by Cindy Dees
He smiled. “I get twice-weekly reports on your progress.”
“From whom?”
“I have my sources.”
She would have pushed for a name, but the funeral was getting ready to start. They took their places in the standing-room-only service. It was a sad affair. The death of a bright, talented man taken far too young and far too soon couldn’t be anything but tragic.
Griffin radiated pain beside her, and she reached out to hold his hand as the service continued. He stood perfectly still, his face a stony mask.
A lone bugler stepped forward to play “Taps.” The somber notes rolled across the rows of white marble headstones stretching away in all directions, sweet and plaintive, calling a fallen warrior home to rest for the last time.
Sherri felt tears rolling down her cheeks and didn’t bother to reach up to wipe them away. She wasn’t ashamed to cry for Sam. She also cried for the pain of his brothers, all these strong, stern men suffering in silence.
The United States flag was lifted from Sam’s casket, folded into a triangle, and solemnly presented to Sam’s mother, who bowed her head over it and cried quietly. Sherri’s heart broke for her, especially.
And then Griffin leaned close to whisper, “I need that trident now.”
She handed it to him and watched him step away, joining a line of men forming near Sam’s casket. Cal Kettering, as Sam’s commanding officer, went first. He stepped up to the casket, bowed his head for a moment of silent farewell, and then slapped his hand down hard on the wooden top of the casket. The accompanying crack of noise made Sherri jump. It echoed out across the hillside and fell away into silence. Kettering lifted his hand away, and a trident was embedded in the wooden lid of the casket.
The next man stepped up and did the same. One by one, the SEALs paid tribute to their fallen brother. Rows of golden tridents covered the top of the casket before they finished, dozens of them, final farewells to one of their own.
The funeral ended, and Griffin came back to her side, tear tracks evident on his face. He didn’t wipe them away, either.
Trevor emerged from the crowd of men as Griffin walked her back toward his truck.
“Hey, Blondie!” Trevor swept her off her feet in a big bear hug.
She smiled warmly at the Brit who had always been kind and respectful to her and the other women. “It’s good to see you. Just not under these circumstances.”
Trevor nodded, his gaze somber. “This won’t be the last funeral you attend.”
“How are Anna and Lily?” she asked.
“Progressing well. Anna’s here somewhere. I think she went to pay her respects to Sam’s family.”
Sherri scanned the crowd eagerly for Anna’s lean build and lush brunette hair. No surprise, she spied a crowd of SEALs around Anna, talking with her. Even from this distance, it was obvious that several were hitting on her.
“Oh, for the love of Mike,” Trevor muttered. He must have spotted Anna and her retinue of would-be suitors.
“She could probably use a rescue,” Sherri suggested to Trev.
He flashed her a supremely irritated look. “I’m not her knight in shining armor.”
“You sure about that?” Sherri shot back.
For an instant, something raw and painful flashed in Trevor’s green eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he mumbled.
She glanced briefly at Griffin. “It never is, Trev. But the good ones are worth fighting for.”
Changing subjects, Trevor asked, “How are you faring among the wolves?”
“I finished INDOC yesterday. It was a squeaker, but I made the top half of my class.”
“Well done. Brilliant!” Trevor exclaimed warmly.
She shrugged. “We’ll see how BUD/S goes. I have a feeling the instructors are really going to be looking for ways to break me.”
Trevor smiled. “You know what they say. Never quit. Never consider it.”
“I’m not planning on doing either.”
“Make us proud, Minnow,” Trevor murmured as several more SEALs strolled up.
“Hey, aren’t you that girl trying to be a SEAL?” one of the men blurted out.
Sherri froze. Crap. Nobody was supposed to know that she’d had months of pretraining with a bunch of SEALs. Operation Valkyrie was highly classified. “I am that girl, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a fuss about it. Today is Sam’s day.”
“You knew him?” another guy asked.
“I am in the Navy,” she retorted. “I know quite a few naval personnel. Like these gentlemen, for example.”
Cal Kettering materialized beside Griffin, commenting blandly, “She’s done some public affairs work for the Reapers in the past. She’s family.”
The defensive posture of the other SEALs melted immediately. Family to one SEAL was family to all.
Griffin leaned close to mutter in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”
She was all over that.
But when they drove away from the cemetery, Griffin didn’t head back toward Coronado. Six months ago, she would have asked where they were going. Now, she just leaned back to see where they ended up. She definitely took life more as it came, after the past several months of training. Not to mention, she trusted him.
Griffin turned off the highway and followed a narrow tarmac road to a high, white gate. He punched a number into a keypad and drove through when the gate opened.
It turned out to be a marina.
He led her down a long dock to a large motor yacht in pristine condition. It was named Easy Day.
She grinned. One of the SEALs’ unofficial mottos was “The only easy day was yesterday.”
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Home sweet home.”
“You live on a boat?”
“I don’t really live anywhere. I’m deployed a whole lot more than I’m stateside. But this is where I hang my hat when I’m not overseas somewhere, going balls to the wall—” He broke off. “Sorry.”
She laughed. “I live and work with a bunch of sailors. Trust me, I’ve heard a lot worse.”
He handed her aboard. The interior was as tidy as the exterior, cozy and comfortable. However, her heels and formal dress were wildly out of place.
“Do you have some sweatpants and a T-shirt I could borrow?” she asked him.
He jogged down a short stairway to what was undoubtedly his bedroom, stripping off his uniform jacket as he went. He emerged in a minute, wearing jeans and a Reaper T-shirt and carrying another Reaper T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.
Sherri went belowdecks to the stateroom she found there and changed. She emerged into the living room barefoot and wearing his clothes, which were baggy on her, but blessedly comfortable. A rumble started beneath her feet, and the dock started to retreat. He was taking the boat out!
She went upstairs to the bridge and stood beside him as he expertly steered the vessel out of the marina and into open water. The Pacific Ocean stretched away in a dark sheet of glittering sunshine. The skyline of San Diego retreated behind them as they cruised north along the shore.
The boat picked up speed, and she raised her face to the warmth of the sun and the cool caress of the salt spray. Man, she needed this.
They cruised in companionable silence for perhaps an hour. Then Griffin cut the engines and steered the Easy Day into an inlet tucked in among the rocky hills of the California coast.
“Can I interest you in a picnic?” he asked.
“You’re a god.” She sighed.
He grinned. “I am, but give me a little time to prove it.”
“Can I help with lunch?” she offered.
They maneuvered around the tiny galley, bumping into each other constantly. The good news was each time they did, Griffin paused to kiss her. He fed her bites of the cold shrimp salad he made while t
wo spectacular T-bone steaks marinated.
Then he carried the steaks out to the aft deck, lit a hibachi grill, and laid the steaks on it when the coals were hot. The steaks sizzled merrily, giving off an aroma so fantastic that saliva puddled in Sherri’s mouth.
“Wine?” he asked her, holding up a bottle.
“Of course.” She took a sip of the rich, dark vintage and sighed in appreciation. She finished the first glass, and he refilled her goblet again. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Caldwell?”
“What if I am, Miss Tate?”
“I sincerely hope your dastardly plan includes taking advantage of me.”
A broad grin split his face, his teeth white against his dark tan. “I think that could be arranged. Food first, though. You’re going to need your strength.”
“Hah! We’ll see who needs their strength. I’ve been in hard-core training, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He flipped the steaks and sprawled on the chaise longue next to hers. “Oh, I’ve noticed. So have all the guys. They’re scared shitless at how well you’re doing.”
“Poor little boys, about to have a girl invade their sandbox.”
He took an appreciative sip of the wine. “I gotta say, I’m actually getting used to the idea.”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” she teased.
“I guess it boils down to whether or not you can pull your weight and do the job. If you can, why not let you play with the boys?”
“Well, praise be. The Neanderthal is reformed.”
“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
She laughed at him. “You were a total jerk.”
“Sorry.”
Her smile widened. “I’ll allow you to make it up to me later.”
They spent the afternoon lounging on deck, enjoying the cool Pacific breezes and the warm California sun. Sherri dozed on and off, soaking up the quiet and relaxation. Sometimes her training had gotten so intense that she forgot anything else existed. Her whole world narrowed down to pain, exhaustion, and instructors in her face.
As sunset bled across the open water in shades of crimson, Griffin disappeared inside. He emerged with a giant bowl of chopped salad filled with all kinds of goodies—ham, carrot bits, hard-boiled egg, a couple kinds of cheese, spinach, and even kale.
“I had no idea you were such a health nut,” she commented, digging into the salad enthusiastically.
“A finely honed body requires excellent fuel.”
“You’re talking to a pageant girl. I know full well how important it is to eat properly.”
“Did you like doing beauty pageants?” Griffin asked curiously.
“I liked the scholarship money, and the contests I entered typically included talent or a social platform the contestants endorsed and worked to improve.”
“What was your talent?”
“Violin.”
“Of course it was,” he replied dryly.
“Why do you say it like that?”
He shrugged. “Because you’re perfect. Of course you’re a concert violinist on top of everything else.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m actually a pretty mediocre violinist. I practiced three difficult pieces for about five years until I could play them flawlessly, then I rotated them at the various competitions I entered.”
Griffin grinned at her. “So your skill at cheating the system started early.”
She grinned back. “I’m born SEAL material.”
“What was your social platform?”
Her smiled faded. “Domestic violence prevention.”
He studied her intently enough that she felt an urge to squirm. Then he said quietly, “Well, shit. I’m sorry.” Then more quietly, “How bad was it?”
“He never hit me. But I watched him beat up my mom more times than I can count.” Images crowded forward in her mind of her mother, bruised and broken. Of her own helpless rage. Of grief and fury, and vowing never, ever to be that vulnerable or weak. She pushed her past back and said aloud, “I got out when I was sixteen—graduated early from high school and went to college on the scholarship money from the pageants. When that ran out, I joined ROTC to pay for the rest of my school. That’s how I ended up in the Navy. But I got out of that house, and I owe him nothing.”
“Father or stepfather?” Griffin asked.
“Father.”
“Damn. That’s even worse. At least if you’re not their blood, you can hold on to that.”
Sherri shrugged. “He gave me DNA, but I choose what to make of it. And I choose to be nothing like him.”
“Good for you.”
She smiled ruefully. “Oh, I’m undoubtedly messed up twenty ways from my childhood. But I’ve done my best to move on and become my own person.”
“I’d say you’ve done a pretty spectacular job of it,” Griffin commented.
“My dad is ex-military. He fought in some seriously messed-up places and saw some terrible things. War broke him. My mom swore he was different before he went off to fight.”
“Don’t kid yourself. War breaks everyone to some degree. What matters is how you handle the shit in your head when you get home. Warriors like us are just trained to handle it better than the average grunt.”
Sherri went dead still. He included her in the ranks of elite warriors? Really? Did he even realize what he’d just said?
A Navy SEAL perceived her as capable of becoming his equal in war. She could do this. It wasn’t until this exact moment she realized that she’d harbored doubt over whether what she was striving to achieve was actually possible. But Griffin thought she could do it. She let the knowing of that sink in as deep and warm as the sunlight soaking through her.
Griffin stood. As she gazed up at him from her chaise, he opened his arms in invitation. She rose and went to him gladly. Openly. Trustingly. She stepped into the circle of his acceptance and protection, confident for the first time that she truly belonged there beside him. She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart beating slowly and steadily.
“You make me feel safe,” she murmured.
“You are safe with me. Not only would I never, ever raise a hand to anyone I love in anger, but I’ll kick the ass of anyone who tries it with you. Including your old man.”
Sherri snuggled a little closer to his warmth as Griffin’s arms tightened around her. She responded, “I can kick butts for myself now.”
“That you can. He’ll never hurt you again.”
Griffin’s quiet observation rang with truth. She let that sink all the way down into her soul as well. She’d done it. She’d once and for all gotten clear of the miasma of fear, guilt, and desperation to please that had defined her life up till now.
Huh.
And she had Griffin to thank for it.
“How am I ever going to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me?” she asked.
His chest vibrated with a silent chuckle. “I can think of a few ways.”
She lifted her head to mock-scowl up at him. “You men. Always thinking with your crotch.”
Griffin speared his hands into her long hair, cupping her head and tilting her face up to his. “Don’t underestimate me, Sherri. I think about you with a hell of a lot more than my crotch. You fascinate me. Make me feel things…”
His voice trailed off, leaving them staring at each other. His emotions appeared to be as raw as hers. Normally buried feelings were sitting right on the surface today, out in the open for both of them to see.
“I want you, Sherri.”
Take that, for example. He clearly wasn’t talking about sex. She stared back at him, shocked at the intensity of feelings welling up in her chest. “I want you, too,” she heard herself whispering back.
Griffin nodded slowly, accepting everything she was offering in her whispered words
. He said merely, “So be it.”
And then he bent down, swept her off her feet, and carried her inside. He laid her on his bed and followed her down to the mattress.
She welcomed him with open arms and an open heart. He kissed her gently, and she kissed him back leisurely, reveling in this new intimacy between them. He kissed her from head to foot, and then she did the same with him.
Even though they’d done this before, today felt different. It was as if she learned him all over again. Where she’d seen lust and strength and raw sex appeal before, now she saw the man beneath the soldier. The heart beneath the man. And the feelings closely held within the scarred and battered heart.
Their lovemaking was slow, careful even. As if each of them wanted to protect these new and fragile pieces of themselves they’d shared with each other.
When Griffin finally entered her, they found an easy rhythm, their bodies moving in sweet harmony, caressing each other, encompassing each other. Giving and receiving.
And there was joy.
Oh sure, she’d enjoyed sex before. But this was different. Pure happiness infused every slide of flesh on flesh. Every surge and thrust was an expression of acceptance. Every moan a sound of welcome. It made her feel…whole.
And she sensed that it was the same for Griffin.
They spoke with their bodies, saying to each other what they could not say with words, sharing the deepest needs of their hearts, taking each other’s hurts and pains into themselves, healing them, and giving them back as something wonderful. Love, even.
For surely this unbearable lightness, this utterly ecstatic belonging, this completeness of finding home, could be nothing less than love.
As they strained toward each other, she stared into his eyes, reveling in the myriad feelings flowing through his gaze, happily letting everything she was feeling show as well. He smiled down at her, and she smiled in return. And together, they found heaven.
They fell asleep to the lazy rocking of the ocean and the cries of seagulls. She woke up as the first light of the moon streamed in the porthole. She reached out, but the pillow beside her was unoccupied.
She pulled on Griffin’s borrowed T-shirt and padded upstairs in search of him. She found him on the foredeck, leaning back in a deck chair, feet propped on the rail, sipping a beer and watching the stars.