Alpha Bravo SEAL

by Carol Ericson

He cupped her bottom with both hands, kneading her flesh, urging her forward until her face hovered above his. Slade’s tongue tickled her earlobe and then he bared his teeth against her collarbone.

  She gave a little shiver at the contrast between soft and hard. Although Slade’s body didn’t seem to have one soft spot on it, except for his lips, he had a surprisingly tender touch. Those lips pressed against her throat as if measuring her erratic pulse.

  His hands slid up her back. “Are you cold?”

  “No—excited.” She bent her head and tickled his chest with the ends of her hair.

  “Me, too.”

  As she wriggled against his hard erection, she gave him her best wicked grin. “I can tell.”

  He closed his eyes, catching his breath. “That feels so...good, which is a really weak word for what I’m experiencing right now.”

  She shifted her body to the side, not wanting this to end too soon, and trailed her fingernails across his chest. Now it was his turn to shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  “I’m so hot I’m surprised I don’t have steam coming out of my ears.”

  “Who says?” She flicked his earlobe with her tongue, and he chuckled.

  He pulled her down next to him and pressed the length of his body against hers, their flesh meeting along every line. His breath was hot and heavy on her cheek.

  The adrenaline and heightened sense of awareness that had been flashing through her body ever since the shooting at the club hadn’t subsided. Every touch from Slade set fire to her skin and engendered a hunger deep in her soul that she couldn’t seem to satisfy, no matter how many times she explored his body or indulged in his kisses.

  “I want more of you.” She slid down his body, burying her head between his thighs, taking him into her mouth.

  He bucked against her, and his fingers dug into her scalp. “You could’ve warned me. My head just about exploded.”

  She replaced her mouth with her hand, stroking the tight flesh that she’d moistened with her tongue. “Is that a double entendre?”

  “Why are you asking me questions now, in French, no less? Just keep doing whatever it is you were doing down there.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” She dabbled the tip of her tongue along the insides of his thighs—didn’t want his head exploding too fast—and then closed her lips around his girth once again.

  Slade shuddered and moaned, teasing her hair into a tangled mess with his fingers. When she started getting creative, he clamped his hands on her shoulders.

  “We’re finishing this another way.”

  She worked her way up his body with kisses until she met his mouth. She whispered against his lips, “I’m all yours.”

  And at this particular moment, she meant it.

  Flipping her onto her back, he answered gruffly, “And I’ve been all yours from the minute I saw you through my scope.”

  She braced for the onslaught of this hard-as-nails man, but he turned tender on her again by kissing her eyelids and smoothing one large hand over her breast, his fingertips toying with her nipple.

  She clawed at his backside, desperate for him to be inside her, desperate for him to slake her need.

  He prodded her, opening her slowly, filling her up. Her passion rose swiftly as he claimed her inch by inch, until her head thrashed from side to side with the wanting of him.

  Driving into her to the very hilt, he growled, “Is this what you want?”

  Did he expect her to form words? Actual thoughts? All she could do was wrap her legs around his hips and go along for the ride—and what a ride it was.

  As hard as he’d been in her mouth, she’d expected him to reach his climax almost immediately...but the man had tricks and he exulted in using them on her, bringing her to heights of desire only to leave her at the precipice, almost weeping with frustration.

  Then he stopped fooling around and got down to business. He scooped his hands beneath her derriere, tilting her hips upward. He must’ve been paying attention to her responses because when he took her this way, the fluttering in her belly threatened to overcome her.

  The rhythm of their bodies as they connected and then pulled apart put her into a trance, and she couldn’t think anymore. Her nerve endings throbbed and pulsed, and all the muscles in her body tensed once before her orgasm roared through her.

  She thought it would never end, and then Slade had his own release, and the pounding of his flesh against hers made her toes curl and her body turn to jelly. She tried to clamp herself around him, tried to increase his pleasure, but she felt boneless and weightless.

  All the teasing, all the buildup, all the waiting had resulted in a climax that had drained her of all reason.

  He kissed her mouth before he rolled to his side next to her, closing his eyes.

  She panted beside him, waiting for the trembling of her limbs to subside. He’d just taken her someplace she’d never even imagined—and she wanted to go back there again and again.

  She smoothed her hand along his damp shoulder and followed her touch with a kiss. “Is it just me, or was that mind-blowing sex?”

  “I was thinking the same thing, wondering, does she have sex like this all the time? Like a freight train blasting over you at a hundred miles an hour. Like some spell where all you can do is feel and every sense is in overdrive.”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.” She tried to pinch his waist, which was next to impossible as he didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on him. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

  “Look at me.” He poked a finger against his flat belly. “I’m a mess—in the best possible way, but I’m drained.”

  She touched her tongue to his salty nipple. “You don’t look like a mess to me. In fact, I want a keepsake of this moment.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Just one little picture...or two.” She crawled from their makeshift bed on the floor toward her purse on the chair. “I swear my phone will never be hacked. Your picture will never wind up online.”

  “What kind of pictures are we talking about here?” He scrunched up a pillow behind his head and punched it a few times to watch her progress.

  “Let’s just go with it.” She grabbed the strap of her purse and yanked it from the chair. It fell open on the floor, scattering its contents. Spying her phone in the jumble, she grabbed it. As she picked it up, she scooped up a cocktail napkin at the same time.

  “What’s this doing in my purse?” She held it up between two fingers like a white flag.

  Slade squinted in her direction. “It’s from The Blues Joint.”

  Then she saw the writing on the back of the napkin, along with a spot of blood. Her heart pounding, she smoothed the napkin against her knee. “Slade, Dahir left me a note before he died.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Slade shot up, scrambling to join Nicole next to the contents of her purse. “Does the note say where the film is?”

  “Ah, no.” She pinched the napkin by its corners and turned it toward him, swinging it in front of his face. “It’s a bunch of numbers—fifteen, twenty-three, nineteen.”

  He poked the napkin with his finger. “What the hell does that mean? A combination?”

  “We already have a key. We don’t need a combination, too.”

  “A time? Three twenty-three, maybe?”

  “You’re seriously asking me? I don’t have a clue, Slade—or rather, I only have a clue.” She waved the napkin. “This one.”

  “We need to find some lockers at Coney Island tomorrow. There just might be a combination lock as well. It’s our best chance of finding the film. Once we get it, we’re going to have to figure out what we have quickly. The film itself isn’t going to do us any good if we don’t know the s
ignificance of what’s on it.”

  “And the CIA or this Ariel person is going to have to act fast on the info, because if we have the film and don’t know the importance of what we’re holding, this terrorist cell is still going to try to get it back before we can figure it out and take action. Right?”

  “You’re right.” He creased one corner of the cocktail napkin. “Hang on to this. Dahir went through a lot of trouble to write this down for you. It has to mean something.”

  Nicole covered her white face with one shaky hand. “Here I am having sex on the same night my friend and coworker is murdered. I feel...”

  “Hey.” He wedged a knuckle beneath her chin and tilted up her head. “That’s what happens sometimes after the heat of the fight. We’re riding high, the adrenaline is pumping. We need an outlet, a release. Your feelings were natural, and they don’t mean Dahir or his death means less to you.”

  “I’m spent. I can barely lift a finger.” She raised her hand to test out her theory.

  “It’s all hitting you now. You’re coming down from the rush.” He dragged the blanket from the floor and draped it over Nicole’s shoulders. “It’s my fault. I knew what you were probably experiencing and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your state. It’s almost like taking advantage of someone when they’re drunk.”

  Her head snapped up. “Stop. I knew what I was doing. I don’t want you to think I regret what happened between us, because I don’t. It’s just that... I think I need to feel sad now. I mean, I am sad.”

  “Like I said.” He cinched the blanket beneath her chin. “You’re coming down hard—and I’m going to be right next to you when you hit the bottom.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she leaned her forehead against his chest.

  “Let’s get to bed.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Then he pushed to his feet and put the napkin with Dahir’s cryptic message on the counter, wedging it beneath the telephone. “Do you want your phone charging down here or in your room?”

  She sniffed. “I’ll take it up.”

  While she shoved items back into her purse, Slade tossed the pillow back on the couch, not sorry he wouldn’t be spending another night there.

  He pulled on his boxers and bunched up the rest of his clothes under one arm.

  Nicole hadn’t been kidding. Her slow movements indicated lethargy, and as she crouched down to gather her own scattered clothing, she nearly fell over.

  “Whoa.” He caught her. “Let me get those for you and lock up down here. You get up to bed and don’t worry about anything.”

  As she plodded upstairs, clutching her clothes to her chest, he checked the doors and windows and hit the lights. Nicole had let the blanket slip from her shoulders, so he folded that up and placed it on his former bed.

  Then he washed a few dishes in the sink and filled up a glass with water. By the time he got to Nicole’s bedroom, she’d burrowed under the covers, leaving the light on in the connecting bathroom.

  He brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face and then crawled between the sheets next to Nicole.

  He spooned her naked body against his, kissing the side of her neck.

  She sighed. “I really don’t regret making love with you, Slade, because that’s what we did, isn’t it? We made love, and it made me feel whole and safe and alive.”

  “We made love, Nicole.”

  And God help him, he meant it.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Slade wrapped his arms around Nicole as he’d done all night, and then realized he had a cool pillow instead of a hot woman in his embrace.

  He opened one eye, peering at the light coming through a gap in the drapes. Nicole didn’t have an alarm clock in here and he’d left his cell phone downstairs, but that light at the window meant he’d slept through a good portion of the morning.

  He rolled out of the bed and stretched. A light floral scent wafted from the bathroom. Nicole had managed to shower and get dressed and he’d slept through it all. What a bodyguard.

  A sliver of fear pricked the back of his neck, just like it did whenever Nicole was out of his line of vision. He jogged downstairs, calling her name.

  Poking her head out of the kitchen, she said, “What’s all the racket?”

  His pulse returned to normal. “You’re up early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. You were right when you said the events of last night would hit me, they did—like a sledgehammer.” She pointed to the TV. “There was a story on the shooting. It’s all very vague. They haven’t identified the gunman yet.”

  “Our FBI contact will move in on that one, and hopefully we can ID another member of this cell.”

  Nicole had made coffee, and the smell perked up his senses. His head still felt groggy, almost as if he’d taken that drink meant for Nicole last night. But he didn’t need to take anything—Nicole Hastings was his drug of choice, and he didn’t think he could ever OD on her.

  She poured him a cup of coffee, her head tilted to one side. “You okay?”

  “A little groggy. I feel stupid that I slept through everything this morning when I’m supposed to be protecting you. Usually, I’m a light sleeper.”

  “I guess that’s the danger of mixing business and pleasure.” She buried her head in the fridge.

  He narrowed his eyes as he took a sip of coffee. Was she back to regretting their hookup? No, she’d been right last night. That was no hookup. Maybe she was regretting the depth of feeling on both sides. She’d hinted her next man was going to be the buttoned-down type.

  He’d vowed never to get involved with a rich society woman, but after meeting Nicole, he’d learned not to generalize. Maybe she needed to give him a chance, too.

  She popped out of the fridge holding an egg in each hand. “Do you want some breakfast before we check out those lockers?”

  “Yeah, but do you mind if we go out to eat? I’m getting sick of my scrambled eggs.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

  “You weren’t exactly expecting guests, either.” He picked up his coffee cup and sat down on the sofa in front of his laptop, charging on the coffee table. “I’m going to check my messages and see if Ariel got back to me on Dahir’s family and the ID of the shooter last night.”

  “I’ll give Livvy a call and check on Mom’s dog.”

  Slade powered up his computer. “Ask her if the cops have a lead on the driver or car, especially since we haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet.”

  “I think we’ve been a little busy.”

  He launched his secure email, and a flurry of messages scrolled by. His gut knotted as he clicked on the first email from Ariel.

  It was short and not so sweet, like most of her communications. Dahir’s family missing.

  Slade glanced over the top of his laptop at Nicole perched on a stool chatting with Livvy on the phone. She didn’t need to know this information right now, even though it might make her feel slightly better that Dahir hadn’t betrayed her. Dahir had been trying to protect his family—but she’d figured that out all on her own.

  This terrorist cell was powerful and far-reaching enough to have operatives in New York and still be able to kidnap a family in Somalia.

  Vlad—his sniper team’s nemesis in Afghanistan—could he have developed a network like this? Slade double clicked on the next email, which contained slightly better news.

  Nicole had ended her call to Livvy and was watching him with her eyebrows raised. “Well?”

  “The FBI ID’d the shooter from last night—Phillipe Moreau.”

  “A Frenchman?”

  “An elite sniper, a gun for hire.”

  “No allegiance to a particular group or country?”

  “Not that we know of.” Rub
bing his chin, he squinted at the picture of Moreau that Ariel had attached to the email. “That could’ve changed. And that exploding house yesterday?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bomb-making factory—the whole house. That’s what Marcus Friedrich was doing there, so it wasn’t a big step for him to rig that door with an explosive.”

  She cupped her face with both hands. “Oh, my God, right out there in Queens? Who knows how many other attacks they’ve been planning?”

  “Their operation seems like a well-oiled machine to me. That’s why this footage puzzles me. What could be so important that they’d put other projects on hold to get this film?”

  “Hopefully, we’re on the verge of discovering that.” Nicole hunched forward slightly and he held his breath. She asked the dreaded question. “Dahir’s family? Any news on them?”

  “Not yet.” He skimmed through the remaining emails and closed down his laptop. “I’m going to shower and change—and we don’t even have to drop by my hotel.”

  “Then we’ll feed you and take a trip to Coney Island.”

  “Can we take the car service out there? I think that’s the safest way to go—no more shooters on trains, and let’s get Pierre again since we know him.”

  “It’s fine. I think I mentioned my mom has that service on retainer, so she’s charged for it whether we use it or not.”

  “Ah, money.”

  She shook a finger at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t have something similar, rich boy.”

  “In California we don’t have car services. We just have cars—and lots of ’em.”

  “At your place, we’d just survey the garage and eenie-meenie-miney-moe between the Lambo, the Ferrari and the Maybach.”

  “The Porsche—don’t forget the Porsche.” Slade stashed his laptop beneath the coffee table and bounded up from the sofa. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  He dashed upstairs and past the bed with its rumpled bedclothes to the cavernous bathroom. He took a quick shower, trying not to think of the night he’d spent with Nicole.

  In the harsh light of day with a man’s family missing, he had to put his feelings about Nicole on the back burner. That’s exactly how it felt, deep in his soul, simmering on a back burner, still warm, still stirring his blood.