One Hot SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  Pick cursed as Luke “accidentally” dropped a load of dirt on the guy’s boots. “Deelie’s a legend. Every week has a weekend—and she’s the weekend gal. She’s fun and she’s all about the good times, but her relationships come with a forty-eight-hour shelf life. She’s just not the kind of woman you go home to.”

  “People change.” He’d survived more than one firefight in Afghanistan by listening to his gut, and right now his gut said Deelie was exactly right for him. Joining the hotshots had been his fresh start. He’d cashed out of the SEALs, earned a shiny new degree in forestry management on Uncle Sam’s dime, and now he had a new team at his back. When the guys weren’t going all Dr. Phil on his life, they had his back. What he didn’t have was a good woman in his bed or his heart. He planned to fix that.

  Deelie Jacks was single, she was available, and they had a history.

  She was also sexy as sin, and she was a challenge.

  Pick flipped him the bird. “You got a magic penis? Because when she does that compare-and-contrast thing, you’re going to have competition.”

  The crew chief wandered over right before Luke could put his government-issued Pulaski to a non-government-sanctioned purpose and beat some sense into Pick. “If you ladies could stop your gossiping and dig faster, we might finish up here sometime this century.”

  ~*~

  Deelie had spent the night on Laura Jo’s couch. The company was good, but she needed to find her own space stat. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Laura Jo. She absolutely did. Laura Jo had jet-black hair thanks to the magic of Clairol, energy that never stopped, and a mouth without a filter. Her days started and ended with mad, hair-raising ambulance runs to rush local mountain residents down to the hospital in Sacramento or to a waiting medical chopper. She lived life on fast-forward and seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

  Deelie wanted to high-five the woman whenever she came into the bar because she didn’t take any bullshit from the guys and she was a nonstop party. What Deelie didn’t want was to freeload off Laura Jo. Sure, the couch in the living room was hers as long as she needed it, but having to ask for the favor made her gut burn. Not having money sucked, but giving up her independence was worse. Fortunately, it was only another week to payday. Then she’d figure something else out. There had to be a spare room somewhere in Strong that she could afford, although she might have to set her sights on a garden shed.

  At precisely one o’clock, Luke pulled up, his truck all sparkly clean. He must have washed it, because when she’d parked it at Ma’s, the black paint job had been gray from ash and dirt. He killed the motor and unbuckled, which had her wondering if he actually planned to hike up to the door and walk her back to the truck. After all, it wasn’t as if she could get lost navigating the twenty feet of sidewalk on her own.

  “Are you up for a ménage?” She bellowed the words, enjoying the expression on his face. Shocking Luke—or at least keeping him off-balance—was fun and it was free. And it wasn’t that she wouldn’t try something adventurous if Luke wanted, but a ménage à trois had never been on her sexual bucket list. She pointed to the dog panting happily by her feet and watched as he took in Vicious’s pink bow collar. Whenever the dog turned her head, the purple stones hot glued onto the leather made little rainbows on the porch. Some days required sparkle.

  “Kinky.” A smile creased his face. “I’d love to spend the day with Vicious.”

  “That’s me.” Hopping down from the porch before he could get out and escort her to the passenger-side seat, she grabbed her bag and threw it into the back of the truck. Naturally, Luke’s truck bed was immaculate. In addition to the stainless steel toolbox bolted onto the frame, he had three milk crates full of neatly ordered guy crap. There wasn’t a soda can or chip bag in sight.

  “You’re OCD,” she announced.

  He paused, his door half-open. Guess he was going to insist on playing the gentleman and open her door for her. She didn’t need that kind of stuff though. She could open her own doors. Close them too.

  With a sigh, he settled back in his seat and watched her, clearly waiting for her to buckle up and explain. Well, it was his lucky day. She was feeling chatty, and he provided such lovely material.

  “All that stuff in the back,” she said. “It’s so… organized. Do you own a label maker too?”

  “I was a librarian in a former life,” he said solemnly.

  Right. Because he looked like every hot librarian fantasy she’d ever had. Wow. She should really think about that some more. Not that Luke was skirt-and-high-heels material, but he gave stern face so well, and she could definitely imagine all sorts of naughty possibilities if he busted her for talking in the stacks…

  “I didn’t know you were capable of being speechless,” he said dryly as he signaled to turn onto the highway a few minutes later.

  “Shhh,” she said. “I’m imagining you as Hot Librarian in a pearl-button cardigan and heels. It’s the best fantasy I’ve had all day, so let me enjoy it.”

  “Make sure you give me the red fuck-me heels. What? I’m a guy.” He captured her elbow with his hand before she could make contact with his ribs. “And if you distract me, I might drive us off the road.”

  “Good point.” She curled up in her seat and alternated between staring out the window and sneaking peeks at her chauffeur. Luke wasn’t wearing his hotshot uniform today, which was almost disappointing. Nomex was a good look for him, the heavy fabric making his legs look even bigger and stronger. Not that he didn’t fill out the pair of faded blue jeans he wore today, because he certainly did. And—yeah, she leaned over to confirm—he was wearing a beat-up pair of steel-toed work boots. God bless the military, because all the SEALs Deelie had met in Strong loved their boots, and she in turn loved boots on a guy. Just in case she’d missed the “former sailor” message his sexy shoes sent, he wore a Navy T-shirt with a wash-worn inspirational slogan. Less sexy was the probability that he was the kind of guy who chanted motivational affirmations right before he bounded out of bed at four a.m. for a ten-mile run.

  He followed her interested gaze. “Lose something?”

  “You have the hottest footwear.” Shoot. That had come out as a sigh. Oh well. It was no secret she lusted after his body. Only because it had been months since she’d gotten any, she told herself.

  His forehead crinkled, like he actually had no idea what he’d put on his feet this morning or why Strong’s female population would find a pair of steel toes and the man filling them so mesmerizing. Maybe he was the kind of guy who owned two pairs of shoes and rotated between them. Didn’t matter. She was still enjoying her view.

  “So I should take red pumps off my shopping list.” He nodded. “Duly noted.”

  She grinned. “Or you can borrow mine.”

  She propped her feet up on the dashboard. Her own shoes were as far from steel toes as Siberia was from Florida. The wedge espadrilles sported navy-blue polka dots and pink ribbons that wrapped around her ankles. The sandals were completely impractical for tromping around the woods, but hiking wasn’t part of her plans anyhow. She’d borrowed them from Laura Jo’s closet when she’d realized that her own footwear choices were currently limited to a pair of black rubber flip-flops and a pair of battered sneakers. Laura Jo, on the other hand, had a shoe fetish and wore a size seven, which was a bonus.

  Luke’s eyes followed her feet. Apparently, he liked her borrowed shoes too.

  While teasing Luke was fun, the rhythmic motion of the truck and the sun pouring in the windshield were sleepy making. She hadn’t slept well on Laura Jo’s couch, which wasn’t her hostess’s problem. She never liked playing sleepover. Her mom had parked her on one friend’s couch after another growing up, and sometimes houses came with other guests or owners who got handsy when the lights went out. She’d learned to sleep with one eye open.

  “I’ll wake you up when we get there,” Luke offered when her eyes were at half-mast. He reached over and flicked on the radio, Luke Bryan filling the c
ab. She had a rule about not sleeping around guys, but Luke seemed to be in a one-man category of his own. Distantly, she heard words coming out of her mouth. Babble. He snorted with amusement, and then, as her eyes drifted closed, his flannel shirt settled over her. Huh. She felt safe.

  Safe was good, but she made her own safe.

  ~*~

  Sleeping Beauty woke up when they started bumping down the access road. The campground was only about an hour outside Strong, which still seemed like way too far for Deelie to be commuting. Christ. She shouldn’t be sleeping in her car period. He’d have to be blind and dumb to not realize that her life had challenges, but he planned to change that. He admired her for wanting to stand on her own two feet, but he could take care of her.

  She certainly was cute as hell when she let loose and fell asleep. She’d twisted her blond hair up in some kind of tall coil and secured the mess with what looked like a rubber band and two pencils. He wondered if she even knew they were there. She wore denim shorts and a pink tank top. Deelie definitely liked her pink. She’d thrown on a thigh-length kimono made out of white lace. He could see her skin through the fabric and, yeah, it drove him crazy. It was the kind of thing a woman wore in the bedroom if he was lucky. Very lucky. He’d like to see her naked and in just the kimono.

  And those shoes… fuck if he wasn’t going to get hard from now on whenever he saw polka dots.

  When he pulled into the entrance of the campground and flashed his fire credentials at the ranger checkpoint, Deelie stirred sleepily. “Are we here?”

  “Almost,” he said gruffly.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Then she proceeded to take down her hair and reconstruct a new tower. And… just like that, he was hard again. Apparently, everything about Deelie gave him an erection.

  “You may not like what we find,” he warned as he started down the side road leading to her illegal campsite.

  “Story of my life,” she said lightly, but he couldn’t help but notice that she looked worried. The burn wasn’t too bad near the checkpoint, but the further they drove, the more damage he saw.

  His heart sank when he pulled up to Deelie’s campsite. It was every bit as bad as he’d feared. The fire had turned the bottom two-thirds of the tree trunks black, stripping off the leaves and leaving behind black char. A few patches of red paint peeked through the charred sides of her car, but the glass was gone and the inside looked like a barbecue pit. The air stank of smoke.

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice, already pulling open the door and hopping down. Fuck. He threw the truck into park and went after her. Her pretty shoes weren’t made for this, and it wasn’t like there was anything to salvage here. She stopped next to the wreck of her car, wrapping her arms around her middle. Instinctively, he pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into him.

  “Sorry, baby,” he said against her hair. He should have come out here and done a precheck. Should have spelled out the possibilities or done something.

  “It wouldn’t start.”

  “At least you weren’t in it,” he pointed out, and she sniffed. Wrong thing to say, asshole.

  “What kind of insurance did you have on it?” Maybe she’d insured the damned thing like it was a Lamborghini and the carnage was actually a bonus.

  She gave him The Look. “Basic collision.”

  Yeah. She’d get about a dollar and some change from her insurance company on that policy. Her only collision had been with a wall of flames, and he didn’t think her insurance company would buy that. Needing to do something constructive, he pulled out his phone and took some pictures.

  “File a claim anyhow. See what they say. The campground should have some kind of insurance too.”

  Of course, her illegal choice of a campsite wouldn’t help, plus he was fairly certain that forest fires fell in the “act of God” category, but there was always the chance that someone would pony up.

  She started poking through the ashes, clearly determined to salvage something. He fetched work gloves from his truck and then came over to help her sift through the stuff. An hour later, she sat back with a groan. They’d found precisely zero possessions still intact. He was just grateful that he wasn’t pulling her body out of the mess.

  She sighed, surveying the burnt-out wreck. “My butt’s going to be a whole lot smaller once I’m walking everywhere.”

  He gave her points for trying to be optimistic, although there was no missing the note of sadness in her voice. She had to be worried about money if she’d been camping in her car to save a few bucks, but she didn’t need to worry now. She had him.

  “We’ll get you set up with a new car.” At the thought of her worrying, his gut clenched. She shouldn’t be walking home alone after a shift at Ma’s. Strong was about as safe as a place could get, but bad shit happened everywhere and they were right on the highway. All sorts of people passed through, and he couldn’t give her a ride home every night.

  She clapped her hands together. “We must have passed a money tree on our way into the campground! You pull over on our way back, and I’ll load up. Problem solved.”

  Apparently, a bank loan wasn’t an option. An underemployed cocktail waitress probably didn’t cut it. That was okay. He had enough for both of them.

  “Money’s just money. If I’ve got it and you don’t, I can fix that. In the meantime, we can share the truck.”

  “I’m not taking your money. Or your keys.” The way she looked at him, you’d think he’d just offered to roast her puppy or pay for sex.

  “There aren’t any strings,” he said gruffly. Why was he the bad guy here? He was just trying to do something nice for her.

  Without looking at him, she stood up and headed toward the truck. “I was living in that car.”

  And he’d picked her up at Laura Jo’s last night, so clearly she didn’t have the cash to just go and rent a place.

  “You’ll stay with me.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could think them through, but they felt right. Really, they’d known each other for years, since high school, and life as a SEAL had taught him the importance of seizing the moment. Sometimes tomorrow didn’t come, so a smart man made the most of today.

  “Hello. How about ask instead of tell?” Clearly, Deelie didn’t share his carpe diem sentiment. Damn it. The woman had a stubborn streak a mile wide.

  He stalked toward her. “Please move in with me.”

  She looked at him. “No.”

  Hell. He paused. “I don’t even merit a no, thank you?”

  She shrugged and leaned against the truck. “I don’t need rescuing.”

  They seemed to be focusing way too much on what she didn’t need when he’d rather be talking about what she did need. He’d been kind of hoping he topped that list, hence her wild-monkey-sex request.

  He shook his head. “Your problem is that you don’t want rescuing. You think everybody who comes into your life is already on his way out. You don’t give them a chance to stay.”

  Deelie snorted. “If we’re listing character flaws, let’s talk about how you think you’re Mr. Fix It. You’ve got everything planned to a T. I’ll bet you were that guy standing in the back of the plane yelling Go, go, go as the soldiers bail out with their parachutes.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a plan.” He’d loved the discipline and structure of military life. And, okay, so he was kind of an old sobersides, and the fire team routinely called him Gramps.

  She shrugged again, whistling for Vicious, who promptly jumped in and curled up on the floor.

  “Do you even know how to have fun?” she asked pointedly.

  Absolutely. He racked his brain trying to think of an example to give her. In the past week, he’d worked four double shifts, run thirty miles, and… gone to the bar. “I went to Ma’s.”

  “To pick up your keys.”

  “I’m not the kind of guy who dances.”

  “And yet you danced last ni
ght with me,” she pointed out. “Badly, but it counted. Makes a gal wonder.”

  “I told you I don’t dance.” Although if it turned out to be a deal breaker, he’d learn.

  She smiled again, like she was lost in her own head. “I thought you meant you didn’t like to—not that you flat-out couldn’t.”

  He caged her against his truck, his hands on either side of her head. “Are you questioning my dance moves?”

  4

  Insulting her ride out of the woods probably wasn’t Deelie’s wisest move. A prudent carless person would shut up and smile sweetly now. Maybe toss in a little admiration for his buff forearms and incredible patience as she sifted through what was left of her car (not much). Unfortunately, she’d always lived dangerously, so keeping her mouth shut wasn’t happening.

  “I’m laughing at your dance moves,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

  “That’s even less nice.” He shifted closer, which shouldn’t have been possible. His jeans rubbed against her bare legs. She should have worn more clothes. Or fewer. Yeah. Fewer. Getting naked sounded like her best idea ever.

  She tilted her head back. Luke being nice and supportive was kind of strange and had to come with strings attached, but the sexy pressure against her legs—and higher, oh yeah—that was familiar territory. She loved the closeness, the way it felt like her body melted into his and her only anchor to reality was eight inches of hot, hard penis. He nipped her mouth with his.

  “No woolgathering,” he said. “You’ll give me a complex.”

  “Are we still working on the date portion of today, or have we moved on to the next item on the agenda?” Her car was a total loss, but her sex life didn’t have to be.

  His eyes darkened. “Hot monkey sex?”

  “Only if you promise to be really good.” She could feel her mouth curving up into a smile. She seemed to do a lot of smiling around Luke. “Or really, really bad. I’m flexible.”