“A man has to take any advantage he can.”
And there they went—her hands found their way to her hips until she stood in front of him like a flame-haired comic book heroine. But when she ran a shaky hand through her curls, God help him, he relented, handing over her panties.
After she stepped into them, wiggling them up her thighs—and that one small sight was enough to have his blood running hot once again—she stood and blew out a breath. “I like you.”
The way his chin jerked back, you’d think she’d popped him one on the jaw. Uh… “Well, that’s good,” he managed, hooking a thumb toward the table. “You know, considering what we were just doing.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean I really like you.”
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was his heart turning somersaults inside his chest like one of those Cirque du Soleil performers at the Bellagio. “I really like you too, Harper.”
She blew out a breath, throwing her hands in the air in disgust. “What I’m tryin’ to say is that I think it’d be real easy for me to…um…more than like you.”
Everything inside him came to a sudden, screeching stop. His heart quit doing flips, his lungs quit sucking in oxygen, and each second that ticked by on his diver’s watch became a little eternity.
“Harper…” Was that his voice, all tight and rusty? “You better just do a full disclosure here, angel. Because I have a feeling this convo just got really real, really fast. And I want to make sure I understand you.”
When she rolled in her lips before running a hand through her hair again, it took everything in him not to reach for her, not to pull her close. But for whatever reason, the woman was spooked. And he dared not make a single move to send her skittering away from him. Not again.
“I think I could,” she began, then stopped and shook her head. “No. That’s not true. Because I know. I know I could fall in love with you if I let myself.”
Tick. Tick. Tick…
He could hear the second hand on his watch counting the seconds. Which was strange, since it seemed to him that time had stopped.
Now before, when a woman whipped out the L-word, he’d always gotten a little itchy. Like he’d slept on sandy sheets. But this time? Oh, this time there was nothing but bright, tingly warmth spreading over his skin.
“I, uh…” He ran a hand over his beard. Dude, were his fingers shaking? “I suppose if we’re throwing all our cards on the table, I should admit I’ve been thinking I could do a little bit of falling in love with you, too. You know, given the chance.”
Her succulent mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. But not a peep came out.
“Harper?” He dared to reach forward and brush two fingers over her satiny cheek. He didn’t know what he was expecting, probably for her to jerk away from him—she looked fragile enough to break with the slightest touch. So he was surprised when she closed her eyes, leaning into his caress. Screw it, he decided. It’s all or nothing. “Tell me what you’re so afraid of.”
She pinched her eyes more tightly shut, shaking her head.
“Why not?” he asked, his breath held.
“Because my momma always told me it’s better to keep my mouth shut and seem a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.”
“I could never think you foolish, Harper.”
She opened her eyes then. And if he wasn’t mistaken, a sheen of tears gathered on her lower lids. Fuck me sideways. If she started crying, he didn’t know what he’d do. Probably just break down right alongside her. The thought of brave, boisterous Harper Searcy reduced to tears because of him was just too much.
“Could you think me a coward?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “Because that’s what I am.”
“Why do you say that?”
She dragged in a breath, and he noticed her naturally pale skin was chalk white, making the cinnamon-colored freckles on her nose stand out. “Did you know my father was an Air Force pilot?”
Whoa. Huh? The change of subject was so jarring, Michael felt like he suffered from whiplash. “Uh…that’s a negative. You never said—”
“Well, he was. He’s retired now. But he was active duty for nearly twenty-five years.”
“Harper, what are you trying to tell me?”
She searched his eyes. Then shook her head, her shoulders drooping dejectedly. “Just that I listened to my mother cry herself to sleep every night when my father was deployed. Just that I saw them struggle to reform their bond, their love, each time he came back home just a little bit different than when he left. Just that being married to an airman was a burden that nearly broke my mom who, by the way, is a much stronger woman than I am.”
“Harper—”
She held up a hand to halt his interruption. “And since that’s the case, I promised myself early on that I wouldn’t make the same mistake she did. That I wouldn’t let myself fall for a military man. That instead I’d choose a nice normal guy to love. One who wears a tie and comes home for dinner every night instead of one who goes off to war in places I can’t even pronounce. I don’t want to be scared every day that two uniformed officers might knock on my door with their hats in their hands. I don’t want to go to bed alone more nights than not. I want barbecues in the backyard and baseball in the park and B-rate movies on Sundays. I want a man who will be there, Michael. And if you think that’s cowardly or foolish, I won’t blame you. Because it is. It’s both of those things. But it’s the way I feel.”
And there it was. The truth. In all its unvarnished glory.
He started grinning.
• • •
Harper expected any number of expressions from Michael. A curled lip of disgust, maybe. The narrowed eyes of disapproval, for sure. Which meant his smile had her cocking her head and staring at him. “Um…why are you grinnin’ at me like a billy goat in a briar patch?”
To her utter consternation, his smile widened. “Because all those things you say you want, I want, too. The barbecues and the baseball and the B-rate movies.”
He snaked an arm around her waist, dragging her forward. And just like they always did, her nerve endings lit up like Fourth of July firecrackers. She couldn’t breathe. Either because he was taking up all the air in the room, or because, despite her best efforts to keep her heart uninvolved, she’d failed. And the silly thing was breaking…just a little.
She thought she’d explained herself. She thought she’d made herself inexplicably clear. But he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that she—
“In fact,” he continued, oblivious to her growing distress, “catching reruns of Mystery Science Theater is one of my favorite things. You know what I’m talking about? When the guys sit down front and comment on the B-rate movies that—”
“I know what Mystery Science Theater is,” she interrupted, exasperated. For such an intelligent man, he sure was pulling that whole porch light’s on but no one’s home gambit here.
“Oh, good.” He nodded, hitching her another inch closer, until she was forced to either let her arms dangle uselessly or put her hands on his chest. She chose the latter—poor, misguided woman that she was—and could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. It was so solid. So steady. And the urge to lay her head there and listen to its heavy cadence was overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as the impulse to throw all her carefully constructed plans right out the window. To give in to him in all ways. Even if it meant a lifetime of frightened tears and lonely nights. “Because here’s the thing, Harper. Since the very first day I met you, I’ve felt certain of something.”
She swallowed, staring into his wonderful face, trying not to read the blatant affection shining in his eyes. This would be so much easier if my feelings were one-sided. “Wh-what’s that?”
“That you would change my life.”
Oh, goo
d gracious. “Michael, I don’t want—”
“And not that I ever thought you were a uniform junkie or anything.” Unfortunately, there were women out there who chased soldiers just for the thrill or prestige of bagging a guy who bore his nation’s medals. Growing up an Air Force brat, she’d met her fair share of them. “But all the same, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear it’s me—me, Michael Wainwright—and not the Navy SEAL you like so much.” He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Because you see, me and the boys are cashing in our chips after this mission.”
Harper’s breath hitched. Digging a finger in her ear, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”
“You heard me. We’re bugging out. Finished. Done. Kissing the Navy good-bye and going back to live in Civilian-ville.”
No, no. It was just too good to be true. “But…why?”
A shadow passed over his face, a subtle muscle flexing in his jaw beneath his beard. He dropped his hand from her face, and her chin immediately missed the contact. “It’s a really long story,” he sighed. “And I promise to tell you someday. But suffice it to say, there was a bad mission, a vow to a dying friend, and the realization that maybe there is more to life than sorties and submachine guns.”
As the words fell from his lips, the small spark of hope that had ignited in her chest at his first mention of cashing in his chips turned into a flame. “So y-you’re—” She had to stop and lick her lips before she tried again. “You’re really quittin’ the Navy?”
“Roger that.” And if there’d ever been two more beautiful words in the whole English language, she’d never heard them.
A million questions grew wings and flew through her mind. Which was why she was surprised when the first one she landed on was, “But what’ll you all do?”
For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine the seven SEALs she’d come to know over the past six months as anything other than gun-slinging, mission-taking, hard-assed frogmen. She cocked her head, trying to envision Michael in a polo shirt. It just didn’t work.
“Well, the other guys are headed down to the Florida Keys to take over the marine salvage business LT’s father left behind when he died. They think they’ll either make a go of it or else find a legendary missing treasure and as Chris Rock would say, get ree-atch, bee-atch.”
She blinked, did a double take, then blinked some more. “I’m sorry. Did you just say missing treasure? As in, The Goonies?”
He laughed. She could feel the deep vibration in her chest, right where that flame of hope was burning bright. “I suppose it’s something like that.”
“But not you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not me. You know I grew up in Atlantic City, yeah?” She nodded. “Well, one thing that place taught me is that the odds are stacked against you when you gamble on the big payout. So, they can go try their hands at treasure hunting. As for me? I figure I’ll take some time off first. And then I’ll take over my father’s job as the head of the family ship-building business. The man has been on my ass for years to come home so he can retire and—”
Ring, ring! The phone in the wall jangled emphatically, the little yellow light blinking its interruption.
“Hold that thought,” he said, walking over to pull open the door to the cubbyhole. Lifting the phone’s receiver to his ear, he barked one word. “Go.”
She watched his eyes sharpen as he listened to whatever was being said, still feeling a little numb and disoriented from the bomb he’d just dropped. But she didn’t have time to pull her spinning thoughts together, because he quickly hung up and walked to the door. Twisting the lock, the safe room opened up with a thunk and a hiss. And there was Bran Pallidino standing on the other side of the door.
“All clear?” Michael asked him, turning toward the table to re-arm himself and don the rest of his gear.
“You betcha.” Bran nodded, his eyes quickly taking in Harper’s bare feet and the fact that Michael’s hair was sticking up every which way, proof her fingers had been buried there not too long ago. When the guy’s teeth flashed white against his dark beard, she felt her cheeks heat. Luckily, he refrained from commenting on the obvious and instead went with, “The TTP holding O’Leary hostage came out of the offices. I think they thought if they used the ambassador as a human shield, they’d be able to escape the embassy. They were quickly taken down.”
He made it sound easy. But Harper was smart enough to know it had probably been anything but.
Michael did, too. Evidenced by his next question. “All the guys okay?”
Bran winked. “No worries. We’re all as pretty as we ever were.”
“And the ambassador?” she asked. Because even though the yellow-bellied ol’ fart had been happy to throw her to the wolves, O’Leary was still her responsibility.
“Safe,” Bran said, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “The building is clear. And the wounded Marines are being evaced. It’s over.”
Michael moved to stand beside her and, as always, his heat reached out to her in a soft caress. “That’s good,” he said, handing over her shoes. She dropped them to the floor, quickly stepping into them. “So then we’re ready to blow this popsicle stand, yeah?”
“More than that.” Bran’s grin widened. “We’re ready to blow this whole friggin’ country. Word from Washington says the embassy will be shut down immediately, and all personnel are to report back stateside. You know what that means, paisano? We’re outta here!”
Michael’s smile lit up his whole face, and he and Bran exchanged high fives. Then he turned to her, his expression sobering as he held out his hand. “Harper, I think you might want to keep your eyes closed while we exit, okay?”
She swallowed, knowing there were things out there she didn’t want to see—namely, the numerous bodies of the Taliban fighters that the Navy would no doubt take out to sea and deep six, Osama Bin Laden–style. Couldn’t leave them behind to be buried so that other radical militants could make shrines of their graves. Lacing her fingers through his, she screwed her eyes shut and nodded her readiness to be led from the room.
But he didn’t guide her toward the door. Instead he leaned close, his warm breath ruffling the hair near her temple. “So what do you say? You want to try being civilians together?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” she asked, her heart so full of hope and anticipation it was a wonder the silly, lovesick organ didn’t burst wide open. “I say lord, yes!”
And when she stepped out of the panic room with Michael at her side, she knew she was stepping into the future she’d always dreamed about…
Order Julie Ann Walker’s second book
in the Deep Six series
Devil and the Deep
On sale July 2016
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Devil and the Deep
Named one of the most anticipated
romance novels of 2016 by BookPage!
Prologue
June 9, 1624…
Blood!
The silent cry rang inside his head as sweat slipped down the groove of his spine like a snake oozing along a vine. His cracked rib protested every laboring breath against air thick with humidity and the sickly sweet aroma of fallen vegetation that rotted in the baking sun. And his heart…
His heart screamed for the blood of his enemies.
Bartolome Vargas, King Philip of Spain’s most decorated sea captain, instinctively reached for the short sword he kept in a scabbard on his belt, malice swimming through his veins like a living creature. But his searching fingers found no blade, just dry, cracking leather. Two weeks ago, his trusty cutlass had been swallowed by the same ravenous seas that had gulped down his beloved galleon.
Just as well.
If he attacked the trio of Englishmen who had rowed to shore, he would reveal himself and the remaining
thirty-five members of his crew. Reveal that this small, deserted island held the secrets to what had become of the mighty Santa Cristina and the vast treasure she carried in her big belly.
Crouching just inside the tree line of silver palm, pitch apple, and mangrove, Bartolome took his eyes off the intruders and turned his attention to their ship. The brigantine jauntily flew the Union Jack and bobbed just beyond the reef that had protected this island from the worst ravages of the storm. Her sails were furled, her twin masts speared into the cloudless sky, and unbeknownst to the scurvy English bastards who crewed her, she was anchored a short distance from the sunken remains of the Santa Cristina.
The proximity made Bartolome’s skin crawl, so much so that he glanced down to assure himself he had not been overrun by sand fleas. Then, the tree the Englishmen had come ashore to cut down as a replacement for their cracked yardarm succumbed to their saws, the trunk letting out a painful squeal, and Bartolome quickly returned his attention to the scene at the edge of the beach. The tall, straight mangrove had withstood the ravages of the storm, but it could not withstand the brutal will of man. It tumbled onto the sand, its leaves scattering and rolling, pushed by the hot wind like flotsam and jetsam.
“Bloody hell,” one of the men cursed, wiping a hand over his sweating brow. “I got t’ take me a terrible piss, but when I do I feels like me cock is ablaze.”
“Ha!” another barked, his laugh like a blunderbuss, loud and obscene. “I told ye t’ stay away from that redheaded harlot in Tortola. She be riddled with disease.”
The first man grinned and shook his head, lifting his hands as if to say the lady’s pleasures outweighed the price he now paid for having sampled them. Then he walked toward the tree line, straight for Bartolome’s hiding place.
A leaf rustled behind Bartolome, and he slowly turned his head, giving his chin a subtle shake when Rosario, his midshipman, prepared to step from behind the bush that concealed him. Steady, Bartolome told Rosario with only his eyes. He swung his gaze around the dense undergrowth of the forest, catching the attention of as many of his remaining crewmen as he could spot amidst the verdant foliage. Upon each, he bestowed the same look: Hold steady, man.
Hot as Hell (The Deep Six) Page 5
