by Zoe Dawson
“Unlike the guy in the bar, right? I think he was an open book.”
“He was. I read his message loud and clear and wasn’t interested. You came to my rescue, but I could have handled him with a knee to the groin if he really got out of control. It’s all about depth.”
He winced at her words but realized that sassy Shea could have held her own with the lout. It made him wonder how much more was hidden inside this beauty, and what other delights he had yet to uncover. Made him want to spend more than just a few nights finding out.
It wasn’t smart or prudent, but he was drawn to her almost against his will. If he wasn’t careful, the desire he felt for her could overrule his common sense.
Apparently, she had the same notion. Her gaze captured his and searched deep, past those many barriers he’d erected and the sensation of her touching a piece of his soul in the process had to be his imagination. “There’s more to you than meets the eye. A lot more.”
Hemingway’s lungs squeezed tight, making normal breathing difficult. She had an all too accurate intuition, not that he’d open himself up to be the vulnerable one here. He’d ducked that for a long time with the opposite sex. He didn’t want to get to any kind of revelation. He liked being in the dark with women about why he did what he did.
“What you see is what you get,” he said firmly and her eyes shuttered. Shaking her head like she was trying to clear it, she nestled her chin into the space between his jaw and collarbone. She felt good there as the music ended and a call out sounded. “Time to rid yourself of the last vestiges of your former life, gents.”
Ensign Lane took up the clippers as men started to line up, and the women cheered as each of them were shaved. Shea walked with him as he got into line. When they reached Lane, Hemingway took a seat. The Officer in Charge of BUD/S trainees looked at her. “You’re going to catalog all that we do here, correct?”
“I am,” she said.
“Why don’t you finish up? This is all about ‘team’ and if you want to be part of it, maybe you should.”
Hemingway craned around to look at Lane, then at Shea. She was surprised, but with the egging of most of the class, she took the clippers.
He turned back around and with cat calls and a stream of abuse, she set her fingers at the base of his neck. She fired up the clippers, and with slow, measured sweeps, she buzzed the razor over his head. His hair slipped down a little bit at a time on the sides of his head, but when she plowed through the thicker hair on top, it showered down in clumps. She brushed at his shaved skull, his skin ultra-sensitive to her touch, and she almost made him groan when she blew on his neck to clear out the rest of the shorn hair.
Before he could catch his breath, a BUD/S trainee was pushing his way to the seat and Hemingway moved so as not to be knocked to the ground. He watched as she finished the rest of the class and handed the clippers back to Lane.
She walked back over to him, even though she was mobbed by a lot of the guys asking questions and trying to get her to engage, but she kept looking over at him. Smiling, she finally slipped away.
“How about a stroll on the beach?” she suggested. He nodded, and they walked toward the surf. The waves crashed and rolled in a whooshing sound that was relaxing. He’d lived his whole life connected to the Pacific and to him it was a haven. The sand between his toes, the sounds of the waves roaring, the sight of the open, vast ocean in front of him, and the saltiness of the air always brought this feeling of adventure and vitality where anything seemed possible.
Maybe it was because life of a land walker who breathed air and rose to two feet had started in the deep depths of the ocean, and when humans looked at the limitlessness of the waves, they instinctively thought of home.
This far from the lights of Coronado, the stars burned brightly, and he slowed down to appreciate their beauty. The stars were another reminder of the vastness of the world and drove home to him that he didn’t have to limit himself to this small space in San Diego. SEAL training would take him to many places, some even more dangerous than the last mission, but he drew comfort from the fact that he would have a team at his back. It was something he could depend on one hundred percent. Home or away.
“You are even more gorgeous with your head shaved. I was right about the bone structure.” Shea said the last part with almost a slight air of resentment, though with some dry amusement thrown in as well to temper any actual attitude, but he was sure the woman had it in spades.
His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, urging him to do something—anything about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn’t his type when the sexual tension between them was clouding the night in a thick fog.
“What’s your take on the class as a whole?”
Her abrupt shift of gears had him taking a moment to shift along with her. He frowned, wondering at her question. “Some good guys, hard chargers, some duckers, but those will be weeded out.”
“Anyone stand out as problematic?”
Wilson came immediately to mind with his buddy huddles. “A few.”
“Like whom?” She’d said it lightly, as if she were just making conversation. She wasn’t focusing on him, instead moving sand around on the beach with her foot.
He liked Shea, and it was no secret he was intrigued by her. She seemed down to earth, which, he realized, most of the young women he’d met weren’t. She was herself—not playing or enhancing her femininity only made her more sensual and attractive.
“One of my roommates. He’s been off since he got here. Grumpy, antisocial…secretive.”
Her brows rose. “Secretive? How?”
“He’s got these buddies he groups up with during chow and at down times. They seem like they’re in heated debates half the time, but that could be about anything.”
“Sure. What’s his name?”
“Daniel Wilson.”
He started back the way they came. “Couple of his buddies rang out and that seemed to make him even less social. Maybe they all had some pact.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Do you know their names?”
He rattled them off.
They got back to the bonfire, loaded up some plates with food and settled down to eat with a bunch of his friends. The conversation was lively, the laughter helped along with the beer. He noticed that Shea drank very little and listened to all the conversations with a deep interest. Hemingway also wasn’t a big drinker, a beer or two his limit. He liked to remain in charge of himself, keep a level head, and avoid any trouble that imbibing too much alcohol brought along with it. If he had even one incident with alcohol, he was out of BUD/S.
He got caught up with a couple of guys and lost track of her. For a moment, he thought she might have left without saying goodbye. Then he spied her chatting with Wilson.
He figured that was normal. She was doing the documentary on the class, and he had suggested she attend to get a head start on interviews. After about a half an hour, he glanced back over to her and noticed Wilson getting a bit too close. But before he could make any type of move, Mad Max materialized and set some distance between them.
She gave Max a smart-ass look, and they started up a conversation, but this one was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminded him of Daniel Wilson and his cohorts. Intense, serious, and strategic.
She said her goodbyes and turned to look for him. He rose, said his goodbyes amid plenty of ribbing from Professor and came up to her.
“I’m heading out,” she said.
“Alone?” he asked.
She chuckled and nudged him, then sobered. “I was just looking to get laid that night. Nothing more.”
“Yeah?” He turned his body toward her. “Didn’t expect it to be so good?”
“No.” She looked out toward the horizon. “I’m not looking for anything complicated. You don’t need that right now.”
“What could be complicated about having a good time together?”
“Your focus s
hould be on training. I have my own reasons for avoiding distractions.”
His lips curved. “Are they as good as that night three weeks ago?”
“No,” she sighed.
“I’m in training, Shea. I’ve got a long time before I’m a SEAL. This is only temporary. Why can’t we just enjoy it?”
She grabbed the buttons of his shirt and fondled them, then looked up at him. There wasn’t a coy bone in her body. She knew what he wanted, and he was sure she wanted it too.
“No strings, right, sandman?”
“Yeah, so you going to invite me home with you?”
She stepped closer. “Was that ever in question?”
“Not for me,” he murmured. “I assume you’ll drive?”
6
“The Navy gave me a temporary place near base. The hours filming you guys will be grueling.” Shea hadn’t been idle during the time the one hundred and sixty-three candidates had been going through BO. She’d been busy researching each one of them and working up a suspect list. Out of that number she’d whittled the list down to forty-eight men. Her criteria for these guys to make the short list were: whether they or their family had been touched by 9/11—either the Twin Towers, the crash of Flight 93, the Pentagon or any deaths of first responders, and any military related deaths in the war on terror. After strategizing with Mak, they decided to wait until after BO to start tracking the men. Fourteen men had DOR’d since the beginning of the class. Five of them had been on her list, narrowing it down to forty-three. One of them who had rung out that morning was also on her list, leaving forty-two to watch. She had a folder on each at home where she was keeping her notes. She’d be watching them closely at BUD/S.
“Yeah, in your warm, dry clothes.”
“Are you whining?”
He flashed her that quick grin. “Maybe a little.”
“Wuss.”
He laughed. “Embrace the suck.”
She glanced at him. “Do you dread it?”
“What?”
“The PT, surf torture, O-course, those massive logs, all of it. Is it looming over you?”
“No. I don’t dread it.” He turned to her in the dimness of the car. “This is going to sound strange, but I want to be tested down to the very fabric of my soul. I want my endurance measured, and I want to serve this country as a Navy SEAL. This is just the first step toward that goal.”
“Wow, that’s commitment.”
“Is this for the story, or are you interested?”
“Very interested.” She reached out because she couldn’t help herself. This was a special man, but she knew that from the get-go. Touching his arm released some of the tension in her. God, she couldn’t explain this in any way that made sense to her. She craved him, his touch, his attention, his mouth, body and brain. All of him. She wished she didn’t have to pretend to be someone else with him, pump him for information, but that was for the best. When she finished this assignment, she would soon be on another, probably far from here. He wasn’t the only one who would be globetrotting.
She wanted to keep this simple, but she wasn’t sure she could and that caused more than enough anxiety. She couldn’t get bogged down. She had more than a job to do…she lived and breathed the need for revenge against the man who had murdered her sister, a man who should have been upholding the law. There would be no rest for her until she put a bullet in him.
She pulled into the condo complex and parked the car. With a jingle of her keys, she opened the door and slipped out of the driver’s seat. Heading up the path into the lobby of the building, Hemingway followed. Up the elevator to her suite, she unlocked the door and stepped inside the spacious condo. The first thing she did was pull open the balcony doors. The view was stunning, even at night. A hop and skip away lay the beach and beyond that the always moving ocean.
The cool breeze didn’t do much to bank the fire burning against her skin.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and whiskey-hoarse as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck.
“Who would you be letting down?” she whispered, wanting to know what drove him beyond his patriotic aspirations and testing his own mettle. There was always more. There was always the emotional, deep-seated need that pushed people to do the things they did. She was well aware that sometimes those ingrained desires got people killed.
“Plenty,” he whispered back.
She had to smile. He didn’t want to be any more vulnerable to her than she wanted to be to him. She guessed that was her fault for trying to keep everything uncomplicated. So why was she trying to complicate this? It was about sex. That’s why they were here. It had nothing to do with his dreams of becoming a Navy SEAL. Her mission simply led her here to this place for this revolution in her career. A career she had loved and still did. When she killed the man who had murdered Madison, she would lose that too. But her vendetta had nothing to do with her. It was all about Maddy.
She pulled her top over her head and shimmied out of her pants and underwear until she was standing bare-assed naked in the moonlight, but even though he couldn’t see it, she was covered in armor.
“You and me, sandman, having fun. Yeah?”
“Hell yeah,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about what it was like to be inside you.”
Shea moaned, sinking into the memory, and turned her face toward his.
“And how you tasted.” He ran his tongue down her throat to her nipple, sucking gently. Her head dropped back. “Everything,” he said darkly and scraped his teeth over the sensitive nub, then took her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, increasing her desire.
“Bedroom?”
“Down the hall to the right.” He picked her up, his clothes rough against her sensitive skin. She wanted him naked. Just looking at him caused a primal hunger to have him closer. She didn’t need a seduction and yet craved it.
He moved down the hall and turned into her bedroom. He set her down on the mattress, but she reared up and stripped off his shirt, his skin smelling clean and delicious.
His hands spanned her ribcage, pulling her near, and on her knees, she reached for his waistband. His stomach flexed when she touched his skin. His hands mapped the curve of her butt as she unsnapped and unzipped, pushing the jeans off him. He worked them and his briefs down and off while she took in her fill of hard, delineated muscles, wanting him so much. Then he dragged her into his arms, his mouth devouring her until kissing wasn’t enough.
She met his gaze and felt something shattering between them, pieces cut, a few falling away, and when she reached between them, he stopped her, catching her hands.
“Oh, no, not so fast,” he murmured.
He didn’t give her a choice and kissed her with slow deliberation, drinking in more than a kiss with a man she’d just found. His arms closed slowly around her, drawing her against him, and she could feel his heart in it, trying to deny that her heart was anywhere near his. Something was different than all the throwaway men she’d had ever since Maddy’s death. The heat between them steadily grew, and he stretched her over his arm, tasting her flesh, his hand slipping and diving. Her hands explored him, finding him an adventure in contours and investigated with the persistence of a woman who knew what she wanted, especially enjoying the journey.
He pushed her back onto the bed and joined her, his hands skimming her thighs to her toes, a soft brush over her center, eliciting a soft groan from him and a hard gasp from her. He smiled, moved lower, finding the curve of her hip, making her restless.
Shea had lost any thoughts she might have had except More, please and don’t stop. When his hand moved between her thighs, parting her so gently, the desire spiraled through her with the rush of liquid. He slipped a finger inside her.
She gasped. “Sandman.”
“Atticus,” he rasped. “My first name is Atticus.”
Her skin vibrated with a hot pulse as he teased her with exquisite skill, her skin tingling and d
amp under his hand. Then his mouth found her, his tongue slicking over soft flesh and Shea watched him, fascinated, then was lost in the sensation. He circled her delicate core, and she thrust her hips in wanton pleasure, the impact felt in the tips of her nipples, beading hard, and coalescing in her center with a vengeance.
There was no holding back. She reared up, pushing at his shoulders almost violently, forcing him back. She straddled his thighs, his erection thick and full as she circled him. He released a wonderful man-groan, deep and raspy, and she smoothed her fingers over the tip, molding him as she inched up higher. She rocked, her wet center slicking him, and his eyes flared.
“Damn, woman, you’re killing me.”
She kept touching him, circling him, sliding. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth and his expletives were barely audible. She rose, her thighs flexing as she guided him. Her gaze locked with his, she sank down.
His hand swept over her hair, holding her face. She could barely breathe, her eyes glazing over. She’d been alone so long. Not just the solitude of her job, but in her soul, she’d felt betrayed and abandoned, cheated out of her sister. She clung to him, arms locked tight.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.
His hold tightened, and he buried his face in the curve of her throat, his hands soothing her spine. She kissed his throat, his shoulder, then her mouth found his, the air between them heavy with the pulse of desire, an ache pushing beyond the heart. They moved and Shea couldn’t drag her gaze away from his, didn’t want to, as she absorbed the beauty of him. As much as she wanted it to be about the lust, she had to admit, staring into his eyes shadowed in the dark, she wanted this to be more than sex and satisfaction, and with each hard thrust of his body into hers, she felt her blood move slower and pull in her soul.
Hemingway held her, something inside her feeling his unraveling as his hand swept her spine, his touch demanding on her body.
“I thought about this too much,” he said.
“Me too, even when I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
