Saved by the SEAL

by Diana Gardin

  They’re filled with pain.

  Fuuuuuck. I want to wrap her legs around my waist and erase that look from her eyes. I want to kiss every inch of her until it’s gone. It’s going to haunt me in my sleep. By trying to prevent myself from making a mistake, I’ve made a mess of things.

  I extend my hand to her. She looks down at it, and then folds her arms across her chest. “Greta. You didn’t do anything wrong. Can we just go sit down and talk?”

  A tear slides down her cheek, and I’m in her space again in an instant. “Don’t, Grits. Don’t cry. It’s not you…I swear. You’re fucking perfect. Too perfect. I don’t want to mess shit up by taking advantage of you when I’m an emotional wreck and you’ve been drinking. This isn’t going to be the night I make love to you…not when we’ve been through hell together tonight.”

  She looks at me then, really looks at me. It’s like she sees straight to the heart of me, even when I’m trying to shutter myself off. She heard everything I didn’t say.

  She allows me to lead her to my bedroom. I still want her to stay with me tonight, and I’m hoping that by skipping the couch and coming straight back here, she’ll be more likely to listen to what I have to say and then stay.

  God, I want this girl in my bed tonight. Any way I can have her there.

  I kick off my shoes and sit down on the king-size mattress, swinging my legs up onto the bed. Then I pat the spot next to me, inviting her to join me.

  I lean back against the headboard as I watch her crawl up and onto the bed beside me. My cock stirs inside my black slacks, but I ignore it and focus on Greta.

  She turns expectant eyes to me. “So you’re saying you’re planning on making love to me at some point?”

  Holy… “I guess that’s a decision we’ll have to make together. But damn, girl. The way you were just now…it was hot. You’re hot. And being with you does something crazy to me…every time we’re together. So, yeah, I plan on getting physical with you at some point. But not like this. I’m a fucking disaster tonight.”

  She nods slowly. “Of course you are. Back there, in the kitchen, I wasn’t thinking. I was just reacting to you.” Her voice drops down to a whisper. “Your hands feel so good on my body.”

  My head falls back against the headboard and a groan escapes me. “You’re killing me, Grits.”

  She giggles softly.

  “I wish you knew how much more I want to do to you with these hands. And I will.”

  Yeah, I definitely will. Just not tonight. I’m going to give her one last chance to save herself.

  I gesture toward her dress. “Do you want to sleep in that?” Jumping down from the bed, I indicate my dresser. “Or do you want me to lend you something?”

  “Lend me something. I’ll just run to the bathroom to get ready for bed.”

  I rummage around in my drawer, trying to find something small enough for her to wear. I settle on one of my white undershirts and a pair of gym shorts with the navy football logo on the front. She thanks me, grabbing the clothes, and disappears into the bathroom adjoining my bedroom.

  While she’s gone, I strip down, replacing my slacks with a pair of lightweight cotton shorts and deciding to go shirtless. I sit down on top of the covers and am just looking at my prosthesis, trying to decide something, when Greta walks back into the room.

  Which sends a whole new wave of desire rippling through me, because she’s not wearing my shorts. Her long legs are all exposed, with my white shirt ending at the tops of her thighs. She’s taller than a lot of girls, and the shirt doesn’t hang to her knees the way it might on some people.

  She stops short when she sees me staring, and then gazes down at her bare legs. “Sorry. I would have worn the shorts, only they were hanging off me even when I tried to adjust them.”

  Yeah, I guess that makes sense with her thin frame. Swallowing the need making a power play inside me, I pat the bed once again. “This is your spot.”

  She gives me a crooked little smile, crawling into bed. She looks at me, sitting with my amputated leg propped up on the bed. “So, do you usually sleep with that on?”

  Leave it to Grits to get right to the heart of the matter. Shaking my head, I nod at my prosthetic foot. “I usually take it off. It’s not the most comfortable to sleep with it on. But if it makes you uncomfortable in any way—”

  She cuts me off. “Nothing about you makes me uncomfortable, Grisham. This is your house.” Squeezing my thigh, she scoots a little closer and rests her head on my shoulder.

  I take a breath. I’ve never done this. No one, except for my doctors, my mother, and my SEAL team, has seen my leg ending in a stump. The last thing I want her to do is get freaked out and bolt.

  But if that’s going to happen, I guess it’s better we get it out of the way now, right?

  One step at a time, I pull my prosthetic foot from my prosthesis, and then remove the sock and liner. I’m shaking as I sit back and release the breath I’ve been holding, staring down at what used to be my foot. I can feel beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead. This revelation is something I’ve never done before. My leg was blown off just below my knee, above my calf. At first, I could still feel the limb there. I almost couldn’t believe it was gone unless I was looking directly at my leg.

  Someone with a prosthetic these days can pretty much live the way they did previously, unless they’re expected to put their life on the line for a living. I can walk, run, jump, and climb in this thing. I just can’t have other people, namely the guys on my SEAL team, depending on me when they could end up dead if I can’t perform.

  When I feel the warmth of Greta’s hand on my leg, every single muscle in my body tenses. I’m not expecting her to touch me…there. My gaze slides toward hers, and her expression is fiercely burning into mine.

  “You’re still you, Grisham. You’re still the same guy I met and crushed on two years ago. You just have a bit more of a story to tell. That’s all.”

  My breath catches as something in my chest shifts, sliding back into place. I hold her gaze as a million different thoughts and feelings wage war for the top spot in my brain. Finally, I lift a hand and cover hers with my own. My fingers curl around hers, holding on tight.

  “Thank you.”

  She slides underneath the covers, pulling me with her and we lay on our sides, staring at each other.

  “You don’t need to thank me, Grisham. It’s the truth.”

  Pulling her face toward mine, I kiss her. Our lips are tender at first, but when I delve my tongue inside her warmth to stroke hers, she moans. With a growing sense of need and hunger, I deepen the kiss, our mouths moving rapidly over one another. I memorize the contours of her lips, the feel of her tongue against mine. The sweet taste of her does nothing to curb the appetite she’s whet. Pulling her closer, I think I kiss her until I fall asleep, because the feel of her lips on mine is the last thing I remember.

  I become alert before I actually open my eyes. I can tell it’s still dark outside, the way it always is when I wake up in the morning. Even though I don’t still need to be up before the sun, like when I was in the academy and in SEAL training, old habits die hard. But before I can stretch and sit up, a strange sensation makes me freeze.

  My arms are locked around something soft, warm, and sweet smelling. I inhale deeply, realizing the floral scent belongs to a woman.

  Greta. The previous night comes rushing back to me, and I’m immediately rock-hard underneath the sheets. I open my eyes and glance down at her, and the sight brings a stupid grin to my face. She’s facing the same direction as me, and I’m spooning her from behind. The curves of her body fit like puzzle pieces into the long, hard lengths of mine. She’s so close we’re sharing the same pillow, and her rivers of thick, onyx hair tickle my nose when I move. I wish I could see her face, because I’d bet my Jeep it’s breathtaking in sleep. But there’ll be time for that the next time I wake up beside her.

  Whoa, dude. Slow down. The next time? Like, this is going
to happen again?

  I mull it over even as I squeeze her a little tighter. She hums softly in her sleep but doesn’t wake.

  Do I? Do I want this?

  I know the answer, but I’m not yet willing to admit it. Right now I just want to enjoy the fact that she’s here, and that waking up to her feels…insanely good.

  For the first time in months, I don’t get out of bed before the sun is up. I nuzzle my face into Greta’s neck, sigh contentedly, and fall back to sleep.

  The next time I wake, it’s to the scent of coffee and bacon. I open my eyes to see the sun is now streaming bright yellow light through the window. I stretch and yawn, an immediate smile plastered to my face.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Greta’s voice comes from the doorway of the bedroom, and I turn over in bed to see her standing there. She’s wearing my T-shirt, her bare legs going on for miles underneath.

  Sitting up, I try to keep my eyes off all of her creamy, exposed skin and focus instead on her flawless face. “Damn. I was supposed to be up before you this morning. But the first time I woke up, you were snuggled up next to me and I didn’t want to move.”

  A gorgeously shy smile creeps across her lips. “I’m glad you stayed in bed with me, then. I haven’t been up long. But I did make some coffee, and there’s bacon frying on the stove. Want to come make the eggs?”

  Instead of waiting for me to answer, she turns and heads back out of the room. It’s a treat to watch her ass sashaying away from me, and the sight draws me out of bed. I quickly attach my prosthetic foot and hurry into the bathroom to take care of business before exiting my bedroom. I follow the delicious morning aromas to the kitchen, where Greta stands barefoot in front of the stove.

  I could get used to this. The sight of her standing in my kitchen every morning like this? Hell, yeah.

  I can’t help myself. I cross the room to stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. I squeeze her against me, letting her feel the evidence that the red-hot chemistry between us last night was no fluke. She gasps, her head falling back against my chest. It gives me the perfect access to her neck, where I plant my lips and suck softly. She’s sweet and succulent, exactly the way she tasted last night.

  My hands play at the skin underneath the shirt she’s wearing, sliding up her flat stomach to rest just against the curve of her full breasts.

  “I want to touch your hot little body all over right now,” I whisper into her ear. She removes the pan of bacon from the heated burner right before pushing her ass back against me, maybe to show me she’s right there with me, and I groan. “Is that what you want?”

  Her breath is coming faster, I can see how rapidly her chest rises and falls and feel the quickness of her thudding heart against my hands. She wants this. I want this. So…

  “No,” she rasps. My hands still, and the blood running through my veins turns to ice. That one little word is as effective as a bucket of icy water thrown on my head.

  “No?” I ask, confusion evident in my tone.

  “I mean, yes. Gah, Grisham! Yes, of course I want this. But I don’t think you’re sure about it…or about me. And I’m not the kind of girl that can just use my body and leave my mind and my heart out of it.”

  She turns in my arms, a sad little pout dancing across her mouth. “I wish I was…because you and me together in your bed would be really fucking amazing.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her say the word fuck and somehow it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I smile. “That needed to be punctuated with the F word?”

  She nods emphatically. “Definitely.” She leans forward and brushes her lips against my throat, and my hands immediately squeeze her plush ass. “I want you, Grisham. And when you know that I’m what you want—really want, and not just for a night—then I’m all yours.”

  All kinds of promises want to spill from my lips at that moment. And if I were a bastard, I’d use each and every one of them just to get this girl back to my bed. But I knew from the minute Greta opened those baby blue eyes on the beach and blinked up at me that she would never be just another girl in my bed. She’s more. I knew it then and I know it even more completely now.

  “You’re right. I’m a fucking wreck inside my head, and my heart’s even worse. I don’t know when I’ll be ready for what you’re asking.”

  She shrugs, her mouth still connected to my neck. “I’m not asking for anything from you, Grisham. No more than you’re willing to give. Maybe we can just keep getting to know each other better.” I feel hot wetness against my throat as her tongue darts out to stroke my skin.

  My fingers dig into her soft flesh in response. “Getting to know each other sounds good.”

  There’s a whole other side of you I want to know really fucking well. I keep my dirty thoughts to myself.

  “I’m kind of messed up, too, you know? My dad…I have my own set of trust issues with men to deal with. Probably not the best idea to just jump into bed. Even if it is with the sexy SEAL who saved my life once already.”

  I back her up against the counter beside the stove, déjà vu from the night before striking hilarious irony in my brain. How many times would I have her up against some surface in my kitchen before I was actually claiming her body as my own?

  “I’d save you again ten times over. It led to you and me here like this, so it’s hands down the best decision I ever made.” My tone is teasing, but the words are dead serious. “I’m glad I was there that day, Grits.”

  She sighs softly, laying her head on my chest. “Me, too.”

  We stay like that for a moment, neither of us talking. Then I lean back so that I can look down at her. “You ready for more fighting lessons this morning after breakfast?”

  Smiling up at me, she gives a slight nod. “I’m ready for you, Abbot.”

  I smile wickedly down at her. “That’s what you think.”

  14

  Greta

  I leave Grisham’s house on a natural high the likes of which I’ve never experienced. Something had changed between us last night, something big. The fact that I was there with him during what was probably the most gut-wrenching experience of his life brought us closer together. Seeing how lost and hurt he was after the scene between his parents made me want to be there for him, pick up the pieces when he fell apart. Something about Grisham tells me that I could help him.

  Helping people is something I do effortlessly. It’s as easy as breathing, because I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. It’s when the tables are turned, when I need to allow someone to help me, that I struggle. Maybe Grisham can help me, too.

  My thoughts are still lingering on Grisham and the night we spent together when I pull up at my apartment complex. On Saturday morning, the lot is pretty full, so I have to park farther away than usual. I’m walking toward the door, still wearing Grisham’s big shirt and a pair of his shorts rolled twice. My feet are bare, and I’m carrying the clothes I’d worn yesterday in a bundle.

  Halfway to the apartment, the skin on the back of my neck begins to tingle, raising the hairs there. I pause, automatically searching the parking lot around me. No one is around, everyone still in their apartments doing whatever they do on a Saturday morning. Frowning, I continue walking toward the sidewalk leading to the stairs.

  But the feeling doesn’t dissipate. In fact, it increases as I walk, becoming stronger and stronger until I want nothing more than to break out into a sprint. I resist, though, because I feel silly. I’ve walked from the parking lot to my apartment a million times, and it’s bright, sunny daylight. There’s no reason for me to be afraid.

  Then why does it feel like someone is watching me?

  When I reach the stairs leading up to my floor, I huff out a sigh of relief. Hurrying upstairs, I let myself in and slam the door behind me.

  And I run smack into Mea, who is standing just inside the threshold with arms crossed, tapping her foot.

  “Seriously?” she hisses. “You decide to sta
y out all night with a hottie like Grisham, and all I get is a text message saying you’ll see me in the morning?”

  Laughing off my nervous energy from the walk up, I hug her. “Good morning to you, too, roommie.”

  I walk past her down the hallway toward my bedroom to drop off my clothes. Mea follows me, sitting on my bed and folding her legs up underneath her. “Spill, girl.”

  I shrug. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Mea merely arches one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

  I giggle. “Okay, I spent the night with Grisham. We didn’t have sex, but we did make out and it was freaking hot. Then we made breakfast together this morning, and now I have to shower and change so I can go get hot and sweaty with him all over again.”

  Her mouth falls open farther and farther as I talk until finally she squeals and claps her hands together. “So now you guys are like, together?”

  I shake my head firmly. “No labels, Mea. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  Mea’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t make the man you’re bangin’ stamp a label on it, Greta, he’ll assume you’re in it for the sex. And he’ll be fine with that. Is that what you want?”

  Gasping, I swat at Mea’s leg. “Mea! I didn’t have sex with Grisham last night.”

  She scowls. “Well, still. Make him label it.”

  I shake my head at her, smiling. “We’ll label it when and if we’re ready. Until then…no labels and no bangin’.”

  I head toward the bathroom as she shrugs. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I stop short, just inside my bedroom door. “Why do you sound like you’re giving me firsthand advice? Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

  Mea and I have been friends since we met in college at East Carolina University years ago. She’s always been a bit of a wild child. Being my first time away from home and my too-adult responsibilities, combined with her unstable upbringing and wild nature, we’d been two peas in a pod in the party scene in college and had become fast friends. The more I got to know Mea, the more I realized that beneath her fun-loving, party-girl demeanor was a very closed-off, scarred girl who never shared too deeply what was going on inside of her.