To Tempt a SEAL

by Sara Jane Stone

  “Deal.” She closed the door, turned the lock, and walked past him into the hallway.

  He followed, surveying the space. From the outside, her brown, one-story ranch appeared ordinary. But inside, the rooms overflowed with color.

  “Your kitchen walls are bright red,” he said.

  “I like bold, vibrant wall colors.” She opened a door on the far end of the space. “But I keep my studio white. A blank slate.”

  She led the way into a square room that had probably served as a dining room at one time. Windows lined the long wall, offering a view of the moonlit trees in her backyard. And the floor had been stripped down to the plywood subfloor.

  “Stand over there.” She pointed to a space in front of the easel holding a canvas.

  Cade obeyed, turning to face her, his arms at his sides. “Like this.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped the end of her brush against her lips as she slipped behind the canvas. “Perfect.”

  “Ready to listen, gorgeous?” The pet name rolled off his tongue, and he swore he saw her face soften.

  “Yes.” She dipped her brush in the paints and focused on the canvas.

  “For a long time, I held tight to the belief that a relationship wasn’t in the cards for me,” he began. “I saw what happened to my mother each time my dad deployed. Her loneliness was like a living, breathing thing residing with us.”

  “And that made you believe you can’t be with anyone?”

  Cade inhaled. He’d planned to focus on his feelings for the woman holding the paintbrush. But the whys and hows that had pushed him to this place spilled out.

  “I looked at my mom, and I wondered how my dad could ever be worthy of her love. By the time I joined the Navy, I thought I had it figured out. A person had to choose one or the other. And hell, at eighteen, I wasn’t looking to settle down. I’ve carried that belief with me for a long time. And when I met you, I held on tight to it. I’ve watched countless friends’ marriages implode and listened to my dad bitch about his fate for so many years.”

  He couldn’t be sure from this angle, but he thought he heard her brushstrokes stop. Was he getting through to her?

  “What about this weekend?” she said.

  “I thought that I only had a couple of days to leave you feeling worthy of love without your mask. But I never stopped to think I could have a different future.”

  Her hand stopped the rhythmic dance between the paints and canvas. She peered over the edge of her work in progress and murmured, “Go on.”

  “I made a few calls while I was waiting for my flight,” he said. “There’s a Navy base not far from here in Millington. It wouldn’t happen right away, but I might be able to transfer to a recruiting position at the base.”

  “You’re a SEAL,” she said. “The best of the best—”

  “I think there are some marines and maybe a handful of Army Rangers that would disagree with you.”

  She stepped out from behind her canvas. The paintbrush dangled from her fingers. “You can’t leave your team. If it wasn’t for me, you would stay. You would be out there, fighting for freedom in places where children are forced to carry guns, to become soldiers.”

  “Or I could be here, with a woman who helps injured, abused, and sick kids find a way to express themselves.” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to look back and realize I followed the wrong path. So if you can forgive me for hiding behind my fears, for keeping my connection to your sister a secret, then I choose Tennessee. I choose you. I choose us. Above everything else.”

  She stepped behind the canvas, her brush raised, and Cade waited to see if he’d convinced her to let him back in.

  Part of her wished she could abandon her painting and run to him. But she needed to be certain the pieces lined up. She wanted to hear the words and feel his desire from head to toe.

  “I forgive you,” she said. “I know what it’s like to let fear rule your life. And it isn’t easy to let go of it.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “But I need more.”

  He clasped his hands together, as though in prayer. “Anything,” he said.

  “Take off your shirt,” she ordered, dipping her brush in the paint. “And let me finish my portrait.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying you choose me, too?”

  “No. It doesn’t work for this portrait,” she explained.

  He laughed as he grabbed his plain gray T-shirt behind his head and pulled it off. He tossed the shirt to the studio floor, put his hands on his waist, and squared his shoulders. The position highlighted the muscles in his arms and chest. And those abs—she questioned her sanity, painting him instead of touching.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She stared at the V-shaped muscles disappearing below his jeans. “I think this painting would work better as a nude.”

  “You’re the artist.” He kicked off his sneakers and reached for the front of his jeans. A heartbeat later, his jeans and boxer briefs landed on top of his shirt.

  She stole a quick peek around the side of her easel at his semi-hard cock. “It might help if you touched yourself,” she added.

  He wrapped his hand around his hardening length. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” she murmured as her need to join him simmered. She focused on the lines and shapes, trading out her thick brush for one with a thin tip.

  “Paint fast,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this.”

  “I have faith in your endurance,” she said. “But I’m almost done.” She ran her brush over the canvas one last time. “I can fill in the details later.”

  She set the paintbrush down and stepped back, briefly admiring her work. It needed shading and a few touch-ups, but those could wait.

  She moved out from behind the easel and pulled at the bottom edge of her paint-splattered T-shirt. Before Vegas, she would never have stripped off her clothes under the harsh studio lights.

  “Lucia?” he said, his hand moving faster up and down his erection.

  “When I’m with you, I feel beautiful—”

  “You are,” he growled. “Whether I’m with you or not, you’re gorgeous. One look and every damn fantasy I’ve ever had runs through my mind, all starring you. But I didn’t come here for sex, or to show you how much I fucking want you.”

  “I know.” She undid the button on her jeans, drew the zipper down, and shimmied the fabric over her hips. She kicked her pants aside and faced him in the black lace bra and panties she’d bought for Vegas. “I’ve replayed every moment in my head,” she said, drawing her bra straps down her shoulders. “The way you allowed me to bind your hands and ride you, the ice machine, and the shower last night—I don’t doubt your physical desire.”

  “Good.”

  “But I want an equal partner.” She looped her fingers beneath her thong and stepped out of her underwear. “A man who won’t withhold the truth.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “Never again.”

  She moved close enough to touch him but kept her arms at her sides. “Someone who wants to make decisions with me. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” He released his cock and closed the space between them, the hard planes of his body pressing against her soft curves. He wrapped one hand around her hip, the other reaching up to cup her damaged cheek.

  “Where do you think we should put the painting?” she asked. “I’d like to keep this one just for us. Maybe the bedroom?”

  “What color are the walls in your room?” he asked.

  “Not mine. I was thinking your bedroom. In California.”

  “Wouldn’t be my first choice.” He stroked the curve of her hips. “I’d have a helluva time explaining that to my team when they drop by.”

  “We’ll close the door,” she said.

  His hand stilled. “Lucia—”

  “I appreciate your willingness to move your life and job to Tennessee.” And
she hoped it spoke to his feeling for her. “But I’m sure there are children in California who would benefit from art therapy. I’m good at what I do, Cade. I can find another job.” She smiled at him. “You met me halfway. Now let me meet you.”

  “I love you, Lucia.”

  Those words.

  From this man.

  Her body wanted to melt into him as she screamed, I’ve fallen in love with you, too! But she wanted more than a declaration.

  “I swear I will take care of you. I’ll be the man you want, gorgeous.” His lips brushed hers, stealing a soft kiss before pulling back. “In Tennessee or California, it doesn’t matter. I want to be with you. And I promise, this time, my actions and words will line up.”

  She placed her hands on his hips and ran them around to his butt. Next time, I’ll paint his backside. He was perfect, every inch of him. And he was hers.

  “Let me show you,” he said, the sound of his voice teasing and taunting the parts of her body begging her to drag him to the floor, declare her love, and ride him until they both came hard and fast.

  He drew her arms down, away from him, and stepped out of reach.

  “I don’t need a bed,” she said, her low tone leaving no question that she wanted him. Now. “You can bend me over my worktable or take me on the floor.”

  He cocked his head and studied the long, narrow wooden table cluttered with paints and tools. “Tempting,” he murmured.

  He walked over to the far wall where she’d lined up her canvases by size and shape. At the far end, she kept a couple of large pieces of fabric draped over a pole. He pulled one down and tossed it over his shoulder. On his way back to her, her grabbed two bottles of paint off the table, one purple and the other bright pink.

  “Cade?”

  “Patience,” he said, tossing the canvas to the floor. He set the bottles down and went to work arranging the fabric like a picnic blanket. He stood up and admired his work before retrieving the purple paint.

  “It’s my turn to paint you.” He opened the first one and poured it into his palm. He set the bottle on the ground at his feet, then dipped one finger in the paint and brushed it across her breast.

  Her nipple formed a tight peak, begging for more. But—

  “Those aren’t body paints,” she said. “They’re not toxic. But they’re not exactly easy to get off.”

  He wrapped his paint-filled palm around her breast, and then he covered her skin in a large, purple handprint. “We’ll take a long bath afterward, and I’ll clean every inch of you.”

  “We might be purple for days,” she gasped as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger.

  “Please. Let me show you how much I want you.” He moved close, one hand turning her breast purple, while the other drew tantalizing circles around the nipple still reeling from his touch. “On the canvas.”

  She glanced at the canvas. The thought of creating art with him thrilled her. She moved to her shelves, dancing out of his reach, and retrieved two shades of blue to complement the purple and pink.

  “I’m in,” she said, squirting the darker blue onto her hand. “But I get to play, too.”

  “I was hoping you would.”

  She walked around to his back and ran one finger through the paint. “I love the lines of your body,” she said, trailing a blue line over his shoulder blades. “The way your shoulders taper down to your waist. And God help me, your ass is a thing of beauty.”

  He let out a low, throaty laugh. “Right back at you.”

  She pressed her paint-covered palm onto his skin and left a handprint on his right cheek. She walked in front of him, scooped up the bright pink, and poured a pea-size amount onto her index finger. Then she leaned forward and traced the V-shaped muscle running down his hip.

  She stepped back to admire her work. “That’s one of my favorite parts of you.”

  “Don’t ignore the others,” he murmured.

  She placed her palms flat on his abdomen, ran her hand up to his shoulders, and moved her body close to his until she pressed up against him. His pink and blues mixed with her purple, the colors transferring between their bodies.

  “I’m crazy about your mouth.” She brushed a kiss over his lips. She opened her eyes, looked up into his, and recognized the desire burning bright in him. “And the pieces of you I can’t cover in pinks and blues.”

  “Gorgeous, you can paint my dick magenta if it turns you on,” he said, wrapping his arms around and holding her close.

  “Not that part,” she said with a laugh. “It’s the way you made me open my eyes to my own beauty. How you listen to me, never allowing the pieces of my past to cut into your desire. I fell for the man who saw me for who I am and liked what he saw.”

  “I love what I’ve learned about you,” he said firmly. “And I can’t wait to discover more.”

  She ran her hands up to his face, her fingertips brushing his jaw. “I love you, too.”

  He leaned his forehead to hers. “I was hoping you’d say those words. Wherever we go from here, promise me, we’ll hold on to that love. With both hands. Whatever it takes.”

  “Promise.” She broke away from him, picked up the blue paint bottle, and knelt on the canvas. “Now let’s make a piece we can proudly hang in our living room.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll never be able to have company again. One look at it and I’ll get hard at the memory.”

  “Come down here,” she said, patting the canvas. “And tell me all about your living room sex fantasies.”

  “Doggie style. Straight-up missionary. You on top.” He picked up the pink. “I want it all. With you.”

  Epilogue

  Seven months later

  Cade stared at the Great Pyrenees in the backseat with the same cold, hard, don’t-mess-with-me look he reserved for the men entering BUD/S training. But Mufasa simply opened his mouth and offered a doggie smile before shifting his focus to the cardboard box beside him.

  “No, boy,” he said. “That’s not for you.”

  Hell, he should have cleared his gear out of the Jeep’s trunk before he picked up the box containing a hollow chocolate strawberry. But he only had a short window—forty-eight hours—before he deployed again. And he needed to make this happen now.

  “When Lucia comes out of the bar,” he explained to the dog, “I’m going to get out of the car. Don’t even think about touching the box. Don’t put your paw on it. Don’t drool on it. Got it?”

  Mufasa cocked his head toward the box as if to say, This box? The one that smells like sugar and chocolate?

  “I should have sent you to Natalie’s for the night.” The giant dog crossed one paw over the other and rested his head on top. And Cade softened. “Yeah, I want to spend my last few days with you, too, buddy.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the front door to Bottoms Up swing open. Lucia headed for the car, her long skirt billowing around her legs.

  Every. Damn. Time. It didn’t matter if he’d been deployed for a week on a training mission or away for a few hours. If he saw her, he wanted her. Her curves, her smile, her full, sinful lips…

  He needed to pull himself together. He had a plan, and it didn’t involve a quickie in the Jeep. He slid out of the driver’s side—eyeing Mufasa in the backseat—and went around to open her door.

  “My sister has lost her mind,” Lucia said. She stopped in front of him, rose up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  “What happened?” he asked as she pulled away and settled into the passenger seat.

  She waited until he’d climbed behind the wheel and held out her hands. “Natalie insisted we use her day off to get our nails done. I think she’s worried I haven’t forgiven her. But I have. You need to talk to her.”

  “I’ll give her a call later.” To say thank-you. And reaffirm his promise to live up to his end of the bargain. Natalie had demanded that he muzzle his teammate Jack the next time they visited Bottoms Up. No come-ons. No one-liners.
r />   Three more turns and they pulled up in front of the single-story house with the fenced yard. Moving quickly, Cade hopped out of the car, gathered the box, and herded the dog to the front steps. He turned his key in the lock and froze.

  “I know you hate surprises, especially when they pile up,” he said, glancing at Lucia over his shoulder. “So I’m telling you now that I’ve added one more fantasy to my list.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do I get a stick-figure drawing?”

  He chuckled. “Not this time. But before we go any farther, you should know, there’s chocolate in the living room.”

  The woman he loved placed her manicured hands on her hips. “Open the door.”

  He obeyed and allowed her to lead the way, followed by Mufasa, who thank God headed straight for his dog bed and the bone Cade had left there. Lucia disappeared into the living room, but he remained by the door and freed the chocolate strawberry from the box.

  “There’s a fountain beneath our painting,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as he walked into the room.

  “Taste it,” he said.

  She held her finger under the flowing milk chocolate for a heartbeat and then slid it between her lips. She ran her tongue up her finger, swirled it around the tip, and traveled down the other side.

  He gritted his teeth. His dick begged to join the chocolate party. But first, he had to give her the strawberry.

  “You forgot the fruit.” She lowered her hand. “We might have some in the fridge—”

  “I didn’t forget.” He moved to her, close enough to touch, and held out the berry. “Take a bite.”

  She wrapped her mouth around the tip of the milk chocolate berry, her gaze locked with his. The structure broke as she pulled back. She raised a hand to her mouth and laughed. “It’s like one of those hollow bunnies.”

  “Look inside.”

  Her brow furrowed as she dipped her fingers into the chocolate berry and withdrew a diamond ring.

  “Cade?” she said, her eyes wide.

  He lowered down on one knee. He set the chocolate strawberry aside and took her hand. “I have one more fantasy on my list. You in my bed, gorgeous. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever. After each mission, I want to come home to you. And when I retire, I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”