.”

  “Not what?” Brody asked.

  “You think we carry a heavy load with our job, that we work in the dark, that it dims that light?” Masters said, that genius brain of his getting the metaphor.

  Dominic shrugged. He didn’t like this asking for advice thing. He was the go-to guy. The one with the answers.

  Having to ask someone else just wasn’t right.

  Neither was depending on someone else to be there. Wishing someone would take on the craziness of his career and want to stick around.

  “How do you guys do it?” he asked, the desire to find a way to make it work overcoming his frustration.

  Masters and Brody exchanged glances, both looking equally uncomfortable. That made Dominic feel better for some reason.

  “You just do it,” Brody mumbled, kicking at the weight bench. “You know, if it matters, you make it work.”

  “You figure it out, that’s all,” Masters said with a shrug, looking around the gym as if it’d recently been decorated with pictures of naked chicks.

  “How?” Equally curious and starting to enjoy his friends’ discomfort, Dominic leaned back. “Seriously. You love your ladies enough to commit, right? So how do you balance it? How do you keep from feeling that you’re screwing them over?”

  Damn.

  He grimaced, irritated that he’d let his amusement loosen his mouth. That wasn’t the kind of thing he meant to share. Hell, that wasn’t the kind of thing he even wanted to admit to himself.

  But neither of them looked confused, surprised or even amused at the question. They both looked deadly serious. Thankfully, neither started spouting crap about quality time, unconditional love or, God forbid, sexting for long-distance fun.

  “Don’t ask me,” Brody said, lifting both hands. “I tried to quit once and she damn near threw beer bottles at my head. Genna says she’s proud of what I do. I think that helps.”

  “Sage had a chance to play the quit card with me. She wouldn’t do it, though,” Masters added, his expression proud. As if his lady had done something amazing.

  And she had, Dominic figured. Both of them had a shot at marrying a normal guy, one who was around most days and nights. One who didn’t have top secret written over half his career.

  Would Lara feel that way?

  He tried to imagine Lara saying she was proud of him, but the image just wouldn’t compute. Had she ever indicated that she was proud of him? Pretty much her only reference to his career had been when she’d been cussing at him for dragging her out of her apartment.

  Somehow Dominic just couldn’t picture her as a sweet little stay-at-home military wife, doing tea and bingo in base housing with the other wives.

  “You guys got lucky,” he told them with a rough smile.

  “You sound like you don’t think you’d have the same luck,” Brody observed.

  “It’s not his luck he’s doubting. It’s my sister.”

  Dominic barely contained his groan as he got to his feet.

  Could this day get any worse?

  As one, the three men turned to the door. Brody whistled under his breath while Masters gave a pitying shake if his head.

  “You’re hooked on his sister?” Brody muttered.

  “Dude,” Masters chided with a laugh.

  “Castillo?”

  “Sir?” Dominic returned, automatically shifting to attention.

  Banks tilted his head toward the door.

  Masters paused long enough to give Dominic a punch to the arm, Brody offered a pat on the back, then they were both smoke. Banks had that effect on people.

  Dominic jerked his shoulders, shaking off the automatic battle tension. The guy had a right to voice his thoughts when it came to his sister.

  “You have a minute?”

  Frowning, Dominic nodded. It wasn’t the request that confused him. It was that Banks would make it. He wasn’t known for asking. Or chatting, for that matter.

  “Sure. You here to chime in on the chances of a military guy having a lasting relationship?’

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re not going to offer me advice?”

  “Me?” If Dominic had asked him for a kiss smack on the lips, Banks couldn’t have looked more shocked. “Hardly. Besides, I thought advice was your forte.”

  “Advice takes one of two things,” Dominic observed. “Experience or objectivity. This is a situation in which I have neither.”

  “Well, don’t look at me.” For the first time, Banks didn’t seem like a windup military machine. The guy appeared so seriously horrifie
d that Dominic had to laugh.

  “Okay, so if you’re not here to offer advice, what’s up?”

  “I want to talk to you about Lara.”

  Dominic’s smile faded. He widened his stance, just in case.

  “Landon takes a dim view of fighting among the ranks,” he pointed out for the second time that hour.

  Not that that’d stop him. He figured he owed Banks a few brotherly obligation shots. And he wouldn’t mind taking a couple of his own. Nothing personal, but the guy had been a witness to Lara dumping him. A few gut shots might soothe the ole ego.

  “Why do you think I’d be looking for a fight?” Banks asked. He didn’t sound obnoxious or confrontational. Nope, just curious. The man was a mystery.

  “Lara?” Dominic left it at that. If the guy didn’t have his own list, he wasn’t stupid enough to provide one.

  “I’m pretty sure if my sister wants your ass kicked, she’d prefer—and is totally capable of—doing it herself.”

  “Yeah, she is.” The woman was seriously built and damned strong. And he knew for a fact that she could—and would—fight dirty.

  “You know, I’m not here to take you down, but you start thinking lusting thoughts about her while I’m standing right here in front of you and I might change my mind,” Banks mused.

  “Fair enough. I’ll save my lusting thoughts for later,” Dominic said with a grin. Damned if the guy wasn’t kinda funny.

  “You do that. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what you’re planning?”

  “I thought you weren’t here to offer advice.”

  “That sounded like a question to me.”

  Dominic squinted.

  “Are you asking my intentions?”

  He waited for the laugh. He got a nod.

  Holy crap.

  “Okay, I get that you’re within your rights as a brother, but seriously? The first time you talked to her in eight years was a month ago. Do you think Lara would appreciate you sticking your nose in her business?”

  “That’d be between her and me, wouldn’t it?”

  “And this is between her and me.”

  “No. You met her through my situation.” Banks’s pause was infinitesimal, his wince barely there. But when Dominic caught it, his fury fled. The guy had been through hell and his hell had almost caught his sister. He had every right to be angry. “You brought her here, you orchestrated a meet between us. That makes this between her and you and me.”