Chapter Eleven
‡
Shit on a Shingle, Lily decided, was a terrible thing to do to America’s fighting men. She poked at the grayish mound on her tray with a tin fork. She’d thought the MREs were hideous, but this far surpassed the dreaded meatloaf in sheer yuckiosity.
The something-like-eggs she’d had for breakfast had been little better. She liked to think she wasn’t spoiled, but maybe she was. At the very least, soldiers deserved a massive raise, perhaps hazard pay, for eating this.
She glanced at the men seated at the surrounding tables. They didn’t seem to mind the food. They shoveled it in as though it was manna from heaven.
Maybe it was her. Maybe her stomach was churning too much to truly enjoy the delights of the mess hall. Although, in truth, the place was aptly named.
Despite the gastronomic torture, she was so glad she’d insisted on staying. Because once Stone left, and after the commanders debriefed her—asking incessant questions—she’d finally been able to ask a few of her own. She had discovered, to her horror, that the hostage who had yet to be rescued was Brandy.
Now worry swamped her. Worry for both of them—her friend and her man. And yes, that was how she thought of him. He was hers.
He could make up all the stupid excuses he wanted, but she wasn’t going to let him go. He was a fighter, a warrior.
Well, so was she.
Her new mantra? What would be…would be what she made it.
The only way she would allow this to end would be because he didn’t want her. And if that was the case, by God, she’d make him admit it.
She peeped at the clock on the wall and frowned. He’d had been gone far too long—much longer than it should have taken to zip over to the island and pick up a couple hostages. To make things worse, when she asked anyone what was going on, they all pressed their lips together and murmured it was classified.
As though she would tell anyone.
Her father kept urging her to leave as well, which she was not going to do.
He’d finally gotten the message—that his daughter was no longer a compliant creature who would meekly follow orders—and he’d gone off to tour the ship with one of the officers. They were all delighted to have a senator on board.
Or maybe not delighted, but they were good at pretending. Lily suspected the tour was just a ruse to keep him occupied. Her father, like most men, enjoyed large mechanical things with guns attached, so he’d happily gone along.
Which left Lily alone, surrounded in the chow hall by sailors and SEALs who wouldn’t talk to her, and her security team, which had reattached to her like remoras.
Alone. With nothing to do.
Nothing but poke at her Shit on a Shingle and worry. And fret. And think.
Naturally, her thoughts gravitated to the night she and Stone had spent together in each other’s arms. She relived every touch, every kiss. Despite Stone’s conviction that once she was safe, her fascination with him would fade, she felt the opposite.
Her feelings for him solidified, along with her certitude.
He was the one for her.
She would take him anyway she could—even on his terms.
The only fly in the ointment was the possibility that he hadn’t been talking about her fascination waning when everything was back to normal. Maybe he’d been talking about his.
Guys like Stone probably fended off lovelorn women all the time. And Lily was nothing special. She was…just who she was. The likelihood that a man like him, with his convictions, would renounce his vow for someone like her was dismal.
She wouldn’t know until he got back. Until everyone was safe. Until they could speak privately about all this.
And even if he told her what she feared most hearing—that yeah, it had been great, but it was over—she wanted, needed to know.
She couldn’t rest until—
She stilled as a hum of energy rose around her; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A movement in the corner of her eye captured her attention and she turned toward the hatch just as Stone stepped through. Her heart lurched, then leapt, skipping in a manic tattoo.
He was back.
He was safe.
She drank in the sight of him. He was so handsome, so stalwart and brave. And grubby. His face was covered in goo again.
He hadn’t even stopped to clean up. He’d come straight for her.
Or food.
He could have come straight for food…
She stood, stared at him. “Stone.” Her lips formed the words, but they remained unspoken. She tried to read him. As always, his expression was inscrutable, but his attention was fixed on her and not the food.
Which was promising.
He took a step toward her, his features hard, unyielding. The energy between them sizzled. She despaired for a moment that he might not speak at all, and then…he broke.
“Lily.” Her name wrenched from his lips. He opened his arms.
She ran to him, ignoring the hard juts of his armor and weapons and the tools on his belt. She clung, holding onto him for dear life. “You’re safe.”
“Of course I’m safe,” he muttered. “Everyone is safe.” Bone-deep relief tinged his tone.
“Drake?”
“In med bay.”
“And Brandy?”
His brow wrinkled. “Brandy?”
“The other hostage?”
“Ah. Brandywine’s daughter. Yes. She’s safe too.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “She wants to see you.”
Of course she did. But not yet. Not yet.
Lily traced the curve of Stone’s jaw. Just seeing him was not enough. She needed a touch. The bristles of his beard scraped against her skin; it was very reassuring. As was the warm light simmering in his beautiful gray eyes.
“You waited.” His voice broke on the words.
“I told you I would.”
“I know you did. But I thought… I expected…”
“That I would run?” She met his eye. “I’m no coward.”
He flushed as she referred to her earlier accusation. Then his jaw went hard. His throat worked. “I’m no coward either. Lily…”
When he didn’t finish the thought, she thought it prudent to prompt him. “Yes?”
“Ah, Lily…if you want to…explore this… I mean… I’d be…well…”
For a man who wasn’t a coward, he certainly had a difficult time making a declaration. So she stopped him. She set her palm on his cheek. “Me too, Stone.” She went up on her toes and kissed him. “Whatever you want. Wherever this takes us.”
He stilled. “Wherever?”
“Anywhere.” In truth, she would go to the moon if he asked.
His lashes flickered. “I’m based in San Diego. I don’t get to D.C. very often…”
She laughed. “I live in Seattle.”
He gaped at her. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“My mother lives in Seattle. I visit whenever I have leave.”
“Well there you go. Would you…like to…” Oh lordy. Now she was the one struggling with words.
“Would I like to what?” His voice was a low thrum. She liked the way he nuzzled closer. She liked everything about him. His breadth, his heat, his scent. More than liked. She craved him. Loved him.
She swallowed heavily. She’d never asked a man out before. Her nerves fizzled and popped. She steeled her spine. “Would you like to have a date…the next time you’re in town?” Swamped with a sudden shyness, she dropped her gaze.
He tipped it back up. “Lily Wilson?”
“Yes, Stone Maddox?”
“I would very much like to have a date the next time I’m in town. In fact, I must insist.”
And then he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Kissed her hard.
All the men in the chow hall cheered and hooted.
Except, of course, for the men in black suits and sunglasses who talked into their wrists.
The End
&n
bsp; Read Drake and Brandy’s story in Sabrina York’s next Alpha SEAL adventure!
About Sabrina York
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York is the award winning author of over 20 hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & steamy to scorching erotic romance. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Download Sabrina’s Free Teaser Book to read excerpts and blurbs and sign up for Sabrina’s newsletter and enter the ongoing tiara contest.
Awards: Sabrina’s recent accolades include 2014 Carolyn Reader’s Choice Award Winner for Dark Fancy, 2014 FF&P PRISIM Award Finalist for Lust Eternal, 2014 RONE Award Finalist for Rebound, 2014 Passionate Plume Finalist for Making Over Maris and Heart of Ash, 2014 EPIC eBook Award Finalist for Folly, 2013 Passionate Plume Finalist for Adam’s Obsession and Folly. Past first place wins include the Celtic Hearts Novellas Need Love Too Contest, Celtic Hearts Distinguished Novella Award, Golden Rose, NOLA Stars Suzannah Contest, Emerald City Opener and Pacific Northwest Writers Association Literary Contest (Zola Award).
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Heartbreak on A Stick (Alpha Hometown Heroes Collection)—Coming soon
Saving Charlotte (Erotic Contemporary for the Smokin’ Hot Firemen Anthology, Cleis Press)
Stone Hard SEAL (Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset)
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Man Hungry (Erotic Contemporary, Ellora’s Cave)
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Fantasy
Lust Eternal (Erotic Fantasy, Ellora’s Cave)
SEAL’s Promise
Sharon Hamilton
Author’s Note
I always dedicate my SEAL Brotherhood books to the brave men and women who defend our shores and keep us safe. Without their sacrifice, and that of their families—because a warrior’s fight always includes his or her family—I wouldn’t have the freedom and opportunity to make a living writing these stories. They sometimes pay the ultimate price so we can debate, argue, go have coffee with friends, raise our children and see them have children of their own.
One of my favorite homages to warriors resides on many memorials, including one I saw honoring the fallen of WWII on an island in the Pacific:
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
These are my stories created out of my own imagination. Anything that is inaccurately portrayed is either my mistake, or done intentionally to disguise something I might have overheard over a beer or in the corner of one of the hangouts along the Coronado Strand.
Wounded Warriors is the one charity I give to on a regular basis. I encourage you to get involved and tell them thank you:
https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org.
Author Bio
NYT and USA/Today and Amazon Top 100 Bestselling Author Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL Brotherhood series have earned her Amazon author rankings of #1 in Romantic Suspense, Military Romance and Contemporary Romance. Her characters follow a sometimes rocky road to redemption through passion and true love. Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany earned her a #1 Amazon author ranking in Gothic Romance.
A lifelong organic vegetable and flower gardener, Sharon and her husband live in the Wine Country of Northern California, where most of her stories take place.
She loves hearing from her fans:
[email protected]
Her website is:
http://sharonhamiltonauthor.com/
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Newsletter ** Sharon’s Blog ** Sharon’s Website ** Facebook ** Twitter
Chapter One
‡
T.J. Talbot liked weddings because he could always enjoy generous helpings of his two favorite things: alcohol and young lovelies.
Whenever a buddy got sweet on a girl and was contemplating “walking the plank,” as he liked to call it, T.J. was only too happy to help him celebrate. He never minded the cost of the tux rental, the dinners and bachelor parties he had to spring for. It was all means to an end. His end was usually hooking up with someone and getting it on.
That’s why he always went to weddings stag. He’d always promise to meet this or that lovely there, and then play the field. Playing the field was much better for everyone involved.
He didn’t think of himself as a one-woman guy. He doubted anyone would be able to satisfy his appetites, especially his appetites in the bedroom. Experimentation was the norm for him. He didn’t want anyone crying to him after the fact, so he was careful. And yes, that did occasionally mean he went home alone. Far better to do that than to go home with a woman you had to console or peel off your skin the next day.
Tonight he had his eye on one of the bride’s best friends, Cindy. She had a funny little laugh and he liked the way her tits jiggled whenever she did it. Her big blue eyes struck him right away as being interested in whatever he could dish out.
He always liked it when he could surprise a girl, help her learn new things about her sexual nature, and Cindy seemed like the perfect type. He was going to pace himself, make sure he stayed in her line of sight a lot, and hope that she got aggressive with him. He didn’t like it that way…unless he orchestrated it. Hell, he’d almost forgotten to line up with the other groomsmen he was thinking so hard about where he could take her for a bit of minor relief until he could have an all-nighter with her.
Four other SEALs were in the wedding party, and he had to admit they’d make a wedding portrait which would look good on the cover of any bridal magazine, except for their dark glasses. Only Frankie, the groom, posed without shades. Shannon had wanted them all without the shades, but T.J. smiled at her and put his back on in open defiance, and the others followed his lead.
She’d flounced off in a huff, a flurry of white organza and chiffon, and her perfume that made him sneeze. He’d watched that hellcat st
reak she had, angled his head to the side and watched her march off to some mythical place brides hide when they go crazy. Lovely, though. Even he had to admit that.
Frankie was white as a sheet as they gathered. “I wanna pray first,” he’d said to his best buddies. Tyler was there, of course, and Kyle, Ollie and Rory were as well. But T.J. was Frankie’s best friend, and that meant he had to be best man.
“Fuckin’ going to need a lot more than fuckin’ prayin’. Gonna need a miracle, Frankie. Shannon’s had the evil eye on me all morning…yesterday, too, and that means I don’t think you’re getting any tonight, not that you haven’t—”
“Fuck sake, T.J. It’s my fuckin’ wedding and has nothing to do with how my bride looks at you. Get that fuckin’ thought out of your head.”
“I was just sayin’—”
“Not what you’re sayin’ I have a problem with. It’s what you’re thinking.” Frankie was so nervous he was seeing conspiracies behind every plant, guest and bouquet.
“Just be glad we didn’t send you to Alaska,” Tyler said, making it worse. Last year one of the young recruits had gotten time off from BUD/S to get married—a request which was almost never granted, and then the boys thought it necessary to save him from that quickie wedding in Las Vegas, and so got him stinking drunk and put him on a plane to Alaska so he missed his own wedding. They incurred extra wet and sandy for that one, and had the toilets cleaned so many times you could eat out of them.
This had worried Shannon, and her mother even more. Mrs. “I Want Moore” was one of the hottest women T.J. had ever seen, all toned and a marathon runner in her fifties. He had never before had fantasies about the mother of the bride. Mrs. Moore was twenty-five years his senior, but he knew she could clean his clock. He’d enjoy chasing her around a few places.
Turning to face Frankie again, he felt a tad sheepish about his lusty thoughts. He wiped his mind clean and decided to concentrate harder on Frankie’s day. His buddy was so crazy in love with Shannon, he needed extra protection to keep him from stepping out in front of traffic, or bumping into caterers, which he’d already managed to do several times today.
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