A Sexy SEAL Novella Anthology

by Tawny Weber

  Besides, running would only prove Noah’s power over her. And that was the kind of information she figured she should keep to herself.

  Still, it’d taken some focused deep breathing to convince herself to take the elevator back up to the ballroom. A quick stop at the coat check for her purse, a few seconds with her hairbrush and emergency makeup kit and she’d felt like she’d donned a suit of armor.

  Nobody looking at her now would know that she’d almost run away.

  Or that she’d recently been a moaning puddle of ecstasy. The memory of that ecstasy sent a shiver through her. Then, because she wasn’t sure she could form a complete sentence yet, Gwen cast a quick look around to make sure nobody she knew well was nearby. To be safe, she headed toward the least populated area of the ballroom, sidestepping with her back to the wall until she reached the corner filled with potted trees.

  It wasn’t until she almost tripped over the leg of a table of party favors that it hit her just how pathetic she was behaving.

  This was ridiculous.

  Gwen shoved her heavy fall of hair off her shoulder and rolled her eyes. She was hiding behind a six-foot topiary shaped like a swan.

  Why?

  Because was afraid someone would guess that she’d had sex with Noah Morelli?

  As if.

  Nobody had guessed that they’d had months of daily—sometimes even hourly—sex three years ago. They’d once had it in the closet at her parents’ house during her birthday party because he’d claimed that he couldn’t figure out how to wrap a pair of orgasms. Not one single person had noticed then, or that time at the beach or even on the trip to Tahoe.

  Gwen’s relieved sigh was so deep that she ruffled the swan. Ready to brave the crowd—well, everyone but Noah—she started to shift out from behind the swan.

  And almost screamed when there was a body in her way.

  “Gwen? Is this where you’ve been?” Russell asked as he angled his head around the topiary to see her better. “I was looking all over for you. I figured you’d be at the dessert table, mingling or tearing up the dance floor. The last place I’d expect to find you is in a corner.”

  Too busy thumping one fist against her chest to try and slow her racing heart to answer, Gwen could only lift her free hand in a modified shrug.

  Just as she took a deep, calming breath, he glanced over his shoulder and said, “They’re bringing around champagne so Noah must be up soon. We don’t want to miss it.”

  “Noah’s...?” Up? Already? She resisted the urge check Russell’s watch to see if it’d even been a half hour since she and Noah had done the nasty in the closet.

  “Up. You know, giving a toast. He’s standing as Sam’s best man.”

  “Oh.” Gwen managed a smile—mostly at herself for imagining a roomful of people toasting Noah’s sexual prowess with champagne. She started to scoot out from behind the protective shield of the swan but had to stop to tug her dress free from one of the pine-scented branches. “Great. It’s toast time.”

  That was close to leaving time, wasn’t it?

  “Toast first, before dinner and dessert. You know Bryanna, always switching things up.”

  Toast. Dinner. Then dessert?

  That’d take hours.

  Hours, in the same room as Noah.

  Close enough to see him, to hear him. And know that he was off limits.

  Near enough to touch him, to feel him. And know that all it’d take was a nod of her head for him to take her on another wild, sexual ride.

  She pressed two fingers to her temple, her system torn between heartbreak and horny.

  “Are you okay?” Russell’s charming smile faded, concern lighting his blue eyes as he studied her face. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Yes. Say yes, it’s the perfect escape, her mind screamed.

  She’d tell him she was sick.

  The way her stomach was dancing from excitement to dread and back, she just might be sick.

  But guilt stopped her from using the pretext. If she did, Russell would insist on driving her home, even if it meant missing most of his sister’s engagement party. It was bad enough she’d abandoned him for so much of the evening already. She couldn’t ruin the rest of it, too.

  So instead of an excuse to escape, Gwen offered a shaky smile.

  “I’m okay. I was just...” What? Hiding? “Taking a break from all the celebrating.”

  How lame did that sound? Gwen tried to turn her cringe into a smile but wasn’t sure she managed it.

  “I understand.”

  He did?

  “Celebrations like these are rough sometimes. But I think I have a solution you’ll enjoy.” After adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket, Russell offered his elbow. “Lets find somewhere private and talk.”

  Puzzling a little over why he’d think celebrations were rough, Gwen tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and let him escort her out of her corner. It wasn’t until they’d crossed the dining area, detoured around the dance floor and were heading for the handful of small, intimate tables set for two in one corner that she remembered Bryanna and Noah’s predictions that Russell would be proposing tonight.

  Uh oh.

  That desperate urge to escape hit her again.

  “Russell—”

  “Here, have a seat,” he interrupted as they reached the furthest table. He pulled out the gilt chair with its tufted satin cushion and waited for Gwen to sit.

  So she sat.

  “Russell—”

  “Hold on a second. I’ll get us champagne.”

  Okay, now she was panicking.

  Maybe Bryanna was wrong, though. Maybe Russell wasn’t thinking of her that way. And he was a reticent kind of guy, so even if he was, he’d wait until they had actual privacy to propose, wouldn’t he?

  As promised, he was back in just a second with two glasses of champagne. Instead of sitting opposite her, he pulled the chair next to hers and sat so their knees brushed, proving that he apparently considered this to be just private enough.

  Gwen wanted to stop him.

  Why, oh why hadn’t she stuck with her New Year’s tradition and stayed home, where it was safe from ex-lovers and surprise proposals?

  All she wanted to do now was run. But she didn’t think her knees would hold out, and she knew her stilettos wouldn’t.

  So she went for the bluff.

  “Did you want to discuss work?” she asked brightly, gulping down champagne so fast the bubbles burned her throat.

  “Actually I wanted to discuss moving our relationship to the next level.”

  “The next level?” Gwen’s stomach pitched into the toes of her double strapped Zanottis. This was it. Bryanna had been right. In Russell-speak, that was the equivalent of a major declaration.

  “We’re good together, Gwen. Everyone who knows us thinks so. I’m sure your friends have been as vocal as mine in their desire that we hurry along in building our future together,” he pointed out earnestly.

  She melted a little. He was really so sweet. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that her friends had never once brought up marriage or mentioned Russell that way.

  “Do you really think rewarding nagging by giving in is a good idea?” she asked with a pained smile.

  “If that’s all it was, then no, of course not.” He shook his head, his expression so serious she knew he hadn’t taken her words as a joke. “But we have much more than that. Enough to consider spending our lives together.”

  Oh, God. He really was proposing.

  She bit her lip, knowing she had to stop him. Still, Gwen had to swallow a few times before she could find her voice.

  “Russell, I care about you a lot. But I don’t love you,” she said quietly.

  She winced, her eyes locked on his face.

  His smile didn’t shift. His earnest expression didn’t change. He simply shrugged.

  “There are things more worthy than love that go into making a good marriage,” he told her lifting their joined
hands. “We’re compatible in so many other ways. We enjoy each other’s company and we work well together. I’d like to believe we’d be good together if we just gave it a try.”

  “But...” She carefully slid her hands free and clasped them together on her lap. “Those are great reasons to be friends, which we are. But to be... Lovers?”

  Her brain simply wouldn’t compute that image. They’d never even kissed—not in a sexy, let’s test the chemistry way. The closest she’d come to seeing Russell naked was high school swim team.

  “As I said, we are very well-suited, Gwen. Compatibility is just as important in bed as anywhere else in life.”

  That he automatically equated sex with bed and not closets or countertops or the backseat of a jeep told Gwen everything she needed to know about their compatibility.

  “But what about passion? The edgy need that makes you slide into sexual fantasies at inopportune times? Desperate desire, obsessive lust, undeniable cravings?” All the feelings she had for Noah. Even in their years apart, she’d had those feelings. And now that she’d tasted him again? Now that she’d felt the power of what he could do to her? No matter how much it hurt, she knew she could never settle for less.

  “You think passion really matters so much?” The doubt on his face was echoed in his tone.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t.” Then, as if he’d found his feet again on a rocking ship, the doubt on his face slid away, leaving just his frown. “Friendship matters. Similar interests and temperaments matter. Don’t you think it’s more important to spend your life with someone you know you’ll be comfortable with than to risk the pain that messy emotional drama can bring?”

  Why did he have to keep echoing her thoughts? She sighed. He was forcing her to face those questions and her own emotions.

  “To risk it for sex?” she asked quietly. “Or for love?”

  “Either? Both?”

  Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Gwen searched her heart carefully. When her eyes met his again, she was sure her answer was right.

  “Sex, even great sex, isn’t worth heartbreak,” she said. “But love? Love is worth waiting for, risking for, living for.”

  Russell gave her a long look but his comfortable expression didn’t change.

  “You do realize that love often leads to heartbreak, don’t you?”

  Of course she did. After all, her heart had been in pieces for three years.

  Before she could say anything, though, he continued.

  “We can be good together, Gwen. We can make each other happy. What do you say?”

  “I wish I could say yes,” she told him softly, laying her hand over the back of his.

  “But you can’t,” he said, his tone easy and reasonable.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, to hurt us.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. He was such a good friend. And then there was the fact that he was her boss.

  “We’re fine.” He slid his hand out from under hers with an easy pat, then stood. “But it is almost time for the toast and I should check to see that Bryanna’s ready. You know how my father gets about punctuality.”

  “Russell.” She grabbed his arm before he could turn away, searching his face with worried eyes. “Are we okay?”

  “We’re fine. Nothing’s changed, Gwen. We’re friends. We’re colleagues. We’re good.”

  Then why did she feel like crying?

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said quietly as he leaned down to brush a soft kiss over her cheek. “And when you do, I hope it only brings you happiness. Not heartache.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Leaving her alone in a swirling onslaught of emotions.

  Gwen didn’t have to search the ballroom to find Noah. She knew exactly where he was, there at the bar standing between his brother and Bryanna’s dad. The three of them looked so official in their Navy uniforms. Official enough to put another tiny crack in Gwen’s heart.

  Because Noah looked so right.

  Not just sexy. The man always looked sexy.

  It wasn’t just the fact that he was handsome as hell in his fancy uniform with it’s fitted jacket that showed off that fine ass. She wasn’t so easy that she got turned on just because a man wore a uniform well. And when it came to Noah, she figured she had plenty of reason to actually resent that uniform—and what it represented.

  But she couldn’t.

  Because, heartbreak aside, she loved him.

  Not again, but still.

  She’d simply never stopped.

  A SEAL’s Sacrifice: Chapter Nine

  A year or so back, Noah and two of his teammates had been trapped three hundred feet under the surface of the ocean when a trip-wired bridge went down on top of him. Before that, he’d have thought seeing the resigned acceptance of death on his friends’ faces, knowing it was on his own, was the worst thing he’d go through.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  One elbow propped on the bar, he wished he had something stronger than a beer. Unless he went for froufrou wine, he wasn’t getting it, though. Commander Spencer might be retired, but the man ran a tight ship. Men in uniform, soft liquor served and big band music for the dance floor. That the guy was practically bursting with pride over his daughter’s engagement was cool. But that he kept expressing that pride by pounding an enthusiastic fist on Noah’s shoulder was getting old.

  So was standing here, waiting for Gwen to announce that she was engaged to Spencer’s second son. That the announcement was coming, he had no doubt. He’d seen her and Russell come in together, arm in arm in that classy way that suited them both. He’d seen Russ tuck her away in a private corner on the opposite side of the room, then grab a couple of glasses of champagne.

  And any minute now, he’d see the man come back with a satisfied smile on his face and a spring in his step.

  And announce to the gathering of family and friends that he was marrying Gwen.

  He was marrying Noah’s woman.

  A miserable sort of fury churning in his belly, Noah set his half-empty bottle on the bar and straightened.

  “Your toast is in a few minutes. You want another beer before you have to perform?” Spencer offered with a generous wave of his meaty hand toward the bartender.

  “My what?”

  “Toast. You know, your talk. You get up and say stuff about how perfect my Bry is for Sam. That they’ll be happy together and all that.” Spencer narrowed his eyes. “You’re Sammy’s best man, aren’t you?”

  He was?

  Oh yeah, Noah pulled a face. He’d forgotten that Sam had asked. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled his mother rambling on about wedding party responsibilities, but he’d figured she meant things like not getting drunk and fighting with the guests.

  “A toast, huh?”

  “More like a speech, with everyone lifting their glass at the end,” Spencer advised, thumping Noah with one beefy hand and almost putting him face-down on the bar. Whether intended to be or not, Noah took that as a warning of things to come if he didn’t get his speech right.

  With that in mind, he straightened to his full six-feet, shook off the tingling in his shoulder and searched the room.

  “Where ya going?”

  “To find Sam.” And have a little chat with his brother about getting him out of this.

  “Toast is in five minutes.” The words had an extra urgency behind them, as if Spencer could read his mind.

  Glad to be out of thumping reach, Noah kept moving.

  “After I find Sam.”

  But finding Sam didn’t help.

  Five minutes and thirty seconds later—can’t say Spencer wasn’t punctual—Noah stood as rigid as a statue on a raised platform at the front of the ballroom. He stood to his brother’s left because no matter how much Noah had threatened, Sam refused to pick a different best man.

  Sam held hands with a beaming Bryanna, her dress a glimmering blue to
match her eyes and her smile bright enough to light the Golden Gate. Sure he was about to dim that light, Noah avoided looking at her.

  He didn’t look left, either.

  He didn’t need to. He could hear Spencer just fine as the Captain boomed out his pleasure in the same tone Noah imagined he’d barked orders on a ship. Loud and gruff. On his other side was Russell, looing awfully morose for a guy who was rumored to be getting engaged.

  Noah’s eyes swept the room.

  Where was Gwen? Russ had already been here with his father when he and Sam reached the toasting stage. But when Noah shifted to see if she was out on the balcony, Spencer elbowed him back into place.

  So, trapped on the right and the left, Noah stood, at silent attention. Eyes ahead, shoulders back, chin high.

  And took stock of this little fiasco.

  Instead of winning back the only woman he wanted, he’d pissed her off, tying off the finish of their relationship in a neat bow. He’d busted his ass to be at an event that would end in a round of humiliation in the form of public speaking. And then, because he wasn’t putting a lot of stock in Russell’s bummed out expression, the evening would likely end with Gwen announcing she was marrying someone else.

  Noah’s gut clenched.

  Damn, that was going to hurt to hear.

  He wished like hell he’d never finagled leave. He wished he were still in Kabul, where the most painful thing coming his way was an IED.

  As if mocking that wish, a movement on the far end of the ballroom caught his eye. Gwen stepped into his line of sight. Her silver dress shone blue, reflecting the carpet as she moved closer. Even at ninety-feet, he could see the worry creasing her expression.

  What was she worried about? Noah tried to angle again to check out Russell’s expression, but Spencer was reaching his crescendo.

  “I’ll be glad to welcome Sam Morelli to my family,” Spencer’s words caught his attention just in time for Noah to lean back and avoid being clipped in the chin when the big man gestured. “A fine young man from good family.”

  Noah pulled his eyes off of Gwen when the old guy started reciting the military service of anyone who’d served in their family. By the time Spencer was reeling off third-cousins-twice-removed and their role in the Great War, Noah could only shoot Sam an incredulous look