Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Chipmunk one, set.” Garrett’s low voice crackled through his earpiece.

  Really? They were going with the Chipmunks?

  There was a thread of laughter in Luke’s response. “Chipmunk two, set.”

  “Chipmunk three, set,” Drake said in a clipped tone. For all he was a dipwad, he could be serious when he needed to be.

  Stone tried very hard to keep a straight face as he whispered, “Chipmunk four, set.”

  He could hear the smile in Mason’s voice as he gave his ready call. “Dave, set.”

  Seriously. The guys really needed to quit watching cartoons.

  Zack and Tate eased into position behind the guards and, at a motion from Mason, lunged.

  It was over in seconds. The pirates were little more than boys. Too inexperienced to even have their rifles close at hand. With practiced flair, Garrett quickly gagged them and secured them with flex cuffs. Once they were incapacitated, Mason motioned to the rest of the team to move in. Stone used the barrel of his rifle to ease open the flap covering the door of his hut. While their recon had shown there was a warm body in each hut, they could be pirates, so extreme caution was necessary.

  He leaned in for a quick scan…and froze.

  The hovel was dark, but in the green haze of his night vision goggles, he saw her face.

  His breath caught. The angel.

  She was sleeping. Her sooty lashes arched over her cheeks. Her lips were parted. Soft skeins of gossamer hair curled around her shoulders. Her alabaster skin glowed. Her tongue peeped out as she grunted in her sleep. The exquisite lines of her face were marred only by a dark bruise on her chin.

  The sight of her dazzled him.

  But he couldn’t afford to be dazzled.

  “I have a target,” he said softly. “Repeat. I have a target.”

  “Roger that,” Drake replied. “I have a target too.”

  Garrett and Luke gave the same response. Shit. What were the odds they would hit the lottery? That all four of the passengers were being held in their village?

  “Team One has four targets,” he told Command. “Shifting to plan B.” Their top priority now was to get these hostages to safety.

  He slipped through the door, hunkered down, and set his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze hit him like a grenade blast. Holy hell. Wide and limpid and blue. She was even more stunning in person. And warm. She was warm.

  He pointed to his call sign patch, which identified him as one of the good guys, though it was clear from her expression she knew just who he was.

  Her mouth opened—fascinating that—and he put a finger to his lips.

  Though they had dispatched the guards, there was no telling if there were more around. They had to assume there were. Best to remain as quiet as possible.

  Still, he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him when she smiled. Because, holy God, it was a hellish smile. Impish and crooked and far too appealing. Her soft lips moved against his finger in a tantalizing brush. Despite himself, he was tempted to yank her into his arms and kiss her.

  Where such a notion came from, he had no clue.

  Brutally, he shoved his inconvenient lust away. He could think about it later, when they were all safe. He took her arm with a bit too much force. She flinched.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, though to his ears, he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. He reminded himself not to care, to focus on his primary objective: getting her safe. He peered out of the hut and checked the clearing.

  Zack, Mason, and Tate were holding their ground by the fire, scanning the tree line, ready to provide cover for their retreat if needed. Garrett and Luke had their hostages in tow and were heading back to the beach. But of Drake there was no sign. Stone’s gut clenched. He should be out by now. Where the hell was he?

  He was about to utter the incongruous words, Chipmunk Three, when he saw him. The breath gushed out of him as Drake emerged from the hut, supporting a limping woman.

  Stone gave the signal for retreat; his men by the fire began backing toward the huts.

  “I’ve got movers,” Mason clipped, just before a shout rang out from beyond the clearing.

  Shit.

  Four shadows danced along the tree line and hunkered behind an outcropping.

  Steeling himself, Stone lifted his weapon, shoving his hostage behind him in the same motion.

  The pop pop pop of gunfire hailed them. Lights flared from the tree line as the chatter of AK47 fire peppered the dirt of the encampment. Mason returned fire as Zack and Tate edged back. The SAW went hot, spraying the rocks with hundreds of rounds.

  More shouts…and then all hell broke loose.

  Rifle shots and blasts from automatic weapons raked the little village. The guys by the fire dove for cover. One of the pirates stood, holding an RPG. He fired. Stone saw it coming in, saw it screaming directly toward his position and instinctively hunched his body over the tiny woman by his side. The grenade hit the hut and it exploded in a rain of fire and debris. Something heavy hit his shoulder but he shook it off.

  Even though they were pinned down, his men continued to return fire.

  From the corner of his eye, Stone saw Drake push his hostage toward the beach. His buddy stumbled as a round hit him in the leg, but he didn’t stop. Another slammed into his back and he pitched forward, propelled by the force of it.

  Stone calmed his breathing. They all wore heavy packs and body armor. Drake was fine. Indeed, he kept going despite a pronounced hobble. He disappeared into the scrub surrounding the camp.

  To cover Drake’s retreat, Stone laid down suppressive fire, aiming for the bursts of light from the AK47s. He heard a wail and then silence.

  The men all held position, scanning for movement. Then Zack tacked to the right, circling around to clear the area behind the rocks. To Stone’s horror, a shadow rose and spattered his buddy with a flurry of bullets; he jerked with each one. With his body armor, he could have survived…if one of the rounds hadn’t hit him right between the eyes. It slammed into him with a force that blew his helmet off. There was no doubt. Zack was gone.

  Stone was trained for this. He’d seen men die. But the shock was always there.

  “Eagle down,” he whispered into his mic. There was no response. He tapped it and tried again. Nothing. Not even static.

  Shit. The debris from the blast must have knocked out his comms.

  His fingers tightened of their own accord and he railed back with a rain of fire, giving Mason time to scuttle out of the light, dragging Zack’s limp form behind him.

  Another shadow rose. With a snarl, Stone aimed and fired and scored another hit. Tate fired as well, catching yet another before following the others.

  With one last glance at the clearing, Stone turned and scooped up his hostage and ran for the beach. They had to move fast because if they hadn’t neutralized them all, the pirates would follow, so he carried her. Judging from her squirming and mutters, she didn’t care for the treatment. She was a tiny thing. He hardly noticed her weight. Her warmth, though, her softness, he noticed.

  When they reached the sand, he set her on her feet. “Come on,” he said. “Run.”

  Hunkering low, they made their way along the shore, using the cover of the undergrowth to hide their movements. His comms were totally dead and he couldn’t see any of his men. Luke and Garrett had gone ahead with Drake and their hostages, but Tate and Mason would be bringing up the rear, one of them carrying out Zack’s body because SEALs never left a man behind.

  Even though he couldn’t communicate and even though he had no idea where anyone else was, Stone knew he had one mission. Saving the senator’s daughter. He had to get to that landing zone and get her on the evac chopper. And once she was safe, he could go back for his men…if they didn’t show up.

  He stilled as a sharp call echoed off to his right.

  Goddamn it. The pirates had cut around through the brush and were coming up behind them. Close. Too close.

&n
bsp; A shot whizzed over his head.

  Liliana Wilson made an eep and bent lower.

  Stone herded her closer to the tree line. They dodged bushes as they moved inland. If they followed the coastline they would find the LZ and, hopefully, his men would be there.

  Another burst of shots rang out. They pinged off the rocks that littered the dark landscape.

  Something hit him in the back of the head below the rim of his helmet, and hit him hard. The strap snapped and his helmet tipped off. A sharp pain screamed through his skull.

  He tried to keep moving, but his vision blurred. His knees went limp. Still, he pushed on.

  Get her safe. Get her safe. It was the only thought in his spinning head.

  But then, just like a stone, he fell.

  “Oh dear,” came a soft gasp from the woman he was supposed to be saving. It was the last thing he heard, before everything went black.

  “Mister? Mister?”

  Lily shook her savior, but to no avail. Oh, she did so hope he wasn’t dead. She’d always thought herself a laidback kind of person, with a “What will be, will be” attitude. But at the moment, she didn’t feel so blasé. He wasn’t moving, this mountain of a man, and she needed him. Fear coiled in her chest. She stared at him, willing her eyes to focus through the murk. With great relief she saw his chest rise.

  Thank God. He wasn’t dead. But…

  A rustle in the distance and a random shot reminded her that even though they’d moved inland and were somewhat cloaked by the scrub, they were hardly safe. If the pirates came past this spot, they would see them. Her hair alone was like a beacon.

  She could easily run. She could probably hide successfully, but she couldn’t leave him. She gazed down at her rescuer. In the shadows, she couldn’t make out any of his features. But what she did know was he had a low, melodious and very reassuring voice. And he weighed a ton. Probably an actual ton.

  When he’d fallen, the earth had trembled.

  And he had saved her.

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  It was only polite to save him back.

  Another call, closer, sent her hurtling into action. She fumbled around her rescuer’s belt until she found something that felt like the hilt of a knife. She pulled it from its scabbard with a deadly ring. It glinted with what little light there was. A shudder rippled through her.

  Holy Hannah. This was a knife.

  Without hesitation she cut several bushes and laid them over his body. She had to bend his legs up so his long body would be off the path, but she was able to manage that. Then she covered her head with the “modesty shawl” the pirates had given her and hunkered down by his side…just as a group of scruffy men came into view.

  Lily froze as she recognized them. Kaafi, Mahdi, and Saalim.

  Mahdi and Saalim weren’t so bad, but Kaafi had cuffed her so hard the first day here, she’d tumbled to the ground. And he’d looked at her. With a very unpleasant glint in his eyes. She sucked in a breath and held it as they walked by, guns raised, scanning the beach. A bug crawled on her cheek. She did not even stir to wave it away.

  Just as they passed, her rescuer groaned. Lily’s heart leaped. She clapped her hand over his mouth. Kaafi stopped and glanced around with narrowed eyes. Lily counted the moments in the thud of her pulse.

  When he finally turned and followed the others, she nearly collapsed, but she didn’t. She was too frightened to move.

  She sat in that position, without so much as a twitch, for a very long time. The familiar sounds of the night enrobed her. She listened to the shush of waves, the occasional caw of a night bird, the chirp of crickets, trying to hear above it all. And, for God’s sake, trying not to fall sleep.

  A dull thudding sound snapped her to attention. She scanned the sky and saw several long, narrow shadows approach. Her heart lifted, and then it dropped like a lead weight. Even if she leaped to her feet and screamed and waved her arms, the helicopters would never see her.

  But she might attract a pirate or two.

  So instead of running out onto the beach, as she longed to do, she hunkered deeper and watched the choppers pass them by.

  Her choice was a good one. For even as the choppers disappeared from view, she heard a cry go up behind her and the thudding footsteps as the pirates raced to intercept the crafts.

  Thankfully, they were running away from her flimsy shelter.

  The night wore on and Lily remained as vigilant as she could, guarding her savior. Occasionally she checked his neck for a pulse and was reassured when she found it; it seemed to be stronger each time. That simple touch was more heartening than she ever could have imagined. Beyond that, his neck was smooth, his skin soft and warm. She found herself resting her hand there, even when she wasn’t checking for a pulse, just so she didn’t feel so alone.

  She wondered about him. What his name was. How badly he was hurt. What his life was like… She decided it must be very exciting indeed, if this was a typical night for him. She’d often wished she was a daring soul. Wished she could have wild, madcap adventures.

  Although, after this, she would probably pass on adventures for a while.

  In retrospect, she realized it had been wrong of her to sneak off with Brandy on this trip without telling anyone—her family must be worried sick—but she’d desperately needed to get away…and live for once. If she married Jeremy, as her parents wanted, this would be the last thing she ever did that was in the slightest spontaneous. Or daring. Or interesting.

  She brushed away a bug and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to marry Jeremy.

  Not that there was anything wrong with him. He didn’t smell bad or yell at her. He brought her chocolates—though not the ones she liked. He had a Jaguar. And a beach house. And a hot tub.

  But these weren’t what she wanted in a marriage. She wanted a soul mate, someone she could talk to and laugh with. She wanted that one great love. She wanted…passion.

  And while Jeremy had passion—for his Jag, for his beach house, and even for her, when football wasn’t on—she’d discovered she didn’t have passion for him. At least, not the kind of passion she longed for.

  She’d never met a man who made her feel the way she wanted to feel, but she knew there had to be more. Some elusive…something. She’d just never found it in any of the men she’d dated. She wasn’t sure if it was their fault, her fault, or just nobody’s fault.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized she probably didn’t want to get married at all. If nothing else, this trauma had made one thing crystal clear.

  This was her life. The only one she got—unless the Hindus were right and there was such a thing as reincarnation. But that was hardly the point. The point was, she was in charge.

  Maybe her life had been so boring because she’d let her father script it. Maybe it was time to grab hold of the reins, whether he liked it or not. And even though this rebellion hadn’t worked out so well, perhaps the next one would.

  The man at her side groaned again and Lily stroked his hair. She had no idea where his helmet had gone. He’d lost it sometime during their headlong flight, or when he’d fallen, but she didn’t want to look for it. Not in the dark. Her fingers came across a damp spot on the back of his head, most likely where he’d been hit. It didn’t feel like a bullet wound—not that she knew what one might feel like. At any rate, there was not much she could do about it in the dark.

  She felt carefully for any other injuries and when she found none, she relaxed and curled up by his side and used him as her pillow.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t mind.

  In the end, she didn’t care if he did mind, because he was a terrible pillow. He was, in fact, as hard as a rock.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Stone opened his eyes and winced as the sunlight scored his corneas. Then he groaned as that tiny wince sent a shard of pain through his head. He tried to sit up but something was weighing him down. What the—

 
He glanced at his chest and froze. A tangle of feathery curls spread out all over his body. She was spread out all over his body. And shit, it felt good.

  The events of the previous night washed through him and he almost winced again; he stopped himself in time.

  What a cluster fuck.

  The mission had gone bad and in a big way.

  He had no idea if his men had reached the LZ with their hostages. No idea if they were dead or alive. If they’d been taken prisoner.

  He had no idea if Drake was safe.

  Shit.

  It didn’t matter though. He couldn’t afford to go back and check. The pirates were still out there, and heavily armed. What he did know was that they’d missed the pickup. His best option was to continue on to the secondary extraction point on the other island. Without moving, he checked the angle of the sun—early morning—and calculated the direction they needed to head.

  It would be dangerous moving during the day—the pirates had probably increased their patrols—but if they kept to the tree line, making sure to walk on the packed dirt, they wouldn’t leave a trail.

  He looked down at her again and his heart swelled. Damn, she was a pretty thing. Especially asleep. Her features were soft and sweet, her mouth slightly agape. A tiny snore rumbled. He hated to wake her, but they needed to get moving.

  “Liliana?” He shook her gently. “Liliana?”

  She snuffled and murmured—again, fascinating to watch those lips move—and then her eyes opened. As it had last night in the shadows of the hut, her gaze gutted him. Bright and blue, crystal clear. Her lashes fluttered. They were long and dark, a stunning counterpoint to her light hair.

  She stared at him for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.”

  He attempted a smile. “Good morning.”

  Her mouth worked as though she were searching for words. Then she said the most incongruous thing. “I’m so glad you are not dead.”