Saved by the SEAL (12 page)

She nods emphatically. “Definitely.” She leans forward and brushes her lips against my throat, and my hands immediately squeeze her plush ass. “I want you, Grisham. And when you know that I'm what you want—really want, and not just for a night—then I'm all yours.”

All kinds of promises want to spill from my lips at that moment. And if I were a bastard, I'd use each and every one of them just to get this girl back to my bed. But I knew from the minute Greta opened those baby blue eyes on the beach and blinked up at me that she would never be just another girl in my bed. She's more. I knew it then and I know it even more completely now.

“You're right. I'm a fucking wreck inside my head, and my heart's even worse. I don't know when I'll be ready for what you're asking.”

She shrugs, her mouth still connected to my neck. “I'm not asking for anything from you, Grisham. No more than you're willing to give. Maybe we can just keep getting to know each other better.” I feel hot wetness against my throat as her tongue darts out to stroke my skin.

My fingers dig into her soft flesh in response. “Getting to know each other sounds good.”

There's a whole other side of you I want to know really fucking well.
I keep my dirty thoughts to myself.

“I'm kind of messed up, too, you know? My dad…I have my own set of trust issues with men to deal with. Probably not the best idea to just jump into bed. Even if it is with the sexy SEAL who saved my life once already.”

I back her up against the counter beside the stove, déjà vu from the night before striking hilarious irony in my brain. How many times would I have her up against some surface in my kitchen before I was actually claiming her body as my own?

“I'd save you again ten times over. It led to you and me here like this, so it's hands down the best decision I ever made.” My tone is teasing, but the words are dead serious. “I'm glad I was there that day, Grits.”

She sighs softly, laying her head on my chest. “Me, too.”

We stay like that for a moment, neither of us talking. Then I lean back so that I can look down at her. “You ready for more fighting lessons this morning after breakfast?”

Smiling up at me, she gives a slight nod. “I'm ready for you, Abbot.”

I smile wickedly down at her. “That's what you think.”

I
leave Grisham's house on a natural high the likes of which I've never experienced. Something had changed between us last night, something big. The fact that I was there with him during what was probably the most gut-wrenching experience of his life brought us closer together. Seeing how lost and hurt he was after the scene between his parents made me want to be there for him, pick up the pieces when he fell apart. Something about Grisham tells me that I could help him.

Helping people is something I do effortlessly. It's as easy as breathing, because I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. It's when the tables are turned, when I need to allow someone to help me, that I struggle. Maybe Grisham can help me, too.

My thoughts are still lingering on Grisham and the night we spent together when I pull up at my apartment complex. On Saturday morning, the lot is pretty full, so I have to park farther away than usual. I'm walking toward the door, still wearing Grisham's big shirt and a pair of his shorts rolled twice. My feet are bare, and I'm carrying the clothes I'd worn yesterday in a bundle.

Halfway to the apartment, the skin on the back of my neck begins to tingle, raising the hairs there. I pause, automatically searching the parking lot around me. No one is around, everyone still in their apartments doing whatever they do on a Saturday morning. Frowning, I continue walking toward the sidewalk leading to the stairs.

But the feeling doesn't dissipate. In fact, it increases as I walk, becoming stronger and stronger until I want nothing more than to break out into a sprint. I resist, though, because I feel silly. I've walked from the parking lot to my apartment a million times, and it's bright, sunny daylight. There's no reason for me to be afraid.

Then why does it feel like someone is watching me?

When I reach the stairs leading up to my floor, I huff out a sigh of relief. Hurrying upstairs, I let myself in and slam the door behind me.

And I run smack into Mea, who is standing just inside the threshold with arms crossed, tapping her foot.

“Seriously?” she hisses. “You decide to stay out all night with a hottie like Grisham, and all I get is a text message saying you'll see me in the morning?”

Laughing off my nervous energy from the walk up, I hug her. “Good morning to you, too, roommie.”

I walk past her down the hallway toward my bedroom to drop off my clothes. Mea follows me, sitting on my bed and folding her legs up underneath her. “Spill, girl.”

I shrug. “There's nothing to tell.”

Mea merely arches one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

I giggle. “Okay, I spent the night with Grisham. We didn't have sex, but we did make out and it was freaking
hot
. Then we made breakfast together this morning, and now I have to shower and change so I can go get hot and sweaty with him all over again.”

Her mouth falls open farther and farther as I talk until finally she squeals and claps her hands together. “So now you guys are like, together?”

I shake my head firmly. “No labels, Mea. We're just getting to know each other.”

Mea's eyes narrow. “If you don't make the man you're bangin' stamp a label on it, Greta, he'll assume you're in it for the sex. And he'll be fine with that. Is that what you want?”

Gasping, I swat at Mea's leg. “Mea! I didn't have sex with Grisham last night.”

She scowls. “Well, still. Make him label it.”

I shake my head at her, smiling. “We'll label it when and if we're ready. Until then…no labels and no bangin'.”

I head toward the bathroom as she shrugs. “Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

I stop short, just inside my bedroom door. “Why do you sound like you're giving me firsthand advice? Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

Mea and I have been friends since we met in college at East Carolina University years ago. She's always been a bit of a wild child. Being my first time away from home and my too-adult responsibilities, combined with her unstable upbringing and wild nature, we'd been two peas in a pod in the party scene in college and had become fast friends. The more I got to know Mea, the more I realized that beneath her fun-loving, party-girl demeanor was a very closed-off, scarred girl who never shared too deeply what was going on inside of her.

There were very few people in the world Mea opened up to: me, Berkeley, and her younger brother, Mikah. But I knew there would always be things about her past and present life she'd never open up about. I always want to be there for her, just in case she decides to spill her guts.

She hops off of my bed, and I can almost see her walls rising so she won't have to answer my question. As I expect, she deflects. “We're not talking about me. We're talking about you and your hot SEAL.” She flounces out of my room, leaving a light whiff of honeysuckle behind her. Her signature scent matches her sweet nature, but not her sassy personality.

I watch her go, silently wondering what she isn't telling me. Then I shake off the questions I have regarding my roommate and head into the bathroom to shower. Grisham will be waiting for me at Night Eagle in a little over half an hour.

“Try it again,” Grisham instructs, his chiseled face set in serious determination.

I gaze at him, momentarily distracted.
Guys shouldn't be allowed to be that beautiful.

We've been working together in the training room at Night Eagle for a little over an hour as Grisham patiently teaches me fighting moves that will help me defend myself and gain the upper hand if the situation ever arises where I'll need it. Grisham started off today with a lesson in mixed martial arts. He told me that along with self-defense tactics, MMA would give me all of the resources I would ever need in a fight. So from now on he'd be training me in MMA as well as teaching me basic self-defense moves.

At first, I was thrown. I've never been in a fight in my life, and learning to use my feet and my fists to hurt someone is such a foreign concept to me that my brain fought against it. But Grisham's firm-yet-gentle coaching put me in the correct frame of mind. Working for Night Eagle could very possibly place me in the range of some dangerous people and sketchy situations, and the men in my life want me to be able to handle myself.

First we reviewed the three sequences he taught me during our last lesson. Grisham made sure I was really comfortable with them before moving on to fighting with my fists.

“You've got this, Grits,” he encourages. His arms are covered with punch pads. “Remember: jab, cross, and then switch your feet quickly. Keep your hips forward while you immediately jab that knee upward.”

I suck in a deep breath as I nod, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet the way Grisham taught me earlier. My eyes zero in on the punch pads he holds in front of his face. I try to focus, telling myself that today Grisham isn't a super-sexy man of action who causes my heart to flutter dangerously in my chest whenever he's near. Today he's an attacker, and my life depends on whether or not I'm able to fend him off.

“Go!” he shouts.

Reacting to the intensity in his voice, I jab my left fist forward. It's covered in the sparing glove Grisham fitted me with at the start of today's lesson. My fist connects with the pad, but before I allow the jolt to rocket through me I'm crossing over with my right fist and it slams into the other pad. Then I hop lightly, switching the position of my feet, and immediately throw my right knee up. I hear the swift crack of its connection with the pad.

“That's my
girl
!” Grisham cheers for me, raising one arm in the air and pumping it in victory.

“I did it.” I'm amazed that my muscles just remembered what to do on their own, after practicing with Grisham. “Holy shit.”

The buzz of empowerment that runs through me at the completion of today's lesson is all-consuming. I'm elated, feeling so high from the pride and joy of my success that I feel like I could float off the ground. Grisham throws the punch pads on the ground and comes toward me, sweeping me off my feet and into a bear hug.

“I knew you could,” he says, his voice gravelly in my ear. “I'm so proud of you. You rock at this, Grits.”

A hot flush of pride sweeps through me, and I curl my arms up around his neck. “Thank you. For teaching me this.”

He inhales, his nose planted against my neck. “It's my pleasure.” He breathes.

When he puts me down, I slide down the front of his rock-hard body nice and slow, dragging sparks of heat and electricity with me as I go. I stare up at him, my arms still loosely entwined around his neck, my fingers playing in the short hairs at his nape. His eyes darken, and then his lips are on mine. His hands squeeze my ass until I'm flush against him, and I can feel the hard length of his erection pushing into my stomach. It's electrifying, feeling how much a man like Grisham wants me. My body's response is immediate and carnal as a flood of heat pools in my core.

I whimper softly as his tongue teases my lips open, invading my mouth to stroke mine. He squeezes my ass in response, a low growl emitting from his chest.

I'm not sure how long we stand there, making out while our hands explore and roam over our clothes, but I'm winded when he finally pulls away.

“Like I said.” He gives me a rogue grin. “You're kinda good at this.”

“I thought you were talking about the fighting,” I whisper, slightly dizzy from our connection.

“I'm talking about
everything
.” The meaning behind his words doesn't escape me, and a hot blush captures my face. He smiles.

“Oh, my gosh!” I clap a hand over my mouth. “I completely forgot to tell you. Berkeley stopped by here yesterday to bring a smoothie for Dare.”

“And she wants us all to go for drinks tonight,” he finishes with a wry smile. “She called me this morning.”

Suddenly feeling shy, I peek up at him through my lashes. “Do you want to go?”

He pushes a lock of hair that has fallen out of my ponytail back behind my ear. “I'll take the excuse to go have some drinks with my friends and also spend the night hanging out with you.”

A giggle bubbles up. “Uh, okay then. I guess we'll go home and shower…” My voice trails off when I realize what I've said. “I mean, not together, of course. You'll go to your home and shower, and I'll go to my home and shower…”

“I think the joint shower sounds like a good idea,” he offers, smirking at my faux pas.

I smack his chest. “Stop it! God, why do you make me so nervous?”

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. “Don't be nervous. I want to hang out with you tonight. I'm just going to tolerate the fact that everyone else will be there, too. Okay? Can I pick you up? Or will you be riding with Mea?”

I sigh in relief, watching the way his thumb strokes the back of my hand and feeling the sizzle all the way down to my toes. “I'll text you and let you know. I'll check with Mea when I get home to see what she wants to do.”

He nods, releasing my hand, and we both walk out of the training room and down the stairs. “Sounds like a plan.”

When we arrive in the lobby, Dare and my father are seated around the low coffee table in a couple of chairs, poring over a large map spread out over the sleek wood.

“What are you guys doing here on a Saturday?” I ask in surprise.

Both men glance up.

“You get a good training session in?” asks my father. He stands up and shakes Grisham's hand.

“She did some sparring today, and was excellent.” Hearing Grisham brag on me is something I think I can get used to.

My father beams, the pride evident on his face. “Of course she did. You keep working on it, okay, sweetheart?”

I nod. Gesturing toward the map and the electronic notebooks spread in front of them, I ask, “What's all this?”

My father sits down in his chair, leaning back while Dare stands up to stretch and greet Grisham. “We're trying to strategize. We have a new client.”

The inner office door opens, and two men walk out. I recognize them as the Night Eagle team, but my father introduces them to Grisham.

“Grisham Abbot, these men are part of my team here. This is Ronin Shaw and Jeremy Teague.”

Jeremy is a tall hunk of a guy with an olive complexion and dark hair to match. It's cut short on the sides and longer on top. His locks curl around the top of his forehead, and large dimples dent his cheeks whenever he smiles. He's in his mid-twenties, just like Ronin.

Ronin is a lighter version of Jeremy. They both have similar builds, made of solid muscle, although Ronin is a little taller. His dirty-blond hair falls to just below his collar, but he usually wears it pulled up into a ponytail. Ponytails have probably never been as sexy on a guy as they are on Ronin. His hazel eyes twinkle with mischief half the time, like he's up to something no one else knows anything about. He'll pull his share of pranks in the office if given half a chance.

They both give me big, teddy-bear grins that make me smile back at them with affection. Both young men have become like big brothers to me in the short time I've worked in the office. They're sweet, even if Jeremy is gruff and Ronan's a goofball.

“Jacob kind of poached Shaw and Teague from the police force after they helped with Berkeley's rescue awhile back,” explains Dare. He grins at my father.

My father shrugs. “How could they refuse? Private work pays better than public service.”

“Yeah, and we still get to do what we love. Help people and kick ass.” Jeremy crosses bulging biceps over his broad chest. He glances at me and winks.

I nod toward the office. “So you guys were working in there on the same tactical strategies while Dad and Dare are figuring out entries and exits out here?”