Stone Hard SEALs

by Sabrina York

  Brandy guided him into the cave and helped him settle. “Do you have a knife?” she asked. “I want to cut some bushes to cover the entrance.”

  “Good idea,” he said, but it was grudging praise. He fished out a blade and handed it to her.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He frowned. “Be careful.”

  She responded with a mocking salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”

  It amused her that his frown darkened.

  She’d never been much of a needler, but she sure enjoyed needling him. She wasn’t sure why.

  It only took a minute to find several full bushes and cut them at the roots. As she dragged them back to their cave, she swept the sand with a serpentine wash to cover any footprints she might have made. Then she tucked into the hollow and dragged the bushes in behind her, arranging them in what she hoped was a natural-looking configuration.

  It wasn’t until she settled at his side that she realized how tight the space was with both of them in it, and his gear piled on one side; he’d taken off his pack and his helmet and his communications gear. Hardly any room to move at all. This shelter would work for a while, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. She wondered what might happen tomorrow but cut the thought off. She could worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

  “You okay?” she asked as he shifted and grimaced.

  “Yeah.”

  “I should check your wound.”

  His lip curled.

  “It could be bleeding again. Roll over and pull down your pants.”

  “Seriously? You wanna see my ass again? Twice in one night? Really, honey. I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be an ass. And my name isn’t honey.”

  Despite his snark, he rolled over and, after much fumbling, jerked down his pants. She cracked a new glow stick—the other had burned out—and peered at his wrappings. As she suspected, they were soaked in blood. The wound was to the side, on the crease of his ass. No doubt it had opened with every step he took. It must hurt like the devil.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  She blinked. “What is what?”

  “Your name? I mean, if you don’t want me calling you honey, honey.”

  No. She did not. In a big way. “It’s Brandy.”

  “Ah. I’m Drake.”

  Drake. Her gut twisted. Perfect name for a hot-rod, ramjet SEAL. She forced herself to ignore the emotions that engendered, and to focus on the task at hand. “Give me your first aid kit, Drake. I need to staunch the bleeding and change the bandage.”

  He riffled through his pack and handed her the kit. “Be gentle.”

  She tried to glower at his smarmy tone but found her lips tweaking into a smile when he turned away. “Don’t be such a big baby.”

  She didn’t bother unwrapping the gauze, but cut it away with the scissors she found in the kit. The wound was seeping but not bleeding freely, which was a relief. With any luck, if he stayed still tonight, it would close up by tomorrow, at least enough for them to move if they needed to.

  “This is going to sting,” she said as she dumped alcohol on it. He winced and a fresh gush of blood oozed out. She cleaned it, applied a thick bundle of pads and then grabbed a new coil of gauze. “Okay, lift your leg. I’m going to wrap it.”

  He glanced at her but did as she asked. It was difficult looping the wrap around his hip and thigh, because she really didn’t want to encounter anything…intimate. And it was right there. Somewhere. Somewhere close to her hand.

  His stiffness made it clear he was aware of her proximity too. His muscles vibrated with tension.

  She moved as quickly as she could and tucked the tail of the wrap to hold it. Then she sat back to review her work. “Perfect,” she chirped. “Incidentally, it looks like a diaper.”

  “Awesome.” He yanked up his pants, then he rolled onto his back and looked up at her, a solemn expression on his face. “Was it good for you?”

  Why she smiled, she didn’t know. She tipped her head to hide it. It wouldn’t do to encourage him. He was snarky and arrogant and far too good-looking. He was also funny as hell, if she didn’t take his comments at face value. Pity she was a sucker for a barbed sense of humor. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you some water.”

  “I have my camel pack,” he said, waving a tube.

  “Good. Drink.”

  “You first.”

  “I’m not thirsty.” She was, but he was at risk of going into shock if he got dehydrated. What a mess that would be. Besides, she had no idea how much water he had in that bladder, or how long it would need to last.

  “I’m not drinking if you don’t.” Damn, he was cute when he put out a lip.

  “What? Why?”

  “If you pass out, who will take care of me?” This he said in a little-boy voice, but it reminded her she did have a responsibility to keep herself whole too. In this situation, they were in it together. So she drank.

  Well, she pretended to drink, making her throat work, but she only took a sip. Though it tasted rubbery, the water was a balm. He watched her with an eagle eye and when he was satisfied he took a sip too.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked and her stomach growled.

  “Oh my God. Do you have food?”

  He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Kind of. MREs and energy bars. Not the manna of the gods, but filling.” He scrounged through his backpack and emerged with a silver packet and a Spork. “Do you like chicken teriyaki?”

  Um. Sure. “My favorite.”

  Because he should stay still, she sat up and fed them both. It was weird, sharing an implement with someone else. In her normal life, she was something of a germaphobe and wouldn’t even share a straw with her mother—which made Mom huffy. But seriously. Germs.

  She didn’t mind sharing with Drake. She had no idea why. Maybe she was just too hungry to care.

  The meal was filling, and it didn’t taste too bad for something that had been packaged in a silver pouch God only knew how long ago. After they ate, they drank a bit more and then she settled down at his side. “We should rest.”

  “We should.”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be tough.”

  “Yep. If I can walk, we should try to get to the secondary extraction point.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the next island.” He jammed his thumb toward the right.

  “How far is it?”

  He nibbled his lip. “Couple clicks. Can you swim?”

  She snorted. “I was thrown into the ocean as a baby.”

  “Like a Viking?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Okay. We can head out tomorrow. We should wait ’til dark though.”

  “If you can walk.”

  “I can walk just fine.”

  A smile curled her lips. “That saltwater is going to sting.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”

  “Anytime.” She settled down next to him and closed her eyes. He should have done the same, but he didn’t. She could feel his gaze on her face. It was irritating. So she opened her eyes and frowned at him. “What?”

  He got that look again, the serious one he flashed just before he dropped some joke or snarky comment on her. She steeled her spine in preparation for a hit. Again he caught her off guard. He did that a lot.

  “Thank you,” he said. Low and soft. Truly sincere, for once. Just thank you.

  “You’re welcome.” Something of a grunt. “You’d probably do the same for me.”

  “Ya think?” He considered this. “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  He winked. “I faint at the sight of blood.”

  “Really? Good thing your wound is…behind you.”

  “Right?”

  “In your ass.”

  “Leg. Remember? That’s the story we’re telling everyone. It was in the leg.”

  She smirked at him. “Good luck with that.”

  “I’m serious. Jesus God.” He threw an arm ov
er his face. “Can you imagine what Ryder would say if I came back with an ass shot?”

  “Who’s Ryder?”

  “My squad leader.”

  Something in the tenor of the words made her ask, “Why do you say it like that?”

  Drake blew out a breath. “We also grew up together. He’s like…an older brother. He’ll never let me live this down.”

  “Was he on this mission too?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Did he—did he make it out?”

  Drake’s features clouded. “No idea.” He reached over and grabbed his headset and examined it. “Coms went out. Aw. Fuck.” He held up a sheared wire.

  “Can you fix it?” If they could communicate with the others, she could find out if Lily was okay. Jesus, she hoped she was. Had to believe she was.

  “I can try, but I don’t really have the tools. And…” He scrubbed his face. “Not thinking too good.” He shifted and winced again.

  “Does it hurt a lot?”

  “Like hell.”

  She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a handful of leaves. She extricated one from the jumble and handed it to him. “Chew on this.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Qat. It fell out of the pirate’s pocket on the ship and I grabbed it.” She smiled. “I’m a scavenger, by the way.”

  “Klepto is more like it.”

  “That too. Anyway, they chew this leaf. It’s supposed to have a narcotic effect.”

  He reared back. “I don’t do drugs.”

  “Really? Do you take an aspirin if you have a headache?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Not really. If you were in a hospital right now, you’d be flying on morphine, and you know it.” She thrust the leaf at him. “Just try it. If nothing else, it might ease the pain.”

  Gingerly he took the leaf and slipped it between his lips.

  She tried not to notice those lips. But…damn. They were beautiful.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Tastes like shit.”

  “Eat shit much?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Just shut up and chew.” She had no idea if the qat would have any effect on him, but it was all she had to offer. She hoped it would ease his pain, at least enough for them both to get some rest.

  As he chewed away, staring up at the ceiling, she studied his profile. Deep within her, curiosity burned. She wanted to know what he looked like without the camo streaking his face. Aside from that, it wasn’t a bad idea for them both to clean up a bit.

  Germs and all.

  “Do you have any cleaning wipes?”

  “Umm hmm.” He found some packets in the pocket of his pack. She ripped one open and scoured her face and hands, then offered him another. She liked that he took it without comment—snarky or otherwise. She liked that he washed his face too. She really liked what he revealed.

  But damn. He should have left it on.

  Without the goo smeared on his forehead and cheeks, his visage was startling.

  In fact, he had the face of an angel—a warrior angel.

  She was in dire peril of staring at him all night.

  Chapter Four

  Drake settled back and tossed the dirty wipe into a trash bag he’d set up in the corner. Damn, but he liked it, the expression on her face as she gazed at him all googly-eyed. He wasn’t sure, but it seemed as though she was drooling. He’d been aware of his good looks since high school—though Ryder insisted frequently he was a troll—but he’d never been more pleased to be blessed in the dimple department than now.

  Because if he’d ever met a woman he wanted to impress, it was her. He’d been attracted since first glance, and watching her, seeing how quick and competent and no-nonsense she was, made him like her even more.

  She was prickly, to be sure—more so than most women—but he found he liked the challenge. It was hardly any fun if they just fell at his feet. Which they often did. Easy women had never interested him for long.

  Her gaze raked over his face, then down to his chest. He didn’t need to puff it out, but it was practically instinct. When her perusal reached his crotch, it stalled. Her eyes widened a tad. Because yeah, he was hard. His erection was unmistakable.

  He expected her flush—he was feeling somewhat warm himself—but he didn’t expect her to say, “Well, good night,” and roll over on her side and show him her back.

  He frowned.

  Damn. It wasn’t supposed to work out like that. She was supposed to soften and lean toward him. Invite him in for a kiss or something.

  Maybe she was a little too prickly.

  He didn’t know why her reticence annoyed him so much. It wasn’t like he’d never been shot down before. Not often, but it had happened.

  Of course, she wasn’t a typical woman. She was different. From the top of her silky head to the tip of her toes. She was tough and smart and could give back as good as she got. A woman like her didn’t take shit from anyone.

  She was, probably, perfect for him.

  Too bad she didn’t see it.

  The leaves she’d given him were having an effect, dulling the pain in his ass and wrapping him in a dreamy blanket. No doubt they had dulled his survival instincts too, because he decided to make a play for her.

  He was goaded on. By his cock. He’d been rock hard since she brushed his balls while wrapping his wound. No doubt she hadn’t intended to touch them, but she had. So it was hardly his fault.

  “Brandy?” This he offered in a small voice.

  The result was successful. She rolled back over and looked at him. “What?”

  “I’m cold.” It was a balmy night. If anything, he was warm. He shivered nonetheless. “Are you cold?”

  “No.” She reached for him—his heart lurched—but it was only to take his pulse. Her fingers were soft and sweet on his skin. He imagined what it would feel like to have them…elsewhere. “Your pulse is thready. Drink some more water.”

  “I don’t want water. Can’t you just move closer?”

  “Closer?” Her eyes narrowed and she peered at him in the dimming light of the glow stick.

  “Because I’m cold. Feel my hands.” He held them out and she touched them gingerly.

  “They are a little cold.”

  “See. I’m cold.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  “Better.”

  “Is the qat helping?”

  “I think so, but it still tastes like shit.” He realized, all of a sudden, he couldn’t lure her closer and kiss her. Not with his breath smelling like a barnyard. He riffled in his pack, hunting for a mint. Ah. Yes. He held the roll out. “You want one?”

  She frowned but she took one. Awesome. He loved peppermint.

  Even more awesome? She scooted closer, right next to him, angling her body along his.

  Damn, that was nice. A shiver rippled through him.

  She sat up, her hand on his chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Mmm.” This shiver he faked.

  Her frown darkened.

  Too much?

  He tugged her back down. “This is better.”

  She grunted but settled in, laying her head on his chest. His fingers inadvertently tangled in her hair. He liked the weight of her on him. Liked her scent, something musky and female. He liked that she wrapped her arm around him and stroked him gently, soothing him.

  If they weren’t in a cave in hostile territory, this would be heaven.

  They stayed that way until the glow stick finally flickered out, encasing them in darkness. Drake was aware of her heartbeat against his chest, the huffs of her breath, the feel of her in his arms.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He was too preoccupied with the fantasies dancing in his brain. He should scuttle them, but they were far too pleasant.

  “Brandy?” he asked after a while.

  “Mmm?”

  “Are you asleep?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  “Do
you want to talk?”

  “We should rest.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Okay.” She shifted a bit and he tightened his hold so she wouldn’t shift away, but apparently she’d just been finding a more comfortable position. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I dunno.” He searched for a topic. A topic that would keep her engaged. “Why were you on that ship?”

  She blew out a breath. “We were on our way to Kenya and then to Ethiopia. On an aid mission. We were supposed to spend three months in a village building a water system.”

  “Do you do stuff like that a lot?”

  She shrugged. “Occasionally. I work for a nonprofit health agency. They send us to third world countries and we do inoculations and health screenings in villages.”

  Holy shit. She was a freaking adventurer.

  “What made you want to do that?”

  “I always knew I would be a nurse. Or something like that. But hospital work seemed so dull and depressing. This is exciting. Sad sometimes, when I can’t help, but mostly exciting. And I love to travel.”

  “I love to travel too. How does your husband feel about you being gone?” Okay, probably a douche move, mentioning the husband, but a guy had to know.

  Her muscles tightened, and then relaxed. “I don’t have a husband.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  She growled, but he could hear the humor in her tone.

  “Jealous dog?”

  The growl became a laugh. “Enough about me. How long have you been a SEAL?”

  He took that as a no boyfriend and no jealous dog. “Five years. Not counting school.”

  “How many missions?”

  He shook his head. He’d lost count long ago. “Lots.”

  “Wife?”

  His pulse stalled, then kicked into gear. “No wife. No girlfriend.”

  “Jealous dog?”

  “Not even. Just my sister Chloe and Mom. They live in Seattle.”

  “Hmm. Seattle’s nice.”

  “When it’s not raining.”

  “On that one Tuesday in August.”

  They both laughed. It was heartening that she shared a similar sense of humor. He shifted closer. She let him. “Where do you live?”

  “San Diego.”