Saved by the SEALs: A Military Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  He removed his leather jacket, then shrugged his shoulders underneath the cobalt USCP uniform. “I thought you were worth complimenting.” His eyes were laser-focused on mine, but I had the impression he was imagining my body at that moment. It made me shiver with a strange mixture of annoyance and excitement.

  The oven timer went off. I bent over in my silky pajamas to pull the dish out of the oven, and wondered if he was staring at my ass. I paused extra long before standing back up and closing the oven.

  “Hope you like lasagna,” I said.

  “You kidding?” he replied. “My first name’s Anthony. My mom’s a second-generation Italian. Growing up, I ate lasagna as often as most kids drank water.”

  He did look vaguely Italian, now that I got a better look at him. That olive skin, the aquiline nose. I pulled out a serving spoon and pointed it at Anthony. “I know exactly why you made that comment to me on the Hill this afternoon.”

  “Because women like you should be told every single day how beautiful they are?” He began rolling up his sleeves, revealing those delicious tattoos. A dozen butterflies suddenly spun in my stomach. I fought them back down.

  Get a grip, Elizabeth. You’re 10 years his senior.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You made that comment because you didn’t know I was a senator. You thought I was an intern.”

  “Or a congressional aide.” He burst out laughing and put up his hands in surrender. “But yeah, you got me. Forgive me for judging a book by its cover, but you’re not like the other members of congress.”

  “Damn right I’m not,” I said. He grinned like I’d made a dirty joke. I bent over the lasagna to cover my blush.

  While I dished out the food, he helped himself to a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water like he was at home. Like everything else about this young motorcycle cop in my kitchen, the presumptuousness was simultaneously refreshing and annoying. Rather than sit at the table he took his plate standing up at the kitchen island, so I did the same on the other side.

  He took a bite and moaned. The sound gave me the phantom twitch of a lady-boner. “Fucking hell, this is good.”

  “It’s my mother’s recipe,” I said while blowing on a forkful of food. “She’s not Italian, though.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” He took another bite, ignoring that it was piping hot. “What’s different? Something’s different. I can tell.”

  I leaned forward on the counter. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Then I’ll die happy.”

  “It’s made with half ground beef, half ground sausage.”

  He chewed, staring off in thought. “This flavor’s insane. Mom’s gonna be furious when she finds out her lasagna’s no longer my favorite.”

  “Then you’d better not tell her,” I said. “Our little secret.”

  He grinned. “Our secret.”

  I poured another glass of wine, which almost finished the bottle. I was in that perfect place where I was buzzed, but not drunk. I would need to drink this last glass slowly to make sure I didn’t have a hangover in the morning.

  And to avoid making other mistakes.

  I hadn’t had a man like this in my apartment for a while. And never someone so gorgeous, not to mention flirty and forward. Was it just playful banter from someone killing time at the beginning of a long, cold shift? Or was he aiming for more?

  I was the one who invited him inside. He could have stayed out there and none of this would have escalated. I’d be eating my lasagna alone watching reruns of Seinfeld on Hulu.

  “Hey, what’s this?” He picked up the birthday card.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  He grinned at the card. “I love these stupid cards. If a puppy says you’re awesome, then you know it’s true. Dogs can tell that sort of thing.” He opened the card. “Oh shit. Was it your birthday recently?”

  I raised my wine glass. “Today, actually. 35 years young.”

  He took a long look at me. “Damn, Senator O’Hare. I wouldn’t have guessed you were older than 30.”

  “You’re sweet.” Then I added, “I was mostly joking about the Senator O’Hare stuff. You can call me Elizabeth.”

  “No way,” he said, putting up a hand. The motion showed me more tattoos on the inside of his arm. “I don’t want you reporting me for inappropriate behavior! You’re Senator O’Hare from now on.”

  I smiled and took another bite of lasagna. It was a good batch tonight.

  “Hey,” he said as he set the birthday card down. “Now you can be president!”

  I almost choked on my food. “What?”

  “That’s one of the requirements to be president,” he said, like a third grader reciting facts from a textbook. “You have to be a natural born citizen, you cannot have already served two terms, and you have to be 35 years old.” His dark eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

  Shit. He didn’t know anything—he was just making conversation. But now I was acting alarmed and suspicious…

  “I never knew that,” I said. I hoped I sounded nonchalant. “You only have to be 25 to be a congresswoman.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Seems like something a senator like you should know. Guess you’ve never thought about running from president then, huh?”

  “Guess I haven’t.”

  He looked at me longer. Studying me. Like he was going to figure it out…

  “Hey.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where’s the birthday cake?”

  “I didn’t get one.”

  “No way. You’ve got to have cake on your birthday. How else are you going to blow out candles?”

  There’s something else I’d like to blow. The dirty thought came drifting across my mind, urged on by the wine. And although the thought started as a cheesy pun, it held an allure more delicious than any lasagna or cake.

  “Want me to run out and get one?” Anthony asked. “I can get the bakery to write Happy birthday, now you can be president!”

  “If you leave,” I pointed out, “who’s going to protect me from these imaginary bad guys intending me harm?”

  “Easy solution: you hop on the bike and come with me. It’s not every day I pick out birthday cake with one of the most powerful women in the country.”

  I chuckled. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “You ever ridden on a bike before?”

  I imagined straddling his bike, my body pressed against his while the engine rumbled underneath us. My arms wrapped around his chest while we hugged the turns in the night…

  “I have not,” I said. “But I’m happy staying inside where it’s warm, no matter how tempting cake is.”

  “I guess you have to be good at resisting temptation,” he said casually. “When you’re a politician, I mean.”

  “You have no idea.”

  He smiled like he knew exactly what I meant.

  It felt wonderful to be flirty with a good-looking guy. Heck, it felt great just to look into an attractive man’s eyes. No mask. Just two people being real together.

  Even if it was just harmless flirting, it was nice.

  It can be more than just flirting.

  The thought purred in the back of my head. Anthony had already insinuated—as bluntly as possible—that he was attracted to me. And I sure as hell thought he was sexy. It wasn’t an opinion. He was sexy. I felt the pull of him from across the kitchen island that separated us, like there was a lasso around my chest that he was pulling. I wanted nothing more than to give in to temptation, to throw him to the ground and mount him right here on the kitchen floor.

  Soon, my life was going to irreversibly change. I would forever be under intense scrutiny, far more than any mere senator suffered. If I was going to do something, now was the time. Before Megan and I made our final decision.

  I can’t.

  I knew I couldn’t do it. Things had to be the way it was in the hotel room last night, masks and secrecy and then departing without so much as a goodbye kiss. I had too many aspi
rations to throw it all away for a night of passion.

  Oh, but what a wonderful night of passion it would be.

  Anthony’s smile deepened as if he could read my mind. He stalked around the side of the kitchen island, reaching for me. But then his hand moved across me to grab the bottle of wine from the counter. He took a swig straight from the bottle.

  “Are you supposed to drink on the job?” I asked.

  “There are rules,” he admitted. “But a sip won’t hurt. It’ll help me stay awake to watch you all night.

  Watch me all night. Touch me all night. Kiss me all night.

  “Alcohol’s a depressant,” I pointed out.

  He took another swig. “Not for me. It gets me all rowdy. Tell me something, Senator O’Hare. Why didn’t you file a complaint against me today?”

  “I’m a busy woman,” I said. “If I reported every cocky guy who made an annoying comment I’d never get any real work done.”

  “Is that the only reason?” His smile deepened. He was leaning on the counter, so close to me I could practically feel the heat coming off his body. What did he look like underneath that crisp uniform?

  “I also don’t like punishing people for making dumb mistakes,” I said. “Unless they’re a political opponent I’m trying to crush.”

  He studied my face. Waiting for me to say more. “Wanna know what I think?”

  “Not particularly, but you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

  He pointed the bottle at me and leaned in close. I had to tilt my head up to look into his eyes. “I think you didn’t file a complaint because you liked it.”

  I sputtered a nervous laugh.

  “Deep down, underneath all the layers you politicians put up, I think you loved being flirted with. I bet it made you feel like a real woman. Because you never let anyone close enough to make you feel that way. So when someone like me comes along and treats you the way a woman of your beauty deserves to be treated? Like someone sexy enough to peel the paint off the Capitol rotunda?” He took another swig of the wine. “It was the one thing you’d been craving. You can’t file a complaint against someone who made you feel so good.”

  I was hardly breathing by the end. It was like he’d cracked open my head and was reading my thoughts back to me. In my world of politicians and lobbyists and sycophants, it was rare to talk to someone who spoke exactly what they were thinking without caring how blunt it sounded.

  Anthony planted a hand on the counter and leaned toward me, a smug look spreading on his face. Waiting for me to admit he was right.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Maybe I did want someone to appreciate me. A little bit.”

  He didn’t gloat about being right. He only nodded.

  I turned to face him directly.

  Don’t do it, Elizabeth.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question,” I said.

  This is a mistake.

  “And I want you to think very carefully before you answer.”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  You’ll regret it later.

  But I wanted it too badly to listen to the voice in my head.

  “What do you want, Anthony?” I asked, voice soft and vulnerable. “What do you want, right now, at this moment in my kitchen while you look at me?”

  He didn’t take any time to think at all.

  A hungry smile tightened his beautiful face.

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  Shared by her Bodyguards!

  Cassie Cole is a Reverse Harem Romance writer living in Norfolk, Virginia. A polygamist/polyamorist at heart, she thinks Romance is best when served in threes, fours, and fives!

  Books by Cassie Cole

  Broken In

  Drilled

  Five Alarm Christmas

  All In

  Triple Team

  Shared by her Bodyguards

  Saved by the SEALs