Hemingway (SEAL Team Alpha Book 11)

by Zoe Dawson

  “Somehow, I knew.” His words whispered over her lips. “I just knew.”

  Shea’s throat clamped like a fist and his kiss soothed it, their bodies pushing into each other. Her fingertips followed the lines of his face, her breath shuddered, and she clutched him, fused with him with each deep stroke. Nothing mattered, not even the pain, revenge or evil in her world. She had Hemingway and didn’t want to think beyond this moment.

  Everything got crazier. The taste of him, the slide of skin against skin, the feel of his mouth, the roll of his hips, the hardness of what made him so male. Tremors wracked her body, and he cupped the back of her neck, his forehead to hers before he kissed her. Her breath panted and she quickened, whispering erotic words that drove him quickly to the edge. He pushed her legs around his waist, rose in one heavily muscled move to lower her to the mattress.

  The scent of his skin surrounded her. Stone hard, his hips pistoned at a pace he couldn’t control, and she welcomed it, clamping herself around him while he kissed her. Long and lean, he kept thrusting, throwing a heat wave at her, and the power of him pushed her across the mattress. Her body quaked, her gasps filling the dim room. Lost in him, tension low in her stomach, each motion of her hips thickening him, making every tiny sensation raw and primal. Tendrils of pleasure threaded through her with breathtaking force.

  She climaxed on her next moan, her next heated breath, unable to hold back. With a savage groan, he joined her in a wild flex of muscles.

  She grabbed his face, kissed him wildly and refused to let the moment fade. They were suspended for long glorious seconds, fused before their muscles started to relax again.

  With an uneven sigh, he lifted his head, caressing her temple with his thumb. Laying a trail of soft kisses along her jaw, he moved again, snuggling her into his arms when he shifted to his side.

  “Don’t leave in the morning,” she whispered, her voice catching.

  She felt him smile as he lightly dragged his mouth along her neck, his breath sending a shiver through her. Smoothing back her hair, he murmured against her mouth, “Not a chance, Shea.” Then, tightening his hold, he locked her hips against his. His breathing soft, he covered her mouth with a kiss that comforted, that promised, that gave her more than she could have ever hoped for.

  In moments, she heard his deep breathing. She figured he was beyond exhausted. He had to be. She’d done a little research on BUD/S. First to get acclimated to what she would be doing, and secondly, to take in and absorb the kind of mettle it took to get through the training. They didn’t call it elite for nothing. Intense was an understatement. It would give her insight on who the NWO terrorists were. They were exacting a revenge of sorts by targeting Navy SEALs. Their message: The men who keep America safe from foreign threats can’t even protect their own. An attack on them would undermine the notion of safety, whatever that entailed. It was her job to drill down on the recruits to find the men planted there by NWO to handle the humiliation and destruction of the legendary fighting force. Shea rose and went to the sliding glass doors and opened them, letting in the glorious breeze that tasted of salt and the heavy scent of the ocean. It was a gorgeous night.

  Like it had been the night Maddy died.

  Shea closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, bowing her head. Two years and the grief she’d felt was still real. Two years and the man responsible had slipped the noose and was skulking around, still enjoying his freedom. Untouchable by birth and political affiliation.

  When she was ready, she was going to end him.

  She slipped back inside and stopped in a patch of moonlight. Hemingway was bathed in that light and something made a shiver go down her spine. Being near him did something to her. She smiled and was shocked at how genuine it felt as she pulled the sheet up over his chest. He looked so comfortable, the lines between his brows when he was awake and interacting were gone, yet there was nothing boyish or innocent about him, even asleep. Hemingway was naturally a strong, skilled and sexy man, and because of that he made her aware of being a woman in every aspect.

  Slipping back into bed, she found sleep still elusive, so she turned to him in her isolation and hoped to borrow some of his peace from him.

  Mad Max dug into the sand and raced along the beach with Juggernaut. The Silver Strand had the softest damn sand in all of the world, but he’d cut his teeth on this beach and had gone through BUD/S, trained here with his teammates and one special kid who was kicking ass already in BUD/S. He couldn’t hold back the pride he felt in Hemingway. He embodied Max’s limitless thinking. If you can think it, you can do it.

  He’d always believed that his thoughts created reality.

  He was here to support Shea Palmer in her investigation into the NWO terrorists that Mad Max had already faced. He and his team had thwarted an attempt to blow oil wells in the Santa Barbara Channel and kill workers on the oil rig. The SEALs had to swim rough, storm-tossed seas, brave dangerous marine life, and assault a football field sized structure that rose nearly two hundred feet above the water with only eight men.

  All that didn’t mean he had to just play the role of a BUD/S instructor. Anything he did, he wanted to do with his fullest capacity. That’s what he had been doing with this fractured team he’d landed in. He was determined to see this team come together, to gel, and to become one of the tightest and strongest of the teams.

  They were all elite operators, some of the very best. But the team functioned as two parts instead of a whole unit. Saint, 2-Stroke and Max were all new to the team. It took time to develop unquestionable trust that the man next to you would always have your back. And trust required holding nothing back.

  Dragon and Pitbull had been carrying some hard and heavy baggage, which was compounded by the fact that neither of them was all that keen on getting close to someone new. After their teammate Justin “Speed” Myerson had been captured, then killed by Boris and Natasha Golovkin, the leaders of the brutal Kirikhanistan Rebels, the rest of their team either transferred or retired, unable to handle the fracture.

  But again, to be a close-knit unit that functioned as one, there had to be close-knit ties. Both of those members had learned that lesson. The rest of them—2-Stroke, Saint, Dodger, and even his LT Fast Lane were still limping along.

  He hadn’t been willing to give up on Pitbull, whom Max had butted heads with since he’d first landed in the cages with him, and he wasn’t giving up on the rest of them. They would be a hell of a team. Mad Max would settle for nothing less.

  Jugs barked and Max looked down to see him keeping his eyes on another runner. Always vigilant, Max smiled. It was tricky to keep up with Jugs while working as an instructor, but a dog handler was never far from his canine. Max had been allowed to keep Jugs in his small instructor apartment in his kennel. It was close enough that when Max got a break, he could let Jugs out.

  As he approached his living quarters, Instructor Hal Cheezer was crossing the compound. It was early Saturday and there would be no interaction with the trainees today and tomorrow. The fun would begin on Monday when First Phase started.

  “Hey there,” Hal said as he looked down at the Malinois. “I’ve heard you are a force to be reckoned with Juggernaut.”

  Jugs barked and the instructor looked at him as if for permission to interact with his dog.

  Max nodded. “Jugs is secured. He has that balance between domestic dog and mad dog killer. He won’t take a chunk out of you unless I tell him to.”

  The instructor laughed softly and crouched down and rubbed Jugs’s head. He pulled out a napkin from his pants pocket and Jugs went nuts.

  “Bacon?”

  “Yeah, saved some for him from breakfast.”

  He fed the dog, and Jugs devoured the pieces with a lot of licking and chewing. “A guy just like him saved our squad. We’re lucky to have them.” He rose from his crouched position. “He’s a fine warrior, Max. Hoo-yah.”

  Max agreed and headed to his room. He got Jugs his “real” breakfast
and sat down with a coffee cup and his own breakfast while looking over his notes for training. His cell rang, and he reached for it, groaning softly when he saw who it was.

  “Gina, my beautiful sister, what can I do for you?”

  “I can’t get used to the fact that you’re close to home and that you’ll actually be able to participate in the wedding. God willing. Anyway, I haven’t gotten your RSVP, Max. Who are you bringing with you?”

  “So much pressure. I don’t know.”

  “You are coming without a date? Should I only prepare one meal…I need to know.”

  “Is one extra meal going to be an issue?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and Max sighed.

  “You aren’t taking Rhonda’s wedding seriously, are you? This isn’t a seat-of-your-pants mission, Max. This is their wedding, and we have an obligation to make it the best it can be. Put that in your Navy SEAL pipe and smoke it. I’ll expect to hear back soon about who you’re bringing. You got me?”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant Gina. Got it loud and clear.”

  “Good.” The call ended with a loud click in his ear, and he turned to look at Jugs who was sitting next to his chair. “I get no respect in this family. Do you think it’s because I don’t have ovaries?”

  Jugs tilted his head, and Max laughed softly. Maybe he wasn’t taking Rhonda’s wedding seriously. But tuxes made his neck itch and all that pomp and circumstance seemed like a waste of time and money. Getting married should be simple and easy, not a damn production. His sister Rhonda was often either hysterical because something wasn’t going off as she’d planned or in full-blown bridezilla mode because the flower shop didn’t have whatever flower she wanted in stock for the boutonnieres when it was time for the nuptials. If it were up to Max, he would get married in his parent’s back yard.

  That made him think about who he did want to bring as a date. He sat up straighter. With all the deployments and his busy life as a SEAL, he had no prospective woman in mind. Damn, he would just be happy bringing Jugs, but Gina would rip him a new one if he actually thought he could get away with it.

  Why not? Jugs had saved his life many times. He was always happy and didn’t need a new dress. Max chuckled and sent Jugs to his kennel. His meeting with the other instructors was in fifteen minutes and he didn’t want to be late.

  “See you later, boy.”

  Shea was already up when Hemingway woke the next morning. The scent of her, of their lovemaking, still clung to the sheets, and he rolled over onto his stomach, every shred of tension dissipated. It felt good to wake up relaxed and rested.

  Sighing, he rolled over onto his back, making a mental list of all the things he had to do tomorrow. Sunday would be shot from getting their room in shape for the beginning of the phase and making sure all their gear was in order, stenciling names on their helmets, not to mention the gear they needed for the Monday evolutions. He hoped his roommates had their shit together. It only took one guy’s lack of attention to detail and all four of them would be face first in the sand under the light of the moon. His success depended largely upon their success. That’s just how a team worked.

  The soft murmur of voices made his hearing pique. Hemingway turned toward the sounds, taking his eyes off the spectacular view of the ocean looking almost close enough to touch. He was sore again. It was a normal occurrence ever since he started BUD/S. He was aware it was only going to get worse. His muscles would hold up. It’s why he’d done so much endurance training along with the endless sit-ups, pull-ups, and push-ups.

  He threw back the sheet that was loosely over him and pulled on his briefs. He slowed as he drew closer to the kitchen. He remained motionless, not wanting to announce his arrival with any sound. He didn’t want to disturb what seemed like a serious conversation.

  “How are you doing? Really, sis. Don’t give me any of the bullshit ‘fine.’”

  Her brother, his voice deep. He wasn’t aware she had a sibling. Did she have more?

  “I’m handling it, Jason. That’s all I can say.” Her voice was low and soft, with a cadence that was tense. His shoulders tightened.

  “That’s good. It has to be enough for now.”

  When she spoke again, her voice was a bit deeper, perhaps a bit tighter. With what emotion—anger, regret, or grief? Hemingway couldn’t be sure without seeing her expression.

  “I know you worry, but I’ve explained my reasons the best I can. Things won’t change.”

  “I still hope they do.” His voice gentled. “I really do, but I still support you, Shea.”

  “How are things there?”

  His words were hushed and sad. “Terrible, so many dead. We’re still going through all the rubble.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s not an easy deployment.”

  Military brother.

  “They never are,” he murmured with both a sense of duty and sorrow. He liked her brother right away. He heard another man in the background, and Jason said, “I’ve got to go, Shea. Please be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  Careful? What did she have to be careful about? He heard her shut the laptop, and he peeked around the corner.

  She had her elbows on the kitchen table, staring out at the ocean. But where the ocean brought him peace, there was none in her eyes. She looked drawn, an exhausted look around her eyes, deep tension and sorrow around her mouth. Had she slept at all?

  He cleared his throat and entered the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

  Her face cleared and she nodded. “Sure. You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “The fridge is over there,” she said with a smile.

  He grinned. “You hungry?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but you don’t want me to cook.”

  “What makes you think I’m any better with a pan?”

  “I have a feeling you’re good at a great many things,” she said.

  They ate breakfast, hung around her place and later in the day went for a short run on the beach. Afterward, they sank into the sand.

  “Can you stay again tonight?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes, I can, but I’ll have to leave early in the morning.”

  “Okay, how about a movie then?”

  He nodded and said casually, “Did I hear voices this morning or was that my imagination?”

  “No, not your imagination. My brother Jason called from Argentina. He and his unit are down there for that terrible earthquake.”

  “Ah, humanitarian service. Marines?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?”

  “Those guys are always busy with that kind of thing. It’s impressive.”

  She nodded. “He’s always been a good kid. Helpful, honorable, and tough. I guess that all adds up to the Marine standards.”

  “How long has he been in?”

  “Two years. So far he loves every minute of it.”

  “Even combat?”

  “Ha, yeah. He says that when the bullets start flying, that’s when you do the job you were given.”

  Hemingway knew what it was like to be under fire, and he also knew, now, what it was like to take a man’s life. He had to agree with Jason. After saving his sister from a drug lord, he had experienced something profound. His desire to become a SEAL had only intensified.

  “Any other siblings?” he asked.

  Her expression froze, and she went so still, it was as if she wasn’t even breathing. There was a long, electric silence, her agitation almost palpable. Then she abruptly rose and walked the short distance to the ocean, standing just shy of the wash onto the beach. He went to where she was and touched her shoulder. With her face carefully arranged into a non-expression, she spoke, her tone hushed.

  “One,” she murmured. “My sister Madison. She died.”

  He expected more, but she just stared out at the ocean.

  “Obviously, I can’t know how you feel. I have a sister. She raised me and my brothers when
my mother left us. I was still a baby, and she gave up everything to take care of us. Recently, she was kidnapped by a drug lord in Brazil when she went on an assignment for NCIS. I broke all the rules to rescue her, but if I had lost her…” He closed his eyes. “I know what it’s like to come close.”

  She tipped her head back, closing her eyes, and Hemingway saw how she struggled with her emotions. She was locked up, even her tears, and he wondered, absently, if she had let herself cry. Her despair cut him to the quick. And something gave way inside him.

  He pulled her into a tight embrace. As if under enormous pressure, his heart felt suddenly too big for his chest. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard and tightened his hold. This girl surprised him. She was always so in control, so tough, but instead of pulling away and handling her pain her way, she knocked him for a loop. She wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder and stayed right where she was. She released a long sigh, as if expelling the last of the tears she couldn’t seem to shed.

  “It feels good to have someone to hold onto for just a little while.”

  Her honesty made his heart roll over and his chest clog up. Feeling as if he might turn inside out at any minute. Just the thought of losing Paige opened up a dark and painful hole inside him. He couldn’t imagine what Shea had gone through.

  With her warm and soft against him, Hemingway locked his jaw and made himself take a deep, slow breath, the heat from her body thickening his blood. They stood there for a few minutes, the sound of the ocean’s soothing waves washing over them. “Okay on the movie,” he said, giving her a small smile. “But I get to pick.”

  The Shea he knew rose to the occasion, telling him this girl had courage. She managed a soft chuckle. “Aw,” she said, “No chick flick then.”

  “Uh-uh, and you’re buying the popcorn.”

  7

  Overcast, the stars obscured and sunrise still two hours away, Hemingway shivered in the pre-dawn chill. At zero five hundred, it was fifty-nine degrees and the waves of the Pacific beckoned.