Protected by a SEAL: Hot SEALs (Volume 5) (15 page)

He had no idea if it was two minutes or twenty-two, but he was winded and sweating when Sierra raked her nails down his back and clutched his ass, holding him deep.

That was all it took for him to lose hold of the control he’d somehow managed to maintain. He careened over the edge just as she did.

He’d just rolled off her when she turned her head on the pillow.

She frowned. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

He opened his eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

She hadn’t even caught her breath yet, neither had he, and she was already cussing at him. Over what, he couldn’t even imagine. She seemed to have as good a time as he did.

“You didn’t even ask me if it was okay if you could . . . you know. Do that. Finish. Inside me.”

Rick lifted a brow. She had no problem yelling at him seconds after he’d been inside her, but she couldn’t say
that
word. He would have laughed at that if he didn’t think it would throw her over the deep end and into a tizzy she might never come back from.

“I didn’t have to ask. I saw your birth control pills.” Besides, being shy was not one of Sierra’s traits. He had no doubt she would have had no problem telling him if it wasn’t safe.

Her eyes widened. “You went through my stuff?”

“No, they were right out in the open next to the sink in the bathroom at the hotel.” When she didn’t look satisfied, he continued, “Remember, when I was finding the camera and saving you from being spied on?”

That seemed to take a bit of the wind out of her pending rant. “Well, I don’t have those pills now, do I?”

“Yes, you do have them. Remember? I got your stuff. As soon as I get the suitcase out of the trunk you’ll have everything.” He waited and when she didn’t say more he rolled back on top of her. Bracketing her head between his forearms, Rick stared into her eyes. “Anything else you got to bitch about, princess?”

“You’re an ass.” She pursed her lips together, her eyes narrowed in anger.

This time he did smile. “There’s the Sierra I know and love. Now, let’s go for that hate sex you wanted so badly one more time.”

Though he was sure she had plenty to say, he didn’t give her time before he slammed his mouth against hers.

She didn’t try and stop him. He knew she wouldn’t. Sparring—verbal, physical, it didn’t matter—obviously got her turned on.

Her tongue wrestled with his as he slid inside her, taking possession of both her mouth and her body.

Her fingernails dug into him again. He’d have marks all over him from her but he supposed he should expect nothing less. A man couldn’t tangle with a hellcat like Sierra Cox and not walk away with a few battle scars to show for it.

She broke the kiss and bit his chest, her teeth latching onto his skin hard enough she’d surely leave behind a bruise.

A bolt of mingled pain and pleasure shot straight through him. He hissed in a breath and let it out with a groan.

Oh, yeah. He got off from the battle of wills and flesh just as much as she did.

He’d definitely make sure to piss her off again later. Hopefully, quite a few more times before this siege was over.

CHAPTER 17

It seemed that one moment Sierra was beneath Rick, his bulk blocking the sun streaming through the window, and the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes to a dark room, all alone in the bed.

There was a scratchy wool blanket tossed over her naked body. She didn’t remember pulling it over herself. He must have done it, which was far more caring and nurturing an act than she would have given him credit for if the evidence wasn’t right there for her to feel.

Shaking off the remains of sleep, she stretched. She was stiff and a little bit sore in places that hadn’t been sore in a long while. And she detected a whiff of something from downstairs.

What was that? Steak, maybe.

He was cooking?

Huh. She was having trouble wrapping her head around that domesticated image of Rick.

Maybe if the cooking could be accomplished with tools worthy of a tough guy, such as a machete and flame thrower, then she might think he’d be up for it. But aprons and Cuisinarts? No. She couldn’t picture Rick enjoying that.

Then again, he was ruled by his bodily urges and as he’d said, food was right up there with sex in the list of his top needs. Even cavemen had to eat. And to eat, at least anything hot, she supposed he’d have to cook because she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.

She shouldn’t have to. She’d more than fulfilled his other need. She’d already done her part.

Though she supposed it was time to get up and shower, because two rounds with Rick had left her a sticky, sweaty mess. Then she could go downstairs and see what the hell was wafting up the staircase and making her stomach grumble with hunger.

Finally rallying the incentive, she pushed the itchy blanket down and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She could only hope the sheets this cheap rental came with were nicer than that blanket. She didn’t know since she and Rick had never actually made it under the covers, just on top of the bedspread.

Padding across the smooth hardwood floor barefooted, she bumped into something on the floor in the darkness. Feeling with her hands she realized he’d brought up her two bags.
 

In spite of everything, he could be a gentleman. Good to know.

Sierra made her way to the hallway to find the bathroom, naked because she didn’t care if he saw her. They'd moved far past that.

She found the bathroom thanks to the nightlight burning inside that cast a golden glow into the hall. She flipped on the switch for the overhead vanity lights.

On the counter next to the sink was a black case that had to be his.

Rick had been invading her privacy since she’d met him. Two could play at that game.

With a glance over her shoulder, she slowly, silently unzipped his case.

Inside she found a whole lot of nothing exciting. One glance told her he was a clean freak. Mouthwash. Dental floss. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. And if she wasn't mistaken, a tongue scraper. Okay, so the man took oral hygiene seriously.
 

Not a bad thing, considering she'd spent a good amount of time at the receiving end of his mouth today.

Further digging yielded a razor and some deodorant, vitamins, aspirin and not a whole hell of a lot more.

Sighing, she zipped the bag back up and moved toward the shower stall. She braced herself for the worst as she used one fingertip to push the shower curtain to the side.

But Rick had been right. The shower stall was perfectly clean. In fact, unlike the rest of the house, it looked as if it had actually been updated during this century.

Okay, she could deal with this. She'd just consider it like camping. A person had to deal with inconveniences in exchange for the pleasures.

In this case there was the water view right outside their back door . . . and, if Rick was to be believed, there was no stalker on their heels.

The perks pretty much ended there because she'd far rather be in a five-star hotel than a surf shack, but whatever. She was at the mercy of Rick, the Sun Tzu-reading, gun-toting chef. Not to mention sex machine.

Holy hell, he didn't even need recovery time. She'd have to take another look at that bottle of vitamins in his bag and see what was in them because they sure as hell worked for his stamina.

He was still a dickhead but hey, at least he knew where all the necessary parts were and what to do with them. If she'd have to put up with his attitude and his attempts to order her around and be in control of absolutely everything, including her and her cell phone, at least she'd be sexually satisfied while doing it.

She flipped on the hot water and went back to the bedroom. Opening her suitcase on the floor she grabbed her toiletry bag and some clothes.

Back in the bathroom, she stepped beneath the spray and was pleasantly surprised by some pretty kick ass water pressure. And it was hot enough to scald her, just the way she liked her showers. Hot.

One more point for the plus category in her Home, Sweet Shack.

He could have done worse in his choice for their accommodations. Of course, he also could have done better.
 

Starving now, thanks to Rick's culinary endeavors downstairs, she took one of the fastest showers of her life, not even taking the time to wash her hair before she flipped off the water.

She toweled off and pulled on the loose-fitting comfy clothes she’d unpacked.

Still smelling steak cooking, she padded down the staircase barefooted and turned the corner into the kitchen. There she saw Rick standing at the island stirring something in a big bowl with a wooden spoon. The counter was littered with his meal preparations. Onions. Mayonnaise. Mustard. She was a little speechless as she took in the scene.

Speechless but obviously not silent, since Rick glanced up almost the moment she reached the doorway.”

“Hey, you’re awake.” He grinned wide, looking happy. To see her? To be cooking? She wasn’t sure.

“Yes.” She pushed off the doorway she’d been leaning against and moved toward him, eyeing the contents of the counter. She perched on one of the barstools lined up beneath the island counter. “I thought you wanted a sandwich.”

“I ate that about three hours ago. It’s time for dinner.” His grin was so broad his eyes crinkled in the corners with it.

“You’re in a good mood.”

To prove her point, he let out a deep chuckle. “What’s not to be in a good mood about? I’ve got all of my favorite things. Sex. Steak . . .”

She could tell he was baiting her. Almost daring her to comment on his crude sex talk. She decided for once, she wouldn’t rise to the challenge he threw down.

“Wouldn’t one less S-word in your lineup for today be nice?” she asked. When he frowned, obviously not getting what she was alluding to, she spelled it out for him. “Stalker.”

He let out a snort of a laugh. “Stalker. Sniper. Yup, those are two S-words I could do without so I can enjoy the other two without worry.”

The grin returned and she realized there was no bringing him down. He was giddy on sex and steak. She’d just have to take advantage of it.

“You brought my bags up to the bedroom for me.”

“You pissed about that?” He raised his gaze from where he’d been chopping onions, looking almost hopeful that she might be.

Determined to not make this man happy, she shook her head. “No.”

He picked up the onions and tossed them into a frying pan on the stovetop. They sizzled, dancing in the pan and sending a burst of steam into the air.

His comfort level in the kitchen was oddly fascinating. So much so she had to ask, “What exactly are you making?”
 

“Flank steak with sautéed onions and potato salad.”

“Did you go out? I didn’t notice potato salad when you unpacked the cooler.”

He sent her a self-satisfied glance. “That’s because I made it.”

“You made it? From scratch?”

“Yes. It’s not exactly rocket science. I boiled the potatoes. We had the mayo and mustard for sandwiches. I threw in some chopped onions. Oh, and a splash of the salad dressing. For flavor.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a fork. Lifting a scoop from the bowl, he said, “Wanna try?”

“No, I’m good.”

Rick didn’t take no for an answer. He walked around the island, balancing the potato salad on the fork while he held one hand beneath it. “Come on. Try it.”

He brought the fork to her lips, leaving her no choice but to open her mouth and take the food in.

Her eyes widened at the flavors on her tongue when she’d been expecting the usual bland potato salad. “Wow. That’s good.”

His smile reached all the way to his eyes again. It seemed this man didn’t do anything half way. Not cooking. Not smiling. Not in bed.

She swallowed as her mouth started to water in anticipation of the steak and onions, whose aroma filled the kitchen.

He moved back around the island and, lifting the pan, flipped the contents with one flick of a wrist. It was like having front row seats to a cooking show. Except she knew how the chef’s tongue tasted . . . and felt.