Ireland
“Congrats, Hondo. Affrica, good to see you again.” Lieutenant Commander Scott Leighton’s voice rumbled like decadent chocolate over her skin.
With a mumbled reply to him, she kissed her brother before stepping away from him and walking off. Her heart was happy. It was her brother’s wedding day.
“May I have this dance?” Scott halted her with a simple touch.
She pivoted back toward him and had to stop her sigh. He really was just amazing on the eyes. Today, he wore a tux, as did the rest of the Megalodon Team. His intense blue eyes stared unerringly at her.
He wants something.
“Aye. O’course.”
She stepped closer, and they began to dance after reaching the floor. He moved with astonishing grace.
Well, perhaps not astonishing considering what he does for a living.
“Thank you for the call he was getting married.”
“I figured the women would have a say in it when you returned from wherever you went. And you would make your way here for his special day.”
“Are we okay, Affrica?”
Tilting her head, she scrunched her nose up in confusion. “Is there a reason we wouldn’t be?”
“I heard what Reeve did.”
Somehow, she doubted that—at the least he hadn’t heard it all.
“Whatever my relationship with your brother is just that, mine. You and I have our own.”
Scott’s cornflower blue eyes gentled. “You let me know if he oversteps at all.”
“Aye.”
She’d heard that exact directive from the other seven men of SEAL Team Seventeen. Each and everyone. While their concern touched her, she still wasn’t about to encourage more over protectiveness from the members of the Megalodon Team. She had plenty as it was now.
The dance ended, and Scott left her with a bow. Alongside the party’s edge, she watched her brother and his new wife, Xaria, mingle with the crowd. They seemed so happy. Her gaze swung to her parents who stood together, looking as in love with one another as Aidrian and Xaria did.
A shaft of pain pierced her, and she scowled. They all had someone special and she…well, didn’t.
“You okay,
tanke jigla
?” James “Maverick” Lonetree asked from beside her.
Little sister. He’d called her that from the first day he met her. Resting her head against him, she sighed.
“Not really.”
He draped an arm around her shoulders before leading her out into the night. They walked to a stone bench and sat side by side, the sounds of the wedding providing a backdrop. She could make out his features in the light from the building behind them.
“What’s going on?”
“Just feeling a bit alone, ‘tis all.”
He rested his head against hers. “He’s out there, Affrica. Of this I am sure.”
Her mind drifted to the States and Reeve before she could stop it.
Why does he come to mind when I think of forever?
“You know your brother isn’t going to be happy.”
She pursed her lips in confusion. “With what?”
“Your infatuation with Harrier’s brother.”
“W…what are you talking about? Hae ya been drinking?”
His laughter wasn’t comforting. “You just said his name. On a soft, little sigh, too. What’s going on with you two?”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Figured the time his name would slip through was around a witness. And James at that.
“Let it go.”
More of that unsettling laugh. “When have any of us let it go?”
He had a point there. “Please, James. There’s nothing between us.” A fact she wasn’t too happy with.
“But there was.” It was a statement, not a question. With James, it was
never
just a question.
She licked her lips and leaned forward, resting her arms on the satiny material of her dress. “Aye, there was.” He exhaled sharply. She gazed sideways at the handsome Native American. “How bad is it going to be?”
“Bad.”
James didn’t lie to her and she appreciated it. Still, she didn’t hide her frustration. Her moan of dismay said it all.
“I won’t say anything but you know I also won’t lie to him, if he asks.”
“You’d think he’d let me alone. I’m grown.” Her comment fell in Gaelige.
“You’ll always be our baby sister.” James spoke the same language.
Our. Not his. Affrica slid her arm through his, giving it a light squeeze.
“I love you, James.”
“And I you, little sister.” He brushed his lips along her forehead. “Want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Don’t make me find out on my own.”
“Let it go, James. I…I just have a lot on my mind.”
He grunted noncommittally, and she had to smile despite the frustration he could provide. It was done from love, she knew that. Didn’t stop the hopes on occasion.
“You know I’ll kill him if he hurts you.”
Another phrase she’d heard from the others, her brother included. And unlike many people who may make the statement in a way to show some force and gruffness, when someone like James Lonetree made the comment, there was no doubt in her mind he meant it.
“I know, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you left him alone.” She stared out over the land, avoiding his intense gaze which she could easily feel.
“Can’t talk you out of it?” Such hopefulness in his tone made her smile.
“No, I really like him.” It was true, despite their last meeting.
Another heavy yet resigned sigh. “And you want me to keep Hondo from him.”
“It would be nice having to not visit my brother in prison for murder.”
“Only because I love you, Affrica. And only as long as he doesn’t make you cry.”
“Won’t happen.” Even Miles’ betrayal hadn’t made her cry.
“You have me wrapped around your finger,” he complained good-naturedly.
“Used to have all of you that way. I’m keeping you as long as I can before you go off and get married and forget me, too.”
He drew her in close. “We will never forget you, Affrica. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. They’re all still wrapped; you just have no idea.”
She allowed him to cuddle her for a few moments. It was nice to hear. She loved every one of those men her brother worked with, and when they were single, she’d been the woman. Once they all began to marry, she’d drawn back, having no wish to cause any issues between the men and their wives, even though she missed them.
“Hey, why you out here hogging our Affrica?” Dimitri “Merlin” Melonakos questioned.
She drew back from James and glanced up to find most of the Megalodon Team around them.
“What are you all doing out here?”
“You owe us dances.” Osten “Baby Boy” Scoleri spoke.
“Go on,” James encouraged her.
And so she did. That night, she spent sleeping in her childhood home. The following day was out, alone, in her mother’s garden when her phone rang.
She debated not answering it, wanting a bit of a break. Eventually, she did.
“Aye?”
“Hello, sweetcheeks.”
The sun chose that moment to slip from behind the clouds. Was it a sign?
“Reeve Leighton.” A smile spread across her face. “What are you doing?”
“Calling you. Is this a bad time? Are you busy?”
“Nae. I’m just sitting out in me ma’s garden.”
“Everything okay?”
“Aye. Late night last night.”
“Really? What’d you do?”
Although he asked, she didn’t believe he wished to know. Not truly.
“Danced the night away.”
“Alone?”
“No, I had at least eight guys to dance with.”
A brief pause before he spoke again. “How nice.”
She imagined him clenching his jaw as he spoke those two words. Deciding not to torture him anymore, she stretched out her legs. “It was but you already know how much I love the men in your brother’s SEAL Team.”
“You saw my brother?”
“Aye. They were here for my brother’s wedding.”
“How nice. Congrats.” Another hesitation. “What are you doing next?”
“I’m up for a short period of not doing much at all. I’m a bit travelled out and need to recharge. You?”
“I was going to ask you to take a trip with me.”
Her mother waved at her, and Affrica pushed up from the bench, heading for the house.
“Och, sorry. Maybe some other time.” She blinked and tilted her head to the side. “Or you could always come to Ireland.”
“Let’s go, Affrica,” her mom hollered in Gaelige.
“I have to run, Reeve. Thanks for the call. It was good to hear from you.”
“Wait. Where do you live, you know, if I decided to come there.”
She chuckled. “The Emerald Isle is not that large, Reeve Leighton. You want to find me, you can.” She ended the call and hastened her steps to where her parents waited.
* * * *
Ireland
Reeve paused before the door of the bar with the old peeling sign over it reading, Paddie’s. No, not bar. Pub. It didn’t look like much to him but he could hear loud, raucous noise pouring from the establishment when two guys slipped in.
The sun had lowered in the sky, casting its warm golden glow all over the Emerald Isle. Focusing again on the door, he took a deep breath, ran his hands down his jeans, and made for the entrance. A final, deep breath and he drew the door open, stepping through. It was loud and packed. Waitresses moved through the throng with trays laden with drinks.
All the patrons faced a wall which held a large screen television. It seemed the moment the door banged behind him closed, everyone in there stood, raised their glasses and began to sing.
As they belted out the words to a song about Ireland, he scanned the crowd for Affrica. His heart caught when, for one verse, Affrica stood forward with another man and sang it aloud, followed by another rousing round of the chorus. It was a close knit group, that much was clear.
His breathing hitched as he watched her. He knew it was her. Never mind she was the only black woman in the room, but his body reacted in a particular way around Ms. Affrica O’Shea.
Not a fan of the man with his arm around her, though.
She turned to the left to speak to another, and Reeve groaned. Her hair was drawn up into some kind of clip, keeping it back from her face, only to have it tumble down over the dark green jersey she wore.
With a laugh, she brushed her lips along the guy’s cheek and waved for another drink. When the brunette server handed it over, Affrica’s gaze lifted and locked with Reeve’s. She cocked her head to the side and quirked a brow as she drank from the glass. His heart thundered when the perplexed look slid from her face, only to be replaced by a grin. With the ease he was accustomed to seeing her move with, she headed for him.
“Reeve Leighton,” she said, her accent so thick he almost didn’t understand her.
She looked deliciously hot. Besides the jersey, she also wore a pair of natural painter pants and black boots.
“Who’s the man, Affrica?” the one she’d been standing with asked, after Reeve reached her.
“Moira!” she hollered. “Get ‘em a pint, please.” The woman waved an arm, and Affrica placed her attention on the man who’d asked about him. “He’s my…Reeve Leighton.”
He smiled over how that sounded. She claimed him, and he, for one, was okay with it. The woman, Moira, handed him a pint filled with dark liquid with a nice smooth head.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Och, yer a charmer with that thick drawl and such manners.”
He blushed and glanced to where Affrica was beside him. Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness and humor. This…
this
was what he missed. Just simply being in her company.
“Hope you like rugby,” she said over a cheer from the crowd.
Did he? Not really. But, then, he’d never really watched it. Not that it mattered; he was with Affrica and would sit through it.
She never waited for a response, just grabbed his hand and dragged him off through the crowd back to her previous seat. He took the seat and was ready to ask her what about her, when she wedged between him and the counter. Christ, the feel of her ass against his crotch damn near had him panting.
He shifted on the seat, placed his drink on the bartop by hers then settled his hands along the tuck of her waist. She didn’t pull away nor did she look at him. She cheered along with everyone else at the game. Her voice loud and rowdy. The words may have been beyond his recognition but again, he didn’t care.
During the halftime break, he leaned in close when he grabbed his drink again. He brushed his lips along the shell of her ear as he slid his free hand around her midsection. She leaned back into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Not too bad for ya, is it?”
Another brush of his lips. “Not at all.”
He was enjoying himself. Affrica was a joy to watch. She really got into the game.
She rotated her head, and when he did the same, she kissed him square. Her taste—tinged with the added hint of Guinness she’d been drinking—flooded him as her tongue surged into his mouth. His growl erupted as his fingers dug into her side, anchoring her to him. Fire raged within him. All he wanted to do was lay her down and…
The boisterous cheers around them finally sank in. They drew apart, slowly, eyes locked on one another. Hers swirled with heat and passion, full lips parted and a bit swollen. His cock so hard he knew she could feel it against her.
“Lass, this is not the place for that kind o’ behavior.” The man who had sang with her made the comment as he slapped Reeve on the back.
The twinkle returned to her eyes. “Sorry, Mick. Dinna mean to make ya jealous.”
“O’ course I’m jealous, lass. We all are. I want a kiss like that, too.”
A few more chimed in with cries of agreement. She sat up, and Reeve waited, unsure what would happen next. He frowned slightly when she got off his lap but managed to hold his tongue.
“Well, ya know me, Mick. I would except fer the wee fact I’m scared ta death o’ yer wife.”
More laughter erupted as Affrica patted Mick on the cheek and pressed a kiss there after. Reeve wanted to crow when she returned to his lap. She stayed there for most of the game’s remainder. On her feet, normally, but between his legs, so he was good with it.