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

by Cerise DeLand

  “Usually, I don’t want more than the evening. But I do now.”

  “Because you know Terry? Or because I’m sharing your room?”

  She was deflecting the seriousness of his admission, and he couldn’t let that pass. “We have a connection. I’m not certain what it is, but it’s more than Terry, more than the coincidence of being here at the same time. This is proof.” He raised their joined hands higher.

  “The electricity is extraordinary,” she admitted.

  He stepped to her. “I’d like to enjoy this, whatever it is. The electricity. The feeling of having known you for longer than a few hours.”

  She lifted her face to his, her eyes frank. The breeze blew her dark curls over her shoulders, rippling her dress against her lush breasts and hips and thighs. She was a beauty who could charm a statue. Bring a man to his knees. She’d definitely brought this man to his knees. “This is very different for me.”

  “How’s that?” Tell me you’re afraid we could mean too much to each other, and I’ll prove it to you. Tell me you’re dating some jerk or engaged to be married to some creep who doesn’t value you, and I’ll rip my heart out and never be whole. Tell me you’re playing me here. Fooling the big bad SEAL. Then see if you can warn me off.

  “I don’t do instant attraction.” She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms.

  “But that’s what this is.” He sought some proof for her. At this moment, other than the electrical current, the feeling that he knew her, that he had to fill his arms with her, he had nothin’.

  She grimaced.

  What ammo did he have? As long as they touched, they were all good. “It won’t feel so weird if you just come back here and put your hands in mine again.”

  She gave a rueful laugh. “That’s not wise.”

  “To tempt fate?” he asked. Fate was a loser’s word. He believed in action.

  She lifted her eyes to the sky. “Oh, Nick, I live in the twenty-first century, but I come from a huge family where one rule is that people meet and discover each other with the sole purpose to nurture each other, mature together. Where they live together for decades through thick and thin. Where they build homes and careers and memories together. They don’t bed hop, and they don’t dabble in one-night stands.”

  That gave him two problems. The first was that he couldn’t promise her tomorrow. Not one date or many. He never knew when he’d be ordered out for his next mission. Besides, he had put in for a transfer to Coronado to teach at BUD/s in California. He had the position but had no idea when he’d have to report.

  His second problem was that he knew who she was. Accomplished, bright, funny were a few of her brother’s descriptions. Grieving was the newest word since her folks had died so suddenly and, soon thereafter, Terry’s injuries adding to her burden. But long before Nick had set eyes on her, he’d learned her illustrious family history, courtesy of his friendship with her brother.

  Terry told the same story of a multi-generational American family, hard-working, centered and wise. Happy love affairs within famous marriages were the norm, producing even more legendary male and female politicians, statesmen, military types, even a noted movie producer. Terry felt like the clan’s renegade, proclaiming he shouldn’t love any woman with the probability high he’d make her a widow while she was young. “You must have big problems with men.”

  She got a big laugh out of that. “If you only knew.”

  “Don’t tell me,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I’d have to go punch them out.”

  In the twinkling lights hung in the giant willows along the River Walk, he could see the blush on her cheeks as she thought about that and glanced at their entwined hands. “I don’t want to let go.”

  “Then don’t.” He wanted to kiss her, make it all better. But if he did, he’d come on too strong. Just what she feared. Him, too, to be honest. But he didn’t plan for decades in advance, didn’t count on a future that took him to the silver years. He didn’t make promises he didn’t want to keep, and the reason was his job. Here today, maybe not coming home tomorrow. Worse, coming home disabled.

  But he hadn’t ever found a woman he needed like sun and rain. No woman he yearned to come home to. Still, he warred with himself, wanting to be noble with this one woman. Wanting to find time to learn if they were meant for each other longer than tomorrow. So then, like a steady-as-he-blows kind of guy, he argued with her. “Not all affairs are alike.”

  She tipped her head in question, her eyes clouded. “Good to know.”

  He pulled her to one side so that others could pass them on the steps down to the river level. The move put her flush to him, and the meld of her svelte body along his hard one put iron in his determination. With one hand taking hers, he lifted her chin with the other. “We won’t know what this one is until we give it more time.”

  “Like dinner?” She inhaled, smiling, easy again, giving in to the demands of the moment and him.

  “At the very least.”

  She laughed lightly, her gaze sweeping down the meandering river and the crowds strolling along it. “We also have to discover why we’ve been haunted.”

  “That, too.” He wanted to hug her close, reassure her she’d chosen well to spend time with him. “Do you suppose there was a Rebel colonel in your family whose name was Mabry?”

  “I plan to find out. We’ve got a family genealogy online.”

  “One of those family tree websites?” He led her toward his sister’s restaurant.

  “Exactly. My cousin runs it, prides herself on it. I’ll go online tomorrow and poke around.”

  “Must be nice to be able to do that.” He opened the door for her and led her inside his sister’s five star restaurant. “I’m afraid my family would put black marks through most of the people.”

  “Don’t count your chickens. You never know until you search exactly who you’ve got. Oh, Nick,” she said, looking around, “this is so beautiful.”

  As the hostess led them to a table, Nick breathed with pride in his sister’s accomplishment. Abby, too. She was rapt, gazing at the brown leather banquettes and taupe linen drapes, the glass enclosed wine tasting room and the huge silver vases jammed with white peonies. Best of all, she seemed natural with him again, as if, once more, her body understood she belonged near him. He hated her previous reticence, his fear a novel, fierce emotion for a man trained to conquer anything or anyone with preparation and planning. He’d do anything to shield her from harm. Even from him, if that’s what threatened her peace of mind. “My step-sister is part owner, but also head chef.”

  He tore his gaze from her slim figure in the black sleeveless mini-dress. The legs he’d thought were dynamite in nylons and pumps were long and curvy. Bare to him now to the thigh, they were smooth and luscious limbs he could envision hooked around his hips. Her breasts were gems, too. High and plump beneath the low-cut cotton. All that complemented her arresting face. Hell. If he wasn’t careful, he’d let his cock do his thinking, gobble her whole, and scare her off. And the compulsion to keep her close and near was a living creature in his guts.

  “You are staring,” she whispered.

  “Got that wrong. I’m drooling.”

  She elbowed him, a grin on her face. “Watch it, sailor boy. Too many compliments, and a girl gets suspicious.”

  He raised a hand. “Swear to God. Just going to feed you well and walk you back to the hotel. Besides, we’re sharing a bed and a room.”

  “And my brother. If there’s anything more, that’s—” Her brilliant gaze ran over his face, caressing him.

  He could live forever with her hands all over him. “That’s what?”

  “A gift.”

  A rare one. “Agreed.”

  A waiter appeared at their table with menus and a wine list. Nick gazed up at him. “Would you please tell Josie Butler a customer asks to see her?”

  “Certainly, sir. May I tell the chef who asks for her?”

  “Her brother.”


  Abby smiled, her attention darting back to the menu.

  The waiter nodded. “Would you like a cocktail while you wait?”

  “Abby?”

  “I’ll have a glass of Sancerre.”

  “Make that two,” Nick told the waiter.

  “Two it is,” the man said and hurried off.

  Abby settled into her chair across from him, admiring the sculptures and paintings—and him. “I’ve died and gone to Heaven.”

  He grinned, right to have brought her here. “The beef bourguignon is great. The escargots are full of garlic. But the beignets for dessert are ambrosia of the gods.”

  She grinned. “When I am old, I hope I can still waddle to the table.”

  “Whatever you do in the future, run it off, yoga till you drop. This is a meal you should finish.”

  She wiggled in delight. “Lick the plate?”

  “And your fingers.” He did all he could do to remain in his seat at the thought. He wanted to lick her fingers, her toes, bite her earlobe, taste her pretty pink lips. God. He shifted, his chinos much too tight for the erection that blossomed.

  “Nicky! Nicky! Oh, wow!”

  He pushed to his feet and grabbed Josie in his arms. God, she felt good. Like family and love. “You smell great, kiddo.”

  “Like garlic and fried onions?”

  “What’s not to love, eh? Let me get a good look at you.” He held her away from him. In her chef’s toque and apron, her curly strawberry blonde mane tucked up in her hat, his stepsister looked like the Irish lass he remembered. “Taking care of yourself, I see.”

  She giggled and tickled him. “And you’re still in one hunky piece, old man. I am sooo glad you’re here.”

  He hugged her like a bear. “I’ve been eating well, but not as well as I expect to tonight.”

  “Well, you came to the right place.” She sniffed back emotions that sparkled in her eyes and jammed her hands in her apron pockets. “I can rustle up chow that’ll make you shed tears. And—” She turned aside to smile at Abby. “—I see you’ve brought a friend with you. Good. About time.”

  Abby started to stand and put out her hand.

  “No, don’t get up,” the woman told her.

  “Abby Stuart, meet my sister, Josie Butler.”

  “Stepsister, actually,” Josie clarified.

  The women shook hands.

  His sister squeezed him around the waist. “Those who have suffered together have a greater affection for each other than those who have merely laughed together.”

  Josie stood inches above Abby, and the contrast between the brunette and the strawberry blonde was striking. But the sight of the two of them admiring each other rocked Nick back on his heels. Had he truly seen them smile at each other before? When? Where? What the hell?

  The two women rattled on, getting to know each other while he marveled at them. What was wrong with him? First, he sees that damn figure in gray. Then he looks at his stepsister and this woman whom he’s barely met and yet knows like the back of his hand—and he thinks he’s seen them together before?

  He wiped a hand across his mouth.

  “Please,” Josie told them. “Have a seat. Let me get my sommelier out here.”

  “Oh, we already ordered two glasses of Sancerre,” Nick said.

  Josie raised her hand and motioned for the man in the corner to come over. “George, get me a bottle of the Sancerre, will you please? And I’ll have a glass, too.”

  Nick pulled a chair over from the nearest table and held it for her as she sat.

  “If you haven’t ordered yet, I’d like to do something special for you both.”

  “Josie, you don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “I do indeed. I will. Look around, baby bro. It’s half past ten, and we’re almost empty.”

  “All the more reason to give us something simple. I did not come here to make extra work for you.”

  “You’re not.” She clamped a hand over his and widened her eyes in that no-nonsense way she had of calming him. “I will do this. You know I like to cook for you. So be quiet. Enough of him, Abby. Tell me about you. Have you been to San Antonio before?”

  Abby tipped her head. “Once. Last month.”

  “Lots to see. The Mission Trail. The Alamo.”

  “Oh, I haven’t done any sight-seeing.”

  “Abby’s here to visit her brother at BAMC,” he filled in.

  “I see. I’m sorry. Is he badly hurt?” Josie winced. “Apologies. Nosey me. I guess he is hurt if he’s in BAMC.” She glanced at Nick. “I just stepped in it, didn’t I? Help dig me out, will you, please?”

  “It’s okay,” Abby said. “I’m over the shock of it. I just hope my brother gets over the shock of his injuries soon. He wasn’t in great shape emotionally the last time I was here.”

  Nick stiffened. He didn’t know that about Terry. In fact, he’d heard from his team leader that his pal was adjusting fine. He’d check it out.

  “I’m sure he’s got the best treatment.” Josie glanced from one to the other. “So do fill me in. Have you two known each other long?”

  Nick told her how they’d met, leaving out any description of the guy in gray.

  “Interesting,” Josie mused. “You seem easy together. Like a long-standing couple.”

  Abby slid her eyes to Nick and away. “I’m afraid not.”

  Nick knit his brows. Abby was still concerned that they hadn’t known each other long. That didn’t frighten him as much as how long they would have together before he left for Timbuktu or San Diego.

  “Hmm,” Josie murmured, gazing at them each in turn. “So that’s not it.”

  “What isn’t?” Nick asked Josie.

  “I dunno. I’m just kind of stunned.”

  “Oh?” Abby sat back. “At what?”

  “You look so familiar to me.”

  Nick froze.

  Abby blinked.

  Josie leaned closer to Abby. “I thought that maybe you and I had met before. Perhaps you’d been in here to eat and you and I had talked? Maybe I visited your table?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’ve never been here. But…”

  The hair on the back of Nick’s neck stood up as he stared at Abby. “But what?”

  She glanced from him to Josie. “You look familiar to me, too. Crazy, huh?”

  “Very,” he said while Josie gazed at Abby as if she’d just found a long-lost friend.

  The sommelier came with the bottle and opener, then poured each of them a hefty glassful.

  “Well, then. I say we take advantage of knowing each other and drink well. To old friends,” Josie said, raising her glass, “and new.”

  The three of them chatted about nothing in particular until Josie listed a few dishes she’d like to cook for the two of them.

  “Any of that sounds fabulous,” Abby told her.

  Josie took a sip of her drink and rose. “I won’t be long. Enjoy the wine.”

  “She’s terrific,” Abby said when Josie was out of earshot.

  “Glad you like her. Saved me from disaster, many times.”

  “How?”

  He inhaled. Time to tell the story of how different his childhood and his family were from Abby’s. “I was a problem child. Rowdy. In a gang.”

  “A gang? You?”

  “Tough to understand? Not really. Josie’s and my parents were drunks. I think my dad might have run drugs, too. The two of us lived on colas and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Anyway, our grandmother took us in when Josie was fifteen and I was nine. Straightened us up and three years later, she passed away. Social Services put us in foster care, split us up. Let me say, that is no happy life. We caught a few of the worst watchdogs. Luckily, when Josie was twenty-one, she sprang me out.”

  “That could not have been easy.”

  “Josie does not do easy. She worked two jobs, made me finish high school, get a job. We worked it. I saw the light and went as straight as I could.” He grinned, wanting to summarize h
is sordid childhood with a few blithe shortcuts. “I am who I am because of two great women. And I’m grateful.”

  “You’ve obviously done some hard work all on your own, Lieutenant.”

  “I did. I have a lot to be grateful for.”

  “And proud of.”

  He nodded. He was tired, exhausted by the extraordinary turn of events. To find a woman whose looks rocked him to his core was unnerving, but to talk with her and discover she seemed to belong to him was outrageous. Add to that the Confederate soldier whom he recognized as if he were one of his teammates, and Nick needed time to think.

  Problem was at the end of that dinner, he’d walk back to The Menger, into his hotel room, and spend the night in the same bed as this beauty whose laugh made him think of burying himself inside her.

  Sleep would be rare. His conscience would fight with his hormones through hours of torment. Maybe he could tie his hands to the bedposts. And pray that Abigail Stuart would take pity on him and ravish him all night long.

  Yeah. In my dreams.

  Chapter Four

  Abby rolled to her back, weary of trying to get back to sleep. Beside her, a few heat-radiating inches away, Nick slept deeply, flat on his back, hands on his bare stomach, his breathing slow and steady.

  She’d drifted off as soon as her head hit the pillow at midnight, but now she was awash in worries about tomorrow when she’d visit Terry. If she could only forget how awful he’d looked last month, his scars brutal red blotches along his left cheek down his throat to his upper chest. Her handsome brother, happy, earnest, dedicated, suddenly disabled. She’d never expected this. Had he? Did anyone really expect disaster?

  She grimaced at the thought of what was in his future. No more SEAL missions. No more military. How would he cope? What would he live for when the only thing he ever wanted was off limits to him?

  Damn if she knew.

  Her eyes traveled to the digital clock on the desk. Three-forty-one. The witching hour when the earth’s magnetic forces changed.

  Ugh. She threw an arm over her eyes.

  What was she doing here in this hotel room with this man she barely knew? Wearing her usual Santa Claus pajamas but so trusting of him that she hadn’t even kept on her panties? Who did that? She never had before. Was she out of her mind?