Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2)

by Rachel Robinson

  He leans his forehead against mine.

  “That was awful convincing,” I whisper, my chest heaving more so now than when I did his obstacle course.

  “Maybe I wasn’t convincing anyone. Maybe I just wanted to taste you.”

  Macs doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he speaks, and it does things to my insides I can’t describe. I’m hot and cold all at once. Warning bells are ringing loudly in my mind. The woman I am without him next to me isn’t happy right now, and she’s the intelligent one.

  “I want more,” I say, ignoring my inner thoughts.

  He whispers in the ear my friends can’t see. “As do I. I want to give you everything. All ten inches of my fat, hard cock. Inside you, filling you up, making you scream. I want to fuck you so good you’ll never ask for more again in your life. I want you so badly it hurts.” To drive the point home, he pulls me against his workout shorts. I feel all ten inches of stone hard cock throbbing against my stomach.

  I close my eyes and step away from his body. “And on that note.” I sigh, glancing at my friends.

  They’re talking amongst themselves. I hear snippets now that I’m tuned into something other than Macs and his devilishly perfect body and mouth. A small well-placed kiss has me on edge. Everyone is aware of it, too.

  “If you’re finished being children, Macs and I will go have dinner. Bring your concern crew and go somewhere else. Don’t you have anything better to do, anyways?” I swing my hands on my hips as I approach my frenemies.

  “No one thought you were telling the truth,” Jasmine explains. “We’re sorry. No harm no foul.”

  “I’m not a liar,” I deadpan. “I get to decide if there’s no harm and I’m still debating. You guys are awful people sometimes. I. Am. Not. A. Liar.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re not, but you are…” she says, tapping her chin. “You’re...”

  “A promiscuous woman,” Macs replies, butting in from behind me, but he doesn’t say it, he sings it.

  Sighing, I turn to him. My friends laugh and continue singing the rest of the song. I hold out my hands to stop the madness.

  “I’ll agree with that description. In all seriousness, what did you think was going to happen at the playground?” I wave my arm behind us. “When you saw we were here, you could have left. I’m not doing anything indecent in public. Not tonight, anyways.” I smirk through my irritation.

  Macs brushes my side with his hand as he passes by me and approaches my friends.

  Chapter Eight

  Macs

  Now that my hard-on is gone for the moment, I make my way to sweet-talk her bitch ass friends. They’re ruining everything. Despite what Teala says, we would be fucking in the sand, at this playground, right at this moment, if they hadn’t interrupted. The physical connection between us is palpable. It breathes on its own. It has a life force neither of us can deny. I’m unsure if it’s because of the woman, or the situation. I’ve never held back before or not given in to my desires.

  It doesn’t take much convincing to get rid of the cunt clan. I tell them she’s in non-promiscuous hands and that after dinner my only intention is to walk her to her car and bid a goodnight with a harmless and rule-permitted kiss. They blush. They fall all over themselves. I flex my muscles and flash them the smile. It works because it always works. They disappear into the darkness of the parking lot amidst laughter and high-pitched squeals. I turn, hands on my hips to face Teala. Her anger permeates the air surrounding us.

  “Your friends are sort of special, aren’t they?” I ask.

  She folds in on herself and sits on the grass in a small, tight mound. “They have the best intentions. I promise they aren’t always so immature and annoying,” she says, voice gruff, tired.

  She seems oblivious to the fact that her friends are filled with sheer and violent envy. Not because of me, either. They want her life. Their looks poised and controlled, their words of encouragement laced with undercurrents of jealousy. And why wouldn’t they? She has what most only dream about. Freedom and options unrestricted by a set of moral, outdated rules. For the first time, I view Teala as an equal. She defends her friends once more by telling me a story about how they saved her from a disastrous date. They came barreling in, kind of how they did tonight, but were so annoying they literally deterred her man-child of a date from getting a word in edge wise. He eventually apologized, because that’s what most people do, and walked out of the restaurant with promises to call Teala later. He never called, but he did follow her back to her apartment and tried some ballsy, drunk bullshit. My skin prickles the moment she says it. People like that get punished. According to Teala, Jasmine’s presence was the only thing that kept it from spiraling into something more distasteful.

  I sit next to Teala, shuddering against the chill in the air now that sweat has dried on my bare chest. “You don’t seem convinced of that,” I admit, sighing. “Maybe they’re just...jealous?”

  She shakes her head. “I have to believe they have good intentions. It’s the only logical reason people would act so illogically. I have major issues with commitment. It’s not a secret. In that regard, they’re accurate.” Valid point. “Can we pretend to be more for a second?” she asks.

  I clear my throat. “More what?” My pulse skitters in anticipation. Fight or flight response at the most base level. I’m not used to base level. It’s odd that it feels the same as when I’m making life or death decisions.

  I watch her neck work as she swallows. My gaze flits to her lips and mouth.

  “You know, like people who care what the other person has to say? They take their words to heart and give advice.”

  I almost don’t catch what she says because I’m envisioning my dick where her words are exiting.

  Sighing. “I care what you have to say.” Not really. Unless it involves words ordering me to take my pants off, or to switch it up to reverse cowgirl. “By the same token, I’m not sure I’m the best person to issue advice. Especially to you. I can listen.” I lean over and nudge her with a huge shoulder. Teala almost falls to the side.

  With a smile, she nods, but still avoids eye contact. “I don’t think I’ll ever want a relationship, and I know how bad that is. Even playing along this charade with you only makes me want you,” she says, pausing. Finally, her gaze meets mine. “Makes me want you…chemically. Not forever. I don’t think.”

  Pressing my lips together, I formulate the right words to respond with. Too brash, and I’ll scare her away and getting into her pants won’t be an option. Too sentimental, and I’ll give her the wrong idea about my own feelings on the subject. I scratch the side of my head and wrap my free arm around her. She’s warm to my cool touch. I decide on the truth. “I’ll never want a relationship either. There’s nothing wrong with that. Or you. If there is, then I can give you a list of hundreds of women who suffer the same affliction,” I reply.

  Her eyes widen. “Hundreds? You’ve been with hundreds of women?” An unpleasant noise rolls up from her throat.

  I laugh. Giving up the notches in my bedpost isn’t something I’ll readily agree to. “Give or take.” I tilt my head left and right, subtly, and then smile.

  “That’s more than me,” she whispers, eyes unblinking.

  It’s reassuring to hear. No man wants to throw his hot dog down a bowling lane. “Everyone places values on different things. I place the higher tags on my career and bettering myself in that regard. Others value a family and their home lives,” I explain.

  She agrees. Something funny happens next—I begin telling her about my house and all of the projects I have going on. I tell her about the molding and how time-consuming everything ends up. How contractors are unreliable pieces of shit. She asks me if I’m perfectionist. I admit that I am. I give her a weakness. I hand it to her so easily. It’s something that can be taken and used against me like a weapon.

  We make our way over to the picnic table, and I serve her food. She hands me a drink. The uneasiness I feel abat
es. The casual conversation continues, but it’s still full of things I don’t usually offer. Facts. Truths about me and my life, and she speaks her truths about life and business. When I stop analyzing the situation, I find myself relaxed in her company.

  I watch her take sips of her drink. I trace her profile as she glances toward a stray noise from the street next to us. Her face is perfectly proportioned. It matches her personality. Unlike some women I’ve been with, who despite their best attempts can’t seem to line up whom they are inside and outside. From the little I know about Teala, I have determined despite what she says, she does, in fact, want a relationship even though she doesn’t need one. Guilt is an emotion I don’t feel readily, or frequently, but something similar settles in the pit of my stomach. She won’t find it as long as I’m dallying with her with our sex games.

  I’ll have to be careful. “So, we need to do a spitfire round. You give me lots of facts so we can fool our parents and your friends,” I say.

  She turns, a huge smile pulling her lips open. I lick my lips. Every woman has a scent—an indescribable aroma apart from perfume and the flowery shit they coat themselves with. Teala’s is sweet. I can tell from the small kiss I placed by her mouth. I swallow down a mouthful of saliva.

  “We’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We know things about each other. What would most people know after forty-eight hours?” My cell phone is in my car. The emptiness its absence causes makes me jumpy. I wanted this to seem like a proper date, but knowing this date will end without me getting it in, forces me to twitch with need.

  “I told you too many things on our horrible date. Remember?” Remembering it now makes it seem that much more awkward.

  Nodding. “Other than being a Mr. Fix-it and a SEAL there isn’t much else. I don’t have a favorite color. Or food. I like anything that tastes good. I broke my ankle when I was ten. I’m an only child. I never let women in my house.”

  “You told me about your house!” she exclaims.

  My heart hammers.

  “Does that make me special? Will I be granted access to keep up pretenses?”

  I do my best to check my emotions. “Come on now, darling. Look at me. Are you special? You tell me. You’ll pretend you’ve seen inside, though.”

  Her face falls. A scowl replaces her magnificent smile. “You don’t have to be so rude.”

  Shit, that was rude. Tone down your asshole, I chide myself. “Come on. It’s a game. You have something no other woman has had from me before. My complete honesty. You want to go to Vegas, and I want in your pants.” That’s a truth. Right? I flex my fists, letting my fingertips trace the lines in my palm. “It’s a four bedroom. I can see a sliver of the ocean from my backyard. The sunset is pretty amazing. There’s dust everywhere and my bedroom is always neat. I drink a lot, but not too much. I handle stress by working out and fucking. Those are the only two releases in my life. If something in my life doesn’t serve either of those things, I usually cut it out. I have a lot of friends, but we all have our own things going on.”

  Teala looks away. Her lips purse and her eyebrows draw in. “You’re kind of horrible and beautiful. This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” she asks.

  “The only easy day was yesterday,” I quip. Most people know the stereotyped phrases about SEALs. Immediately, I know she’s heard this one before.

  “Jerry fuckin’ Seinfeld has entered the building. Good one.” Teala rolls her eyes and leans back on the picnic bench seat. “Humor. Another thing to go into your positive column.”

  I care more about the negative column. I peek over to her side of the bench and her eyes meet mine. “If your friends hadn’t shown up tonight,” I say, trying at distraction.

  “We’d probably be having sex right now,” she says, finishing my thoughts. “Not that I’m opposed, but it is against the rules. You have this glamorizing effect and yet you’re a complete and total asshole. I get the draw. You’re like the bucket list man. The unicorn you have to land before you settle down with the one. You know, the man with the steady job and the stable life? The nice guy.” She sighs. “Maybe you’re the guy.”

  I quirk a brow. “Tell me how you really feel. What guy?”

  “The guy right before the one.”

  I pride myself on a lot of things. Never coming in second best is one of those things. In some twisted way she is referring to me as second best.

  Standing, I round the table slowly, never taking my eyes off hers. “I’m not in the habit of letting people talk shit without punishing them.” I crack my knuckles with my thumbs. “You don’t want the one, remember?”

  Tilting her head to the side, she urges me on using a look. I prowl, stalk forward until I can barely stand the snapping chemistry vibrating in the air between us. I straddle the bench so we’re face to face, nose to nose.

  “I’m no one’s guy. You know what I am. There’s little to wonder. There’s no shady with a chance of drama.” I pause for effect.

  She breathes in, her eyes blinking slowly.

  “I don’t have any ex-girlfriends. I have a demanding work schedule.”

  I peck her lips with my own, letting them linger a second longer than warranted. She’s too close. The scent of her perfume and skin is infiltrating my fortress—my reserve is faltering. A sigh escapes her lips.

  “And the most mind-blowing sex you’ll ever have,” I growl. My breaths come faster now, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch.

  “Somehow I don’t doubt that,” she whispers, her words exaggerated so her lips brush mine as she speaks.

  My hands are gripping the sides of the wood so hard, I’m fearful I might get a splinter. I want to touch her, but then I won’t be able to stop touching her. What makes her so desirable? In the want lies something that doesn’t belong, something that typically isn’t coupled with desire. I don’t want to touch her because I know how it will end.

  She’ll disappear from my life forever. I’ll never touch her again and I’ll want to touch her more than once. Merely looking into her eyes right now confirms that fact.

  “Can I see your apartment?” I ask.

  Teala’s hands are inching closer to mine on the bench in front of us. “Is that a good idea?”

  “If you know one thing about me, you should know that all of my ideas are good ones. Remember that.” I pause. “I promise I won’t fuck you.” I waggle my eyebrows. “That’s what you’re worried about, right? No fucking. Even if that is always a good idea.”

  “When you put it so eloquently, then of course. A night cap is probably in order anyways,” she says.

  I edge back to gain some breathing space. She follows my lead.

  “This has to be the strangest date I’ve ever been on. Wait, non-date. Maybe a couple night caps are in order.”

  “It is a date,” I retort. I busy myself with gathering our things and walk slowly toward our cars. I can tell she’s skeptical because she’s dragging her feet, trying to formulate an excuse as to why I can’t come over. “It’s a date because I plan to kiss the ever-loving shit out of you tonight.” And then use all my willpower to not tear your panties off and fuck you against a wall.

  That changes her mind. She tucks her hair behind her ears and bites her bottom lip. She gives me directions and the code to her parking garage in case we get separated in traffic downtown. I throw a clean shirt on from my passenger seat. It’s a quick drive and something akin to butterflies invades my stomach as I park next to her vehicle. My cell phone is blowing up in the center console, so I peek at it to see the notifications. There are a few text messages from Tahoe, so I reply to those and ignore the rest. I have matches. Women whom I could be fucking in an hour or less.

  Teala exits her car and smiles at me through my windshield. Her workout clothing leave little to my imagination. I see every ripple of her abs and the swoop of her thighs as they glide to her knees. I swallow as I let my eyes wander up to the swell of her breasts, her long neck, and then wide, pink lips, straight nose, cheekbone
s so beautiful my critical eye can’t detect an imperfection. The women on my phone aren’t Teala. They might look similar, but I want this one.

  Carefully, I open my car door and call her over. She ambles over, eyes curious. With my right hand I grab some random change I have at the bottom of my cup holder. I despise change. I’m killing two birds with one stone. I jiggle the coins in my palm and stand to face her.

  “Twenty-two cents,” I explain, moving my hand down so she can see it.

  She smiles. “Big baller.”

  I smirk back, making sure to use the smile. “It might as well be a million dollars. Give me your hand.”

  Teala raises one sculpted brow. “Okay?”

  I dump two dimes and two pennies into her cool hand.

  “If we lose this bet because of me, you get to keep that,” I say. I figure this show might endear her to our cause and relieve some of the tension she feels at letting me into her world.

  She jerks her chin to the side. “The stakes are so high. How will you ever keep your hands off me, big man?”

  She takes my hand and leads me to the elevator. As we ride up to her floor, she doesn’t take her gaze off mine in the reflection of the mirrored walls. Her eyes flicker with mischief. I like it because it’s a familiar look.

  I also fucking hate it.

  Chapter Nine

  Teala

  My heart is hammering in my chest. This is a normal occurrence. I’ve had many hot men in my apartment over the years. The problem is I called my mom on the way to my house and she heard it in my voice. The excitement, the nerves, the anxiety. Leave it to a mother to alert you to the fact that you should be more nervous than you actually are. Macs is gazing out of the window, looking down at the traffic and people walking the streets. I’m on the eighth floor and my view is awesome. It’s why I purchased this apartment.