You Were Always Mine (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 1)

by Cerise DeLand

  She saluted him, a shit-eating grin on her face for the way her not-so-happy trip had turned into something more positive. She fiddled with the key card, finally getting the tiny green light to blink and let her inside.

  Dropping her purse and computer bag and overnight to the floor, she grimaced at the temperature in the room.

  “It might be one hundred outside, but that’s no reason for the air conditioner to be turned down to fifty.” She scanned the far wall and found the heating and cooling gauge. “Time to— Oh, my god!”

  She backed away from the man across the room. “Who are you? Is this— Did I get the wrong room?”

  The figure in the chair didn’t move. Didn’t even look up from the book in his lap. Just kept silently reading. Why was he here? How had he gotten in?

  “What—what are you doing here?” Her back hit the door.

  The man didn’t blink. He continued to read as if he were hypnotized.

  Chills shook her. What was wrong with him that he didn’t respond to her? Didn’t he hear her? Was he ill? He looked pitiful in that threadbare gray suit.

  “Sir?” she tried to rouse him once more.

  He raised his head, and it seemed in the dim light from the street that she could see right through him.

  “N-n-no. No. No.” She put a hand out to ward off her morbid conclusion. She fumbled for the handle, yanked open the door, and fled down the hall.

  “Nick! Nick!” She pounded on his door with her fist. “Open up! Oh, god. Nick!”

  The door fell open. He gaped at her. “What the hell? What’s wrong, honey?”

  She walked right into his arms, shaking, teeth clattering, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. She clutched his nicely starched shirt.

  He stroked her back and put his lips to her temple. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “In my room.”

  He cupped her face. “Jesus. You’re trembling. What about your room? Deep breath. Tell me.”

  “A man!”

  Nick lifted her right off her feet, spun and plunked her down in a chair. “Do not move.”

  Then he charged out the open door.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth. What the hell was that man doing in her room? And why didn’t he look up at her? Or talk to her? Had the hotel made some huge mistake and given her room to someone else?

  She wrung her hands. Rubbed her arms. She was chilled to the marrow.

  Where was Nick? He didn’t come right back. Why?

  That guy in her room was big, but not as huge as Nick. In fact, that guy looked frail. Sickly. Especially in that tattered gray suit.

  But where was Nick?

  Alarm swam through her like a shark. She shot out the chair. If that guy had pulled a gun or a knife and Nick was in a struggle with him, she should call the receptionist. House security. 9-1-1.

  She ran to the desk, picked up the phone, and dropped it. Frustrated, scared for Nick, she cursed and ran into the hall and through the open door of her room.

  And there stood Nick, legs spread, arms wide, attack position. But he was silent, unmoving. What was wrong?

  Carefully, slowly, she walked to one side of him. Nick did not move. Neither did the man in gray.

  “He doesn’t respond to you either?” she whispered, not certain why she bothered because the man continued to read, unaffected by the two of them.

  “No.”

  “W-why do you think?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Want me to call security?”

  “Baby, I am security.”

  She waved a hand toward the figure. “I know, but he—he shouldn’t be here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “But if he won’t respond, won’t move, we have to let someone know.”

  Nick’s eyes flashed toward hers. “Call the receptionists.”

  “You bet.” She took two steps toward the phone on the end table near the man in gray but shrank back. The temperature in the room seemed to have dived to a crisp thirty. She shivered. A fact clicked in her head. “Nick?”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t take his eyes off the figure in the chair.

  “He’s wearing a Confederate officer’s uniform.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I’ll use the phone in your room.”

  “Do that. I’ll be here with Mr. Gray.”

  A quaking mass of pudding, Abby ran to the other room, hit the phone buttons, and got the desk clerk.

  “Hello, Miss Stuart. How may I help you?”

  “There’s a man in my room. Room two-twenty-two.”

  “A man in two-twenty-two, really?” The girl almost squealed, as if she were elated.

  “And he’s reading a book.”

  “Yeah? A book?” She sounded absolutely tickled.

  “Yes, a book. He looks like he’s sick and he’s in a play or something because he’s got a Confederate uniform on. He’s—”

  “Colonel Mabry Stuart.”

  “What? Stuart? Who?”

  “Colonel Mabry Stuart, ma’am. First Virginia Cavalry, Robert E. Lee’s crack regiment.”

  Abby’s toes curled. She wouldn’t be played. “Oh, come on! Whoever he is—”

  “He’s a ghost.”

  Chapter Three

  Abby’s mouth would not work.

  “Ma’am? Hello? Are you still there?”

  “I am. Yes, indeed.” This could not be happening. She didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Colonel Stuart is one of our resident ghosts. Or was, back in the day. No one has seen him here in more than thirty-four years, ma’am. We thought you might bring him out. The similarity in your last names. Spelling’s the same, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. Look if this is some game, I’m not up for it.”

  Nick appeared before her. His eyes grew wide and bright when she told him what the receptionist said. “Ask her what he does.”

  Abby didn’t understand his question. Covering the receiver, she asked him to explain.

  “We need to know if he walks, goes from room to room, yells, breaks things. What exactly does he do?”

  She nodded. “I’m back. Tell me, what does the Colonel do when he…um…haunts the hotel?”

  “Not much, really,” the receptionist said. “He stays in his room and reads.”

  “In his uniform?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Does he take it off, hurt anyone, destroy property? Anything?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. He is a true southern gentleman.”

  Abby rolled her eyes.

  And evidently Nick could hear the receptionist’s responses because he crossed his arms and snorted. “When does he disappear?”

  “Disappear?” the clerk repeated.

  “Yes. Does he?” Abby pressed her.

  “Wait a second. I’ll ask.” The woman muffled the receiver and spoke with someone else. “He does go away. After a day or so.”

  Abby told that to Nick.

  “How?” he asked.

  Abby repeated the question to the woman.

  “Oh, he just kind of melts away. And we don’t see him for a while. In this last case, thirty-four years.”

  “So he’s not likely to leave room two-twenty-two or to come next door?” The possibility cut through Abby like a knife.

  “No, ma’am. Only two-twenty-two. That’s what he likes.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, ma’am. We don’t know that.”

  You seem to know everything else! “How do you know the rest about him? His name? His regiment?”

  “Because he was registered at the hotel in 1866.”

  A shudder ran down Abby’s spine. “And when did he become a ghost?”

  “Not sure when he died, ma’am. And we don’t know why he’s here either. He just is.”

  Nick cursed softly. “Tell her you want another room.”

  Abby repeated what he said.

  “Well, I am so sorry, ma’am. We are all booked for the weekend. Fourth of
July, you know.”

  “Now see here. That’s unacceptable.”

  Nick caught her hand. “She won’t do it?”

  Abby shook her head. “Can’t. No vacancies.” What would she do? She wasn’t staying in there with that thing. She’d never sleep.

  Nick’s eyes went hard and lethal. She wouldn’t want to ever meet him on the battlefield. “All right. You’re staying here.”

  She demurred. That’s a sweet idea. “But—”

  He pointed to the floor. “No buts. The bed is a king. You’re staying with me.”

  Thank you, thank you. “I’ll be moving out of my room.”

  Nick took the phone. “She’ll be with me in two-twenty. In the meantime, tell me how you get rid of your ghosts.”

  A second later, he hung up and paced the room.

  “What did she say when you asked how they got rid of ghosts?”

  Hands on his hips, Nick whirled to face her. “It’s like this, honey. They don’t.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Crazy? Yeah. She says it’s impossible. They’ve tried. Had a few séances, but nothing works. They’ve got about twenty entities that roam the building, and they come and go as they please.” He waved an arm. “All the time.”

  Abby licked her lips. “She says he’s from First Virginia Cavalry. That’s part of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia.”

  “He sure as hell looks that old. Gray skin to go with the gray wool.”

  She nodded. “Amen to that. But she also knows his name.” Abby sank to a chair.

  Nick scoffed. “How? Did he tell her? He’s as mute as a doorknob. Just reads.”

  “His name is Mabry Stuart. Colonel Mabry Stuart. Spelling of his family name is the same as mine.”

  “Stuart? Oh, now that is nuts. She made that up to frighten you. We’ll see the manager in the morning and get her ass fired.” Nick knelt in front of her and rubbed her arms. “She learned your name, and maybe she knows your great family history. She just made it up, honey.”

  Soon, she was going to take time to bask in the glow of all the endearing words Nick used for her. For now, she was still interested in the colonel. “Was he still there when you left?”

  Nick made a wide-eyed face. “Still reading.”

  “So he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t move. Isn’t violent. Those are all good things.”

  Nick narrowed his eyes on her. “Did you watch too many spooky flicks when you were young?”

  “Not enough, evidently. He freaked me out.”

  “You are not alone.” He gave a short laugh and kissed her on the forehead. “Time for some food.”

  “Right. But I want my stuff.”

  “I’ll go get it. You stay here.”

  “No, no.” She struggled to her feet, her knees still wobbly. “I’m brave in the face of ghosts who sit and read. But, um, come with me, will you?”

  Smiling, he took her hand. “Lead on, mighty one!”

  She snorted. “Okay. But call me Lily, last name Livered.”

  ****

  Nick took Abby’s hand as they left the front door to the Alamo Plaza, leading her toward the River Walk entrance across the street. The night air was sweltering, the sky a navy velvet. The breeze smelled of flowers, and his mind and his hormones were on high alert because of the strange occurrences of the day.

  Pushing away his distress over the thing in gray in room two-twenty-two, he told himself he was not unnerved by a ghost. The thing was nothing more than air. An odd collection of atoms. A blast from the past. Whatever it was, he’d figure out his weird reaction to it. But that would be later. Tonight, after dinner and maybe dancing, he’d lie down in his bed next to luscious, lovely Abby Stuart. Tempted by her, knowing it was so wrong of him to want her as badly as he did, he’d fight off the urge to jump her bones by reflecting on his creepy reaction to the man in gray.

  Yeah. He’d laid his eyes on good old Mabry Stuart and shivered as if someone walked over his grave.

  Nick recognized him. How, why, he had no idea. But he fucking knew this ghost. Not his name. Not his rank or regiment. But his desire…and his soul. He searched for something. Someone. A woman. Not just any woman. His sister. This ghost was looking for his sister.

  Weird. The hair on Nick’s arms stood up.

  “Wow, it doesn’t get any cooler at night, does it?” Abby asked as they waited on the curb to cross the street. She picked at the bodice of her mini-dress to fan herself.

  “Ten-thirty at night, and it feels like noon.” Nick was very happy to talk about the weather. He needed the distraction. And what a distraction she was.

  From the first second he’d spotted her, he’d fallen into a daze. Even after she shut him down in the airport, he’d thought about her during the trip. Her magnificent hair, her eyes, her killer legs had flashed in his brain like a never-ending slideshow. When she caught up to him in the airport, he figured he’d won the lottery.

  And when they touched?

  His mouth twitched with pleasure. So did other parts of him.

  From that first contact when the electricity seared them both, he’d had this craving to hold her. It was as if she belonged to him, a part of him he’d amputated and long missed, a part he needed to breathe, to survive. How that could be, he had no bright ideas. Women were not a major preoccupation of his. He enjoyed them, he made love to a few of them—and he left them. No strings, heart or otherwise.

  But this woman with the gorgeous dark mane and flashing golden-brown eyes mesmerized him. The way she spoke, her lips lush, her voice husky, and her tone animated, made him stare and want. The way she walked fascinated him, her hips gliding along, smooth as glass, as if she floated above the ground. The way her hair swished and his fingers itched to sink into the wealth of it. But the ringer was the way she looked at him, as if he were the most precious person in the world.

  He doubted she knew she did that, and he wasn’t about to bring it up. Not yet. Not ever, maybe, depending on how long their relationship lasted. No one had ever looked at him as if he were the finest man who walked the earth, except maybe his teammates and they sure didn’t signify in the romance department. Not compared to Abigail Stuart. No, indeed.

  He was head over heels about her, and he didn’t do crazy-at-first-sight. Not with his job. Never in his love life. He did slow and careful, easy does it. Except here with her tonight, he felt comfortable, easy in his skin with her, as if he’d known her and been in her company for a hundred years. Not two hours.

  It seemed bizarre too that he was taking her to his sister’s restaurant. Without trying, he and Abby were getting closer, learning more about each other at lightning speed. True, he was hungry. So was she. Plus, he’d told Abby he’d take her out to eat at a good place before he learned her name. Even before he’d laid eyes on the incredible Colonel Stuart. Before he had the shivering insight that he recognized the man. Correction, the ghost.

  The coincidences mounted up. Seemed too many to be real. But then what else were all the facts but twists of fate? He could spend his time marveling at them or he could acknowledge them—and take advantage of them.

  So taking Abby to meet his sister was a natural thing. An occurrence grown out of their meeting. Still, he didn’t want Abby to think he was giving her the rush. The desire to be a gentleman was a cover for the rage to grab her and kiss her until… Well, he wasn’t certain what came after that except he had a sneaking premonition it was his own heartbreak.

  How and why he would pine for her like a twelve-year-old boy, he didn’t have a clue. He just knew in his gut she wouldn’t go for a long-term relationship with him. And the knowledge that he wanted that from her shocked the hell out of him as much as feeling that he knew the man in gray in her hotel room.

  Nuts. When he reported back, he should probably check in with the base shrink.

  “This way,” he said, leading her to dodge a horse-drawn carriage. “We’ll go swimming after dinner. Best way to cool off.” And wow, do I need it.<
br />
  “Nope. Can’t. I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Not a problem.” He took her down the steps to the river, his blood steaming at the expectation of seeing her rockin’ bod in a few strips of cloth. “There’s a mall next door to the hotel. We can go tomorrow morning.”

  “Or I could just watch you cut the waves,” she said, her brows wiggling with suggestion.

  She liked his looks, huh? Snap. “We’ll have time to shop. Visitors can’t get into the Burn Unit until noon. You’ll want to swim here in Hot City. Trust me.” Treat me.

  “And you have to swim to keep in shape,” she said with a tilt to those plush lips of hers.

  “I do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”

  Hot damn. Another opening for him to tell her how he felt so easy with her close. “You can’t deny me the equal pleasure.”

  “Reardon,” she said as she pinned him with serious dark eyes, “I am not in the shape you are.”

  “Thank god.”

  She hooted and patted her flat tummy. “I intend on eating a decent dinner so tomorrow I’ll have this nice little pot.”

  He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. Aside from giving him a great view of her curves, swimming would ease some of the tension of seeing her injured brother. “All the more reason to join me in the pool.”

  She grimaced. “Fine. But no comments about my form. Hear me?”

  “That bad?”

  “Enough that Terry kids me about it. He could cut water without a splash. However, I swim like a puppy. Noisy and crooked.”

  “I can help straighten you out.” Let me.

  She put up a hand. “No thanks. You SEAL boys frighten me. Too intense.”

  He took that as a warning to back off swimming instructions…and what else? He had only the weekend with her so he had to cut to the chase. “You’ve met a lot of us?”

  “Enough of Terry’s friends to know how you think.”

  “How’s that?”

  She looked him over, sizing him up, firing him up. “You’re all fast thinkers. Fast movers. Fast talkers.”

  “Some guy hustled you?” He’d find the bastard and break his arms.

  “No. I mean I’m not fast.”

  How’d I know that? “Okay.”

  “I don’t do this kind of thing.” She raised their joined hands.