A Sexy SEAL Novella Anthology

by Tawny Weber

  “Would you?” Gwen asked, her eyes locked on his as if his response would make or break their chances.

  And it would, he realized. So while he wanted to promise her anything, to say he’d do whatever she wanted, he had to be completely honest.

  “I don’t know.” His fingers tightened on her hips in case she tried to walk away again, but she didn’t move. “I have another year in this tour. I’d like to spend it trying to make things work as they are now, with me in the SEALs and you living anywhere you want. If that doesn’t work, I could stay in the Navy but transfer out of the team and see how that goes.”

  He choked at that point, not able to promise anything further. Not because he wasn’t willing—although he really didn’t want to think he’d have to give up one love in his life to keep the other. But because he simply couldn’t comprehend that two people as perfect together as he and Gwen wouldn’t be able to make it work.

  “So you’d want to take it slow, give us a chance to make it work and compromise along the way if there are issues?” Gwen said in a contemplative tone.

  Noah frowned. He couldn’t tell if she thought that was a good thing or not. But again, all he could do was be honest.

  “Yeah. That’s what I’d like to do. I’d like to give us a chance. I’d like to spend the next few months getting to know each other again while we decide how we want to go forward.”

  Years ago she’d offered to wait for him while he served in the SEALs. She’d have put her life on hold for him. And while that was great for his ego, he’d truly believed they couldn’t make it work. That he couldn’t make it work.

  But he knew better now.

  “I want to know we’re both happy with whatever we do together. That we’re both on the same page,” he said quietly. “We can take some time—as long as you need—to figure out if we want to take things slow and date for a while, or of we want to jump in and live together. Or if it’s right, if you’re ready and trust me again, if we want to get married.”

  Noah held his breath, hoping he hadn’t gone too far, hoping more that he’d offered enough to convince her.

  For a second longer she simply stared, those deep blue eyes of hers blank with shock. Then they filled, tears pooling in their depths before spilling over.

  “Oh, crap,” he muttered, unfamiliar panic gripping him. “Don’t do that. I’m sorry. I was just trying to be honest. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t upset me.” Gwen shook her head so fast her hair flew over her shoulders. “You made me happy. Honest is good, and your answer was perfect.”

  Relief flooding him, Noah risked pulling her a little closer so their lower bodies were flush.

  “Perfect?”

  “Perfect,” she agreed, reaching up to cup her hands over his cheeks. “If you’d promised me everything, or if you’d offered to sacrifice your career to be with me, I’d have known it wouldn’t—couldn’t—work between us. And we’ve been apart too long to know if what we have is real or just sexual attraction.”

  “We do make great sex,” he pointed out, pressing his hips a little tighter against hers and sliding his hands around to rest on the full curve of her butt.

  “And great sex,” she agreed with a quick laugh. “But instead of all big promises, you offered us a chance.”

  “So that means yes?”

  Her eyes brimming again, this time with more love than he’d ever thought he’d deserve, Gwen nodded.

  “That means yes.”

  Noah’s smile was part delight, part relief. Looked like honesty had worked where seduction hadn’t.

  For years, he’d wondered if he’d done the right thing. He knew that to be a good SEAL, he had to commit one hundred percent. He’d thought that meant there was nothing left for anything else. For any one else.

  Now he knew better.

  Now he knew he could have both.

  His career, and his woman.

  “I love you,” he said just before he took her mouth. “I feel like I’ve loved you forever. Now I’m going to find a way to make love with you forever.”

  —The End—

  CALL TO ACTION

  by Tawny Weber

  Call to Action: Prologue

  “Dude, I can’t believe you ditched the Army for the Navy. Why would you do that?”

  “SEALs are Navy,” Ellison pointed out with an amused look.

  So?

  Army Specialist Rico Santiago wanted to toss that out, but he knew it’d prove just how lame his argument was. Ellison had left the army after his last tour, gone through extensive training and busted his ass during Hell Week, then passed BUD/S. A guy didn’t do that if he wasn’t planning to follow through.

  Especially not a guy like Ellison, whose personal motto went something like See, Do, Win. The guy was bulldog stubborn, setting his sights on a goal and busting his ass until it was his.

  Rico admired that. Hell, he was like that. Which was probably why the two of them got along so well. They thought alike, they fought alike. They’d served together for four years, ever since Ellison transferred into Rico’s EOD unit at Ft. Irwin, the two of them teamed up as Counter-IED specialists.

  The guy was good. Innovated, dedicated and focused. They worked well together. He hated that Ellison was leaving the unit, hell, the branch. But did he have to move away, too?

  Rico wasn’t a sentimental man, but he wanted to shout out, what about friendship? Was that done, too? Was this last visit to the barracks to gather the few things he’d left behind really the end of their time together?

  Arms crossed over his khaki-covered chest, Rico stared, unseeingly, at the drab barracks wall.

  “Don’t you get seasick?” he asked, inspired and not ready to give up.

  “I used to get sick as a dog.” Jack Ellison looked up from the olive drab duffle he’d just zipped closed. “When I decided to go for a SEAL trident, I started adaption treatment. You know, like exposure therapy.”

  “Say what?” Rico frowned.

  “Mostly with one of those rotary chairs like the astronauts use.” Ellison swung the duffle over his shoulder and jerked his head toward the door. As Rico strode out alongside him, he continued. “But I supplemented standard therapy. Boats, busses, reading in the car.”

  The guy was puking his guts up for duty. Rico gave a sad shake of his head as they stepped out the door. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t step in?

  “Let’s go,” was all he said, though. “Gina’s making a special dinner to celebrate your kicking BUD/S ass.”

  Rico figured his wife would have some ideas to keep Ellison around. After all, there was nobody sneakier than his Gina.

  Call to Action: Chapter One

  “What do you think of the blue? Do you think it’s too flashy?”

  Cari Tores lifted the sheer blue fabric so that it draped over her petite curves, pooling like a lake at her feet.

  “I want it to say friendly and attractive, but not to scream I’ll do anything, I’m desperate.” She looked at the white satin folded in a tidy square on her friend’s turquoise leather couch. “Would the white be better? You know, clean and subtle and a little classy?”

  “Depends on how you accent it,” Gina called from the kitchen.

  Accent it? But she hadn’t gotten that far yet. Tossing the fabric aside, Cari dug into the extra-large storage bin to search for accents.

  She was an intelligent woman. She knew perfectly well that her life wouldn’t end if everything didn’t look perfect.

  Except she was pretty sure it would.

  “Gina, help,” she wailed, holding a pair of tassels up like earrings. “Silver or gold?”

  “Hold your horses. It’ll just take me a second to get these stuffed peppers in the oven.” Taking five times longer than promised—not that Cari was counting—Gina Santiago finally came around the stainless steel kitchen island, wiping her hands on the skirt of her retro red polka-dotted apron.

  “Well....” Gina tuck
ed her pink streaked silver hair behind her ear and tilted her head to one side to consider. “I don’t know. I think you should go with a desperate, do me look. It’s closer to reality, isn’t it?”

  “Tuh.” Her expression somewhere between insult and outrage, Cari dropped her hands to her sides, the tassels waving back and forth, tickling her bare knees. “We’re talking about my program, Gina. Not my love life.”

  Her vintage cat-eye glasses did nothing to disguise Gina’s eye roll.

  “And whose fault is it that a program that highlights geriatric sexual aides is more exciting than your love life?”

  But that display of geriatric sexual aides was the pinnacle of her career, Cari wanted to shout. After years of barely making ends meet, two months ago it’d all come together. She’d signed a contract with the community college teaching empowerment classes. The psych teacher had invited her to join his mastermind group, who’s connections had helped launch her most popular group coaching program. Because it’d gone over so well and because she really wanted to do it right and make a great impression, she’d signed a lease that allowed her to hold her coaching sessions at the gallery Gina worked at.

  This was Cari’s dream job, her chance to marry her life coaching skills with her love of art, to help guide people to their highest joy. That her debut program was dubbed opt-in octogenarian orgasms by her friends was fine with her.

  “It’s the dating fairy’s fault. She’s holding out on me,” Cari said, getting back to Gina’s question with an absent shrug as she first held the gold tassel against the blue fabric, then the silver, then the gold again. “I’m grateful that Esprit De L’Art is willing to host my group sessions. Your gallery has some of the best erotic art in Northern California.”

  “It’s Sophia’s gallery. I just manage it,” Gina corrected, nudging Cari’s tassels aside to lay a rope of clear beads over the blue fabric. “There. Go with the balls. Clean and simple, they won’t distract from the art.”

  “And they’re a nice subliminal message, too,” Cari realized with a laugh as she stepped back to gauge the effect. “Note, seniors who still want hot sex lives, how attractive these empty, yet impressively large balls, are. Now check out this erotic art and let’s talk about how to make yours work for you.”

  “You’re the therapist,” Gina agreed with a laugh.

  “Coach,” Cari corrected. She’d never found the time—or the money--to get her master’s degree. But being a life coach was just as good to her. Sure, she had to work a little harder to be taken seriously. But when a woman looked like a combination of a pinup girl and a pixie and coached subjects like Hot Sex After Sixty, she was used to those types of challenges.

  “You know, if you put as much energy into dating as you do to making a temporary classroom look good, you wouldn’t have to worry about that dating fairy,” Gina pointed out, lifting a stack of black ceramic dishes from the kitchen island and carrying them to the dining nook off the living room. “You’re hot, Cari. Guys like that. And you’ve got that sweet side, too. Throw in clever, hardworking, independent and funny and you should have them lining up for dates. What the hell are you doing?”

  Cari wanted to point out that if she knew that, she’d fix it. She just hadn’t figured out how, yet. Sometimes, late at night alone in bed, the ugly thought snuck into her mind. What if she never found the right guy? What if she never had the mind-blowingly awesome sex she assured her clients was real. What if she ended up alone forever, without experiencing the pleasure of love—the kind of love that led to marriage and children.

  The thought always scared her right out of bed and into the kitchen in search of ice cream.

  “Look,” Gina said, taking one glass, then the other as Cari handed them to her. It was then that Cari realized there were four place settings, not three. Before she could ask, Gina continued. “I know this guy—”

  “No!” Cari exclaimed, throwing both hands in front of her face as if to ward off evil. “No matchmaking. No way.”

  “I’m not matchmaking.”

  “Oh, really.” Cari dropped her hands just enough to give Gina a narrow eyed look. “Then who else is coming to dinner?”

  “Nobody. I mean, he’s a friend of Rico’s, and a nice enough guy. But he’s not your type.” Gina waved the unnamed friend of Rico’s away as if he were inconsequential. “But let’s get back to more important things. I know this guy—”

  “Hey Gina, I’m home.”

  Cari gave a whoop of delight, both at the interruption and at seeing Gina’s husband in the doorway.

  Swarthy good looks only added to the masculine power of Rico Santiago, hottie extraordinaire and all-around nice guy.

  “Hey, Cari,” he greeted, tossing his camo hat on table shaped like a pair of stocking-clad legs that stood next to the door.

  Before he could say more, she hurried over, stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick hug. Even on tiptoes, she was still short.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Rico joked, hugging her right back with a laugh.

  She knew he wasn’t a huggy kind of guy. But Cari would have hugged anyone for saving her from a reprisal of yet another of Gina’s matchmaking lectures.

  But she liked Gina’s husband, so the gesture was as sincere as it was grateful.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” she said with a laugh as she dropped down off her tiptoes. “I need a man’s opinion and you’re just the one to ask.”

  “Opinion on what?” Rico asked, his expression cautious. With good reason, Cari supposed. Between Gina’s fifties-funk tastes and the fact that his sister owned the art gallery Gina worked at, the poor man had probably been asked to look at some pretty strange things.

  “Just a color scheme. I want to make sure it’s manly enough,” Cari assured him before her expression turned teasing. “And who better to ask than a guy manly enough to play with explosives for a living?”

  “Dispose of explosives,” Rico corrected automatically, his expression and tone both taking on a wicked edge. “And who better? How about two men?”

  That’s when Cari realized that Rico had brought company home with him. Company that Gina was giving a tight hug.

  Oh, my.

  Cari wanted to give him a hug, too.

  Maybe even a naked hug.

  Because he looked like the kind of guy who’d be really, really good at naked hugs. And other naked greetings.

  Tall, close to Rico’s six-foot, Cari judged. It didn’t matter that he was dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt, she could tell he was military. His buzz cut and formal bearing said that clearly enough. Strong, built and sexy he exuded power like some men exuded cologne. Add in sculpted cheekbones, a firm jaw and full lips and Cari wanted to ask Gina why the hell he wasn’t her type.

  Then his eyes met hers.

  And she forgot everything.

  Her excitement.

  Her worries.

  Even her name.

  The only thing left in her brain was hubba hubba.

  Call to Action: Chapter Two

  Hello, gorgeous.

  About five-foot nothing with curves that made her simple green dress look about as sexy as lingerie, she looked like a woodland fairy. Delicate and a little mystical with short black hair that fell to sharp points around an angular face and left her neck bare. Her huge, thickly lashed eyes were almost as green as her dress and almost perfectly round except for the slight tilt at the corners.

  It was all Jack could do not to angle his head around to see if she had wings.

  He did slide his gaze down to check for a wedding ring.

  Nope, no rings.

  Jack grinned.

  Who was she?

  Jack Ellison watched her laugh up at Rico with a comfortable familiarity that made it clear that they’d known each other a long time.

  Which made Jack want to know why the hell Rico hadn’t introduced him to her before.

  Or maybe why he didn’t introduce them now.

  “Yo,” he mu
rmured quietly.

  Rico, as in tune as if he’d been disarming an incendiary device, gave a jerk of his chin, his version of a nod.

  “Gina didn’t mention you’d be having dinner with us,” he told the pixie. “If I’d known, I would have filled Ellison in before we got here.”

  “What would you have told him?” the pixie teased.

  “To watch himself.” With that and a warning look for Jack that said just that, Rico turned, his arm still around her and waved a hand between the two guests. “Cari, this is Specialist Jack Ellison. Jack, this woman you’d better watch out for. Cari Tores.”

  Jack stepped forward to take one slender hand in his, dwarfing her willowy form and feeling as if he were drowning in the mossy green depths of her eyes.

  “Cari.”

  “Hi, Jack.” Her sharp features softened with her smile. “How is it that we haven’t met before?”

  “I plan on asking Rico that same question.” Later. Right now, he wanted to get to know why this woman made his head spin. “But since he’s such a slacker, why don’t you fill me in. I want to know everything about you.”

  “Everything?” she repeated with a soft laugh. “That’ll cost you.”

  Still holding her hand in his, Jack pulled her out of Rico’s arm and over to the couch. Puzzling for just a second at the puddles of fabric piled over one cushion, he pushed a rope of glass balls out of the way and gestured for Cari to sit.

  Looking like she was going to laugh again, Cari curled up on the couch, scooping up the blue material so it puddled like water in her lap.

  “What’s the cost? I’ll pay anything,” he said as he joined her, only half joking. He really did want to know what it was about her that had him imagining hot moans, silk sheets and white picket fences all in the same thought.

  “I want everything in return, of course.” Her smile was impish as she leaned closer to lay her hand on his knee. Jack blinked at the blast of hunger slamming through his system. Hot and horny blew the hell out of those little white fences so his thoughts were pure sex now. Trying to remember he was a gentleman—or at least his mother expected him to be—Jack took a slow breath.