One Night with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  Not because she was afraid of her date with Zane.

  But because she was afraid it wouldn’t happen.

  She knew the odds of Zane not realizing who she was—or more specifically, realizing who’s sister she was—were dancing somewhere between slim and none.

  Oh, she was pretty sure he’d show.

  She’d dared him.

  But that didn’t mean he’d show alone. He could bring Mike. He could stay just long enough to explain why he wasn’t going to stay.

  She took a deep, cleansing breath and told herself to channel Lola. What would Lola say? To think positive. The only way to live the dream was to believe the dream. To put it all out there and make it happen.

  Vivian wiggled into the most romantic corner booth she could wheedle and ordered a sparkling water. No point enjoying wine until she knew she’d enjoy the evening, too.

  She pulled out her cell phone. No cancellation message.

  That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Half the time, Vivian felt like her dreams were a tease. All too often she got within kissing distance of her goal and, poof, there it went. No big payoff, no awesome climax, nothing.

  Because, why? Because she always blew it.

  She shouldn’t have told him her name.

  She should have teased instead, said she’d tell him tonight.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have let him in on what she made at The Sweet Spot, either. Sure, a lot of guys saw that as a turn-on, but there were just as many who subscribed to the prude theory. Like her brother.

  And he was Mike’s friend.

  Then again, so was Lenny.

  Before she’d finished her confused sigh, Zane walked in. And all of her doubts took a back seat to the sight of how gorgeous the man was. Vivian sat up a little straighter. Shoulders back, chin high and chest probably jiggling because her heart was beating so fast, she smiled and sent him a little wave.

  “Vivian,” he greeted as he joined her.

  “Zane.”

  “So you’re Mike’s little sister, hmm?”

  “Aah, so the dare worked.” Vivian smiled. “How many times did you consider bailing?”

  “Bailing? I’ll have you know I’m trained to confront conflicts of all shapes and sizes. I fearlessly face down explosives, disarm bombs and disable volatile chemicals. Sometimes all three before breakfast.”

  “Tell me more.” Delighted, Vivian put on a wide-eyed look of fascination, even adding a little eyelash flutter for good measure.

  “I train with the best. I’m one of the elite. There’s no challenge devised that I won’t face.” He leaned in, his smile almost hypnotic as he teased. “Baby, I never bail.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” Vivian declared as the waiter brought Zane a beer and refilled her water.

  “But here’s the thing—” he started to say as soon as the waiter left.

  “No,” she moaned. “Not the thing.”

  There was only one thing of Zane’s that she wanted to hear about.

  “Here’s the thing,” Zane continued, laughing. “Some guys have rules about buddies dating their sisters. Sisters, cousins, moms. Guys get weird thinking the women in their lives have sex. They get even weirder when they know the guy putting the moves on that sex.”

  Lips pursed, Vivian propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist.

  “Aren’t you taking a leap there, assuming we’d definitely be having sex?”

  Zane blinked, looked horrified for one second, then shook his head.

  “I’m speaking generally, not specifically.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that you see this thing between us as platonic?”

  “Of course not. I plan on having a great deal of sex with you,” she purred. “A mind-blowing amount, as a matter of fact.”

  “Mind-blowing, hmm?”

  “Indeed.” She reached out with her free hand to trail her fingers over his knee. Up his thigh, then back down again. Oh, baby, even through denim, his muscles were rigidly impressive.

  He clamped his hand down, locking hers down on his thigh.

  “Only one thing.”

  “Only one?”

  “Only one.” Zane entwined his fingers through hers. “Your brother.”

  “Oh, please,” she objected. “Like you’re afraid of my brother? The man wears argyle socks and loafers, for crying out loud.”

  Zane’s snicker escaped before he could stop it, then he shook his head. “Mike’s footwear isn’t the issue. The fact that you’re his little sister is the issue.”

  Vivian debated a handful of approaches.

  She could keep blathering about her brother. That’d put an end to either of their interest in anything after a while. Mike was like a sedative.

  She could offer him an easy out, a simple excuse to end the evening so he wasn’t in danger of violating his bro code. Given there was a lifelong friendship involved, that’d be the nicest thing to do.

  She could seduce Zane into forgetting about the bro code, which would ensure her one night of dreams-come-true ecstasy.

  Or she could do the unthinkable.

  Vivian took a deep breath, her eyes locked on Zane’s face. He had such a sweet smile and sexy eyes. And there were dreams at stake here, dammit.

  So she reached into her bag to do the unthinkable.

  “What are you doing?”

  She finished tapping out her brother’s number.

  “Getting you bro-code clearance.”

  “Mike,” she said the minute he picked up. “Let’s play what-if. What if I have the hots for one of your friends? What if this friend wants to make a move but he’s worried about upsetting you, so I want to make the move instead? What would your feelings be on that?”

  “He’s afraid of me?” Mike laughed. “Wish him luck.”

  “Okeydokey,” she agreed, ending the call and giving Zane her most seductive smile.

  Zane gave her a long look, the kind that made her want to squirm in her seat and breathe a little heavier.

  Then he smiled.

  “You know he thinks you’re referring to Lenny, don’t you?”

  Vivian ran her tongue over her lower lip and leaned into the table. Just enough to highlight her cleavage. She waited until Zane’s gaze returned to her eyes before giving a delicate little shrug.

  “Can I help it if my brother is an idiot?”

  7

  ZANE DIDN’T REMEMBER a lot of details about the drive back to the bakery. He remembered even less about the journey up the back stairs, except that the view of Vivian’s ass swaying ahead of him was enough to make his mouth water.

  “You do amazing things to a skirt,” he murmured.

  And for a sexy look, he realized as Vivian reached the landing and gave him a smoldering over-the-shoulder look that damn near set his shorts on fire.

  “You should see what I do for lingerie.”

  Damn.

  “I’m looking forward to that.”

  Oh, boy, was he ever. Figuring, why resist temptation when it was right there in his face, he cupped the sweet curve of her butt while she unlocked the door. Firm and full, and purely awesome.

  The minute Vivian twisted the doorknob, Zane angled himself behind her, pressing against that deliciously tight ass. God, he wanted her.

  He pressed his palm against the door and shoved.

  Before she finished laughing, he had her inside, her back against the now closed door and his body up against hers.

  One hand still cupping her ass, the other dived into her hair, cradling the back of her neck as he took her mouth in huge, intense bites. Tongue, teeth, lips melded, danced, explored.

  She tasted amazing.

 
And he was starving.

  Ready to feast, Zane pulled her hips against his and groaned. Great fit. He fisted her skirt in his hand, more than ready to find out if she was a perfect fit.

  “Wait,” she gasped.

  What? No.

  Zane clenched his teeth and, with a deep breath, froze.

  Figuring it was the only way, he lifted both hands high and stepped back. He was a man who thrived on challenges, but, damn, all of the challenges he was facing on the road to getting Vivian naked was going to push him to his limits.

  But the lady said wait. So, forcing his heart rate to slow, he waited.

  Without taking her eyes off his, she slid out from between him and the door. That mysterious smile that had hooked him so hard played over her red lips, the rest of her features shrouded in the dim light.

  “I was thinking of you when I picked this skirt,” she told him. “It’s sailor-style.”

  “Sailor-style?”

  “Mmm, see these buttons?” She waved one hand toward her hip, game show–hostess style. Zane’s mouth dried up imagining the prize he was about to win. “They lead to doing it sailor-style.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing that I’m an experienced sailor.”

  “Indeed. And after we do it sailor-style, we can try cupcake-style.” She dabbed the tip of her tongue to the center of her top lip. “I have frosting waiting. With glitter.”

  Zane wasn’t sure if she said something after that because of the sudden buzzing in his ears.

  She flipped open the first button at her waist.

  His mouth went dry.

  She flipped the opposite button.

  The blood whooshed right out of his head. Zane leaned back against the door, just in case.

  One by one, she released the buttons. She gave the tiniest of shimmies and the skirt fell right off those hips and hit the floor. Leaving her standing there in sexy red high heels, that pretty blouse that cupped her breasts and fluttered at her hips, showing off her stockings. Sexy nude ones with lace at the thighs.

  Zane could barely think over the roaring in his head.

  While he was reeling from the sight of stockings—damn, baby, stockings!—she bent at the waist. Elongating that gorgeous length of creamy, stocking-clad thigh and thrusting her butt in the air to give him a peek of black satin edged in red.

  Holy crap, she was wearing black-and-red panties.

  Zane could resist a lot of things, but not black-and-red panties. No way, no how.

  It took all his willpower to rip his gaze off that temptation and look back at her face. A long swath of blond hair swept over her face, partially obscuring one eye in that femme fatale style she rocked so well.

  It wasn’t until he felt her fingers close over his that he realized she’d pressed something into his hand.

  Frowning, he glanced down.

  “What...” He clenched the fabric in his fist. “Why?”

  “You said you liked my skirt.”

  Oh, yeah, he did.

  “I like that blouse, too.”

  “Do you, now?”

  She skimmed her hand up her waist, her fingers dancing over the shiny polka-dotted fabric. She cupped her breasts just long enough to make him groan, then slid her fingers up behind her neck. The straps drooped, but didn’t drop to reveal her breasts. It took all of Zane’s control to resist shoving them down the rest of the way.

  She did something with the fabric at her side, and bless that blouse, it dropped for him.

  Leaving her standing there in those stockings, a tiny triangle of red-trimmed black silk and glorious skin. Miles and miles of skin.

  His eyes latched on to her breasts. He barely resisted the temptation to check to see if his jaw dropped. Because those were definitely jaw-dropping breasts.

  Full and firm, tipped with perfect berry-shaped nipples.

  “Wow,” he said when he finally met her gaze again. “Just, wow.”

  “Oops, sorry.” Her laugh was a soft husky breath. “I guess I forgot the lingerie.”

  “What, no lingerie? We’ll have to try it again. Later,” he murmured, cupping her breasts reverently in both hands. Much later.

  “Should we take this into the other room?” Vivian suggested, her fingers tiptoeing their way down his chest to his belly before drawing teasing little circles just above his belt buckle.

  The other room sounded good. Hell, the floor sounded good.

  Still Zane shook his head.

  “Not yet.”

  * * *

  SO THIS WAS HEAVEN.

  Vivian considered herself a woman well-schooled in the sexual arts. She’d memorized The Joy of Sex, the Kama Sutra and the One Hundred Sexual Positions coloring book. She’d watched Fifty Shades of Grey twice, Magic Mike and the sequel, and had the best film noir collection of movies of anyone she knew. She crafted the best penises ever frosted, could do things with chocolate worthy of a centerfold and had once crafted a four-foot copy of Rodin’s The Kiss out of Rice Krispies.

  She rocked sex.

  But the way she felt right this moment, she might as well have been a virgin schoolgirl.

  Clumsy and clueless and totally out of her depth.

  Before she could come up with something clever to say, he scraped his teeth over her throat. And sent huge, intense waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her knees shook. Her breath, too. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself steady. But the feel of those ripped muscles was too much.

  She went crazy.

  She drew her nails over his chest, wrapping one leg around his thigh. Vivian whimpered when the move pressed her damp core against his leg.

  “Oh, God,” she breathed, sliding up. Sliding down. Each slide made her tremble harder. “More. I have to have more.”

  She shoved at the fabric of his shirt to get to the skin beneath. A clever guy, he took the hint and tugged the shirt off over his head. The moment he tossed it aside, she clamped her teeth onto his shoulder while running her hands over all those amazing muscles.

  “You have the most amazing body,” she gasped.

  “Preaching to the choir, sweetheart.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her high enough for his mouth to latch on to her breast.

  Heat exploded. His body wasn’t the only thing that was amazing. His tongue. Oh, his tongue. He swirled, he laved, he licked. One nipple, then the other, then back again. Vivian’s body was on fire. Her head dropped backward, hitting the door with a thud she barely heard over the sound of her own moans.

  “The other room?” Zane ground the words between clenched teeth, his body so tense beneath her fingers that she was surprised he didn’t explode.

  She couldn’t wait.

  She wanted him to explode now.

  “Here,” Vivian insisted, staring into his eyes as she bit his lip. “Here and now.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed, his words somewhere between agreement and a reverent prayer of thanks before he took her mouth in a kiss hot enough to fry her brain cells.

  Vivian was remotely aware of the rustling sound of foil ripping and gave a hum of approval she hoped he knew was gratitude since her mouth was too busy to voice the words.

  With her body wedged between the door and Zane’s powerful thighs, he gripped her butt in both hands and thrust.

  Vivian exploded. The orgasm spiraled, spinning higher and higher and higher until she saw stars. Vivid, multicolored stars.

  He pounded deep, each thrust sending her up again. She dug her heels into the rigid muscles of his butt, meeting each thrust with a whimper. Her head fell back against the door, her breath coming even faster than she was.

  Oh. My. God.

  Vivian’s breath ripped from her lungs, leaving her throat burning and her hear
t on fire.

  She’d thought she rocked sex.

  She’d been so wrong.

  As her heart slowly found its rhythm again, she tried to gather a few of the scattered thoughts flying through her mind.

  Awesome. Mind-blowing. Earth-shattering.

  Vivian’s eyes flew open, the breath she’d fought so hard to steady lodging in her chest like a boulder.

  For her.

  What about for him?

  Zane was obviously a master. But now that she knew she was way out of her league, what’d that mean? Had he enjoyed it? Was he satisfied?

  Slowly, hesitantly, she slid her hand over the rippling muscles of his back to rest just above his butt.

  No sweat.

  She frowned.

  Why wasn’t he sweaty?

  Shouldn’t door-banging sex make a guy sweat?

  Sure, she wasn’t sweaty. But it took a five-mile run on a hot day to even get a glow out of her, so that didn’t count.

  She’d wanted sex with Zane Bennett. Now she’d had it. What a lousy time to realize she wanted more.

  More sex.

  More orgasms.

  More time.

  More Zane.

  She wanted to talk with him and hear about his adventures. She wanted to laugh at his jokes and learn his favorites.

  She wanted everything.

  But she wasn’t supposed to want everything. She was supposed to be happy—thrilled, even—with hot sex.

  Trying not to panic, Vivian let her legs slide down his until her feet found the floor. She felt Zane’s groan rumble through her body before she heard it. Encouraged, she took a deep breath and put on her sexiest voice.

  “How you doing, big boy?”

  “Mmm.” His hands still cupping her butt, he squeezed. “I’d say that was a pretty good start.”

  “Start?” Too surprised to be embarrassed anymore, she leaned back to stare into his face.

  “Start,” he confirmed, not even a little winded when he gave her a smile that melted her cacophony of fears and made her tingle all over again. “You said something about frosting?”