Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) (8 page)

He picked her up and she encircled his waist with her legs, pressing against him, rubbing her sex against his cock, kissing first the line under his jaw and then fully on the lips as he inhaled her.

After he placed her down on the bed, he whispered in her ear, “I need protection. Let me go…”

“Shh. I have some.’ She arched and rolled over to her tummy, exposing her plump ass as she reached for the bedside table and pulled open a drawer. He could see the little fruit of her sex, hairless and wet. He rose up and covered her body, pushing his shaft into the crease between her legs, begging for entrance. She flipped to her knees, raising herself up off the bed just high enough so he could slip a hand there and plunge two fingers inside her wet opening.

She gasped and spread her knees out wider, arched up and slapped her palms against the wall. He spotted a red foil packet in her right hand. He removed his fingers, slid his thighs under hers and pressed his chest against her back. He grabbed the packet and quickly covered himself, while she moaned and leaned back against him, turning her head, giving him a mouthful of blond tresses until her lips found his.

Ready and poised at her opening, he stopped, then tenderly removed the hair that separated their cheeks and pressed his forehead to the side of her face by her temple.

“Christy, Christy,” he murmured. He wanted to be covered in her scent, wanted every part of his body rubbing against hers. He wanted her to rub off all the roughness, all the little scars and nubs of his soul.

Make me clean. Bring me back to life.

He plunged in from behind, watching the long curls fall down the silky softness of her back. He brushed them aside and kissed one vertebrae at a time while his cock slowly had its way with her, drawing back and plunging in, back and forth in a rhythm he would not be able to sustain for very long.

She had gone liquid, as if made without bones or cartilage. Her body pressed against him, needing him, drawing him deeper inside her. She gasped for air as he slid to the hilt and then slowly drew out. With gentle rhythms he rode her, loving the feel of her flesh covering his cock, loving how each wave of pleasure brought him to the edge and then back again as he withdrew and plunged again and again.

He clutched her breasts as he pumped her. He held her by the waist and moved her up and down on his shaft as he arched his groin into her. At last, the muscles in her sex tensed and then released as she shuddered. He moved even slower, in and out, as every delicious ripple of her orgasm wash over both of them.

At last he could hold on no longer, and with one last plunge to answer her soft, satisfied whimper, he burst forth and came, rooting and planting himself deep inside her. She squeezed every drop from him as he continued to pump and then lurched one more time. They collapsed on the bed, his body covering hers.

He wanted to be careful with this delicate creature lying beneath him, the one who smelled of lavender and vanilla, of the sweet sweat of her arousal. His hands were too callused to rub across her soft breasts and down her arms, but he needed to feel the smoothness of her skin, as if the more he stroked her, the more he would be healed.

He nuzzled and found the back of her neck and kissed her there, feeling the vibrations of her sigh, her chest moving down into the bed as his body could do nothing but follow her. He continued to nuzzle, kiss and give her little bites, tasting the salt of her skin along her neck, under her ear. His tongue found the upturned curl of her closed lips and he could tell she was smiling. He begged for her to open to him again.

She rolled to the side and faced him as he pulled out and then repositioned himself, covering her chest and lower abdomen from on top. His hands held her face as his thumbs traced over her cheekbones, her lips. He slid his fingers behind her head and cupped her, raising her up to meet his lips again in a long, languid kiss. She studied him deeply and he saw her face was wet with tears.

“Hey. Are you okay?” He wondered if he had hurt her in some way. The glittering moistness in her eyes drew him in and he wanted to forget who he was and where he was. Almost, but not quite.

He could tell she wanted to say something as he watched her think, but she chose to stay silent. Some day he might want to let a woman tell him things of her heart, but not today. It was way too soon. This was just beautiful sex.

Yet, something had shifted. Certain words would have to remain unspoken for now. But he knew he’d found someone very rare and very lonely, like he was. It would be difficult to let her go, like she belonged to him already. Or maybe he needed something she had. Something he would protect.

They rested, then made love again as the raging orange sunset streamed through her bedroom window. All he wanted to do was watch her face as she came, as he shot her full of his seed. He couldn’t be deep enough inside her, touch enough of her skin, or hear enough of her little moans and whimpers as he poured out everything he had. He slid in and out of her and watched her bloom for him, open to him, need him. And he could do this. He could be there for her, could send them both into ecstasy. Every soft brushing of her lips on his flesh brought on a new wave of strength and the desire to own every inch of her body—the desire to give her all of his body in return.

They played in the shower until the hot water ran out, then they dressed and went to the harbor and ate at the Salty Dog cafe she knew about that overlooked boats of every size. The moonlight shimmered on the still waters of the inlet.

Kyle turned back to her face, which was lit by the table candle that flickered, sending dancing shadows like a fan dance that first covered up and then revealed her sweet smile. He wanted her all over again, but that was foolish. He braced for the cold blast of reality to follow. This was wrong. He needed to find Armando first. The Navy came second. There was no room for a third option.

So what’s going on with you? Wake up, Kyle. You know better. You’ve warned other men on your team about this. It’s nice being with her, but let’s not get lost here.

“You come to this place a lot?” she asked, as if testing the waters.

“Actually, I’ve never been. Don’t normally hang out in this part of town. But I can tell you about every dive on Coronado.”

“I’ll bet.”

Two large bowls of seafood chowder delivered to their table broke the silence in the nick of time. The chowder tasted hot and delicious and was accompanied by warm steaming French bread and melted butter, which was the way he liked it. They ate in silence. He’d been starved.

“They fly in the French bread from San Francisco,” she said between bites.

“No wonder you like it here.”

“It’s close. My mom and I used to come here when I’d visit her.”

“That must have been nice.”

When they finished, he avoided her gaze but could tell she was trying to engage eye contact, so he pulled out his phone and checked to make sure the ring was on. No messages, either.

“It’s late and I’m going to have to be going. If you’re done, I’ll walk you back.”

She flinched but seemed to catch herself. Her eyes held lots of questions. Things she had a right to know. A regular tangle of things he wouldn’t be able to answer.

Get out before you get dragged in, Kyle.

“I was hoping you’d stay the night.” She delivered her words with steely coolness.

She was watching him. He knew it was important how he responded. He sensed she was trying her hardest not to look disappointed. Forced casual.

Here it comes. Damn. This is harder to do than I thought.
“Sorry. I don’t do the overnight thing…”

“But you said…”

“I’m sorry. I seem to do a lot of apologizing to you.” He looked away quickly. Her body shook as he noticed her composure crumble. He saw the glistening tears out of the corner of his eye.

Give her a chance to recover in private.Being direct is being merciful. Don’t lie to her. It’s cruel to linger.
“C’mon, let’s get you home, safe and sound.”

He felt awkward and ashamed he’d crossed the line with her, that he’d made her think there was more to it than just the sex. The
incredible
sex.

God, I wish there was.

At the lobby of her building, he kissed her. “Thank you. This was nice, Christy.”

“I’d like to do it again sometime.”

She was masking again, trying not to plead. But damn, if he didn’t love the way she wanted him, and how hard he felt she was fighting to cover it up.

Me, too. Fuck. I could do this every night.
He shifted his weight and stepped on his own foot to wake himself up—a trick he’d learned in the BUD/S training.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” It hurt to say it, but it had to be said. After all, he was a dog. And she deserved way better.

As she opened the heavy glass door, she turned and asked him a question. “Kyle,
will
I see you again?”

He didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to lie. But what was the truth, after all? He sighed. “I think so.” Then he shrugged. “Just not sure when.” He looked down at his feet, then up to her face. “Best not to expect too much out of this.”

She got the message. He saw it in her eyes, in the flicker that registered she’d felt the spear of rejection. He could see she wasn’t used to getting it. And she wasn’t used to giving so freely of herself.

He’d been honest with her, at least. He’d done what had to be done, no question about it. But he still felt like a complete heel. He hoped her anger would help her forget him.

He knew it would be impossible to ever forget her.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Kyle didn’t have time for shame. He threw it in the back of his mind like he used to throw his wetsuit and surfboard in the back of the battered old truck with the rusty headlights. His old but reliable vehicle had been crumbling, with parts sloughing off it for years. This flawed hunk of metal had served him well while he became a man. She was always by his side, proving to be much more reliable than any of the girls he’d dated.

His heart hadn’t gotten seriously snagged on any of the lovelies from his past. But the truck was different. He nearly cried the day he’d sold her to a friend, the sale signaling the end of his carefree but tumultuous life—the same day he’d reported to the Indoc center. Not once did he ever wash her. She was perfect the way she was.

He took a shower, then checked Armando’s refrigerator for something unhealthy. No luck. A little nonfat yogurt and greens. No milk for cereal, if he even had cereal. No bread for toast. He found some cheese and cut a slice. It tasted terrible, like rubber tires. He read the label.

99% nonfat? What the hell is up with that?

Armando was a food Nazi, all right. Kyle grabbed a bruised apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and walked around, surveying the house, sure he missed something. Armando had nothing frilly to indicate a woman’s presence. All hard steel stuff. No pictures of frogmen jumping out of airplanes or US flags either.

When I was a child I thought like a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things.
It was one of the quotes he and Armando loved, and had sustained them all during his training and during some of the darkest days overseas in the Middle East. On those days he’d look out over the sand and hear the kids playing, the goats bleating, and wonder if this dusty hellhole was going to be his killing field, where he would end his days on earth.

He and Armando had the shared experience of getting up close and personal with Death. And just like at BUD/S, neither of them would quit.

Wherever you are, Armani, I’m coming. I’m bringing you home.
Armando had to know Kyle would do this, or die trying.

He thought about the lovely woman he’d shared his passion with last night. How her face was filled with tears from the intensity of their lovemaking. He caught a very brief glimpse of what life would be like with a woman like her. But all too quickly the picture turned, and once more he’d humiliated Christy, exposed her to the dark side of his chosen life. All she’d done was peek her head around the doorway of his vacancy—try to smooth him a bit with that soft skin and those little squeals she made when she came.

He hoped she had a mess of friends to take care of any wounds he couldn’t help but create. He didn’t want her brooding over something she couldn’t control. Hell, he couldn’t control it either, and it was damned unhealthy. He hoped she was the kind of woman who could take it like a man. Take the hard truth. He’d let his guard down this time. He’d had no business getting her involved, even if it was only one incredible night of sex. And he’d almost spent the night, even promised her he’d pump her all night long. Not like he didn’t want to. He needed the sex. But he didn’t need the entanglement.

He checked his cell again. Still no word from Timmons. He’d have to go see his chief this morning.

Damn. Armani, where are you?
The silence didn’t reveal an answer. He was alone again, with the visions of a magical few hours of lovemaking, and something that couldn’t be.

The afternoon and evening with Christy had tipped the earth on its axis for him. Damn, it was a close one. If ever there was a woman for him, she’d look and act and smell and sigh and need just like Christy did. He wished he’d met her about six years ago, before he’d become a polar bear. Before the dinosaur skin. Before he became a trained killer. Before Armando had disappeared. She’d have been a welcome distraction in those days.

She can do way better. She deserves it.
Some day. Some day the timing would be right for that kind of a woman. In the meantime, it would be best if he left her completely alone. He swallowed, his throat parched. He knew he would never call her back. He knew, too, being without her would get easier every day and week that passed, until he would only have that warm glow and smile at the memory of a really nice time with her. When he couldn’t remember what she looked like and how she tasted. When the pain got buried.