by Cindy Dees
“I remember Hell Week vividly,” he murmured, wedging a muscular thigh between hers. Her thighs clasped his convulsively, and her hips tilted as she rubbed her lady parts against his leg. He doubted she knew she was doing it, but it turned him on so hard he about exploded right there.
He fought to concentrate on what she was saying. “…you were my touchstone through the whole ordeal. Whenever I thought I couldn’t take one more step or survive one more minute, I thought of you and of being with you when it was all over.”
“Like this?” He slid his hand down the smooth, flat warmth of her belly and slipped his hand between her legs. Through nylon and lace, he rolled his fingertips across the swollen bud there, nestled between folds of velvet soft flesh. She inhaled sharply.
“Uhh, yes,” she gasped, panting a little as he stroked the sensitive pearl. “During my, uhh, escape through the desert, uhh, when the heat got really bad, and I was, umm, dehydrated…” Her voice trailed off as she arched into his hand and cried out.
“You were saying?” he asked, smiling against the junction of her neck and shoulder.
“Right. There were times when I got kind of delirious. Might even have hallucinated some.”
“That’s normal under those conditions,” he murmured, kissing his way across her jaw to capture her mouth. She kissed him back with abandon, derailed from whatever she’d been trying to say. Mission accomplished.
Her hands tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt, pushing it up between them, and he stepped back, grabbed the back of it, and dragged it over his head.
“Better,” she declared.
He pulled her into his arms and spun her away from the galley, making it onto the stairs down to his stateroom before he got distracted again and ended up backing her against the wall, kissing both of them into a sexual haze.
Her leg wrapped round his hips, she tried again. “When the fight with the Russians was over and you hugged me, I said I loved you.”
“I heard. And I—”
She cut him off before he could tell her he loved her back, pressing her hand over his mouth and speaking quickly. “It was just my exhaustion and relief and everything else I’d been through talking.”
He froze. Pulled his head away from her hand to stare down at her in the dim passageway. So this is breakup sex?
She was denying that she loved him? Panic ripped through him, and he had to take several deep breaths to banish it. If he was going to make this right, if he was going to have to fight for his woman, he had to keep his wits about him.
“No, it wasn’t just your exhaustion or relief talking,” he said quietly.
“Of course it was. I was well beyond the limits of my endurance. I wasn’t thinking. It just popped out.”
“Truth has a way of doing that.” His composure was fraying quickly. Must keep his head together and make her see reason. And the only way to do that was to stay calm. Be logical.
“But I wasn’t in my right mind,” she disagreed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
He swept her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way down the stairs, depositing her on her feet beside his bed. He reached around behind her to pop open her bra hooks. The lace dropped away from her perfectly shaped breasts, which were possibly the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Desperation to make up for his colossal screwup coursed through him.
He hooked his index fingers under the bra straps and slipped them down her arms, dropping the garment to the floor. He kissed her deeply, pouring all of his feelings for her into that kiss. Trying to show her how he felt about her by worshipping her mouth, hell, worshipping all of her—body, mind, and soul. He relished the light peppermint taste of her, fresh and sweet. His head spun with the soft scent of her, the feel of her in his hands, the way her body fit against his. God. Now he was the one whose train of thought blew through his fingers and drifted away.
At length, she lifted her mouth away from his. “It didn’t mean anything either time,” she said woodenly. “It was stress talking—”
He cut across her words. “I’m going to have to call bullshit on that.”
“What?” She pushed at his chest, and he stepped back from her.
Furious sparks snapped and crackled in her eyes as she glared at him. He shrugged and said, “People under extreme duress have a tendency to tell the truth. I think you do love me.”
She opened her mouth angrily, the expression on her face hot.
He interrupted smoothly. “Go ahead. Deny it. But we both know the truth.”
She let out an angry growl that was half scream.
“Ready to hit me now?” he challenged.
“Don’t tempt me,” she ground out.
“Why not? I deserve it. You’d make me feel considerably better if you just hauled off and walloped me.”
Her anger seemed to stop dead in its tracks as she stared at him in surprise. “Why do you deserve a good wallop?”
He crowded her until she was forced to fall backward onto the mattress. He followed her down, bracing his hands on either side of her head, his knee between hers supporting his weight.
Her hair fanned out in a golden nimbus around her, and she looked like an angel—an angry one, but an angel nonetheless.
He spoke quietly. Honestly. “I panicked last night.”
“You don’t ever panic,” she retorted.
He snorted. “Wanna bet? I lost my mind when we figured out you were missing. And since one of us is being honest here, I’ll admit that the idea of you walking away from me panics me. Particularly if I lose you because I lost my nerve.”
“Go on.” She stared up at him expectantly, waiting.
He sighed. He should’ve known she would make him spell out every last bit of it. “The SEAL rescue team was closing in on us fast, and I was afraid they were within earshot. If I’d said it back to you and someone heard me, not only my career, but everything you had worked and suffered for could have been ruined. I wasn’t so much concerned about me as I was about you. In that split second, I took the coward’s way out and didn’t risk everything to tell you the truth.”
“There’s no one around to hear you now, Griffin. What is the truth?”
“Let me show you?”
She nodded.
Rather than rely on just his words, he quickly kicked off his swim trunks and rolled back to her, gathering her into his arms. Reaching between them to guide himself home, he entered her slowly, taking his sweet time. He savored the heated tightness of her body, the delicious friction of flesh on flesh, the way her eyes widened and darkened as he filled her, inch by mind-blowing inch.
As always, they fit perfectly. Their bodies started to move, finding unison immediately. Her strength called to his strength, his need to her need. It felt like coming home to be with her like this. Only here, with her, was he whole.
He looked down into her eyes, losing himself in their crystalline blue. It was like gazing into tropical waters, deceptively deep in their stunning clarity. She gazed back up at him, uncharacteristically serious.
Maybe she felt it, too. The past several days, frantically worrying that he’d lost her for good, had changed something deep inside him. He’d always known she was precious and special. But now he also knew she held his heart in her hands—and that he would never get it back.
Funny, but he was okay with that.
He murmured, “I already knew I was a goner for you, probably even before we left Camp Jarvis. But I didn’t want to distract you from your training. And I wasn’t ready to admit that I’d fallen for you. Hard.”
She arched up against him, meeting his thrust with one of her own, seating him so deep inside her, he thought he’d touched eternity. He paused there, memorizing the sensation, staring down at the perfection of her in awe.
Then she moved impatiently beneath him, and he grinn
ed, obliging her by setting up a steady, slow rhythm that she matched, thrust for slow, deep thrust.
“When you were missing,” he continued, shivering a little as her internal muscles gripped him strongly, demanding more from him, “a piece of me was missing, too.” He withdrew partway, and her calves tightened around his glutes, unwilling to let him go. Smiling a little, he gave her what she wanted and drove home.
He confessed, “When I thought I might never see you again, my world…ended.”
“Mine, too,” she whispered.
Their bodies moved as one in an urgent ride toward oblivion. Her arms were strong around his neck, her legs stronger around his hips. She held him like she never wanted to let him go, and he loved her back like he never wanted her to even think about letting go.
He showed her with his body that she was his whole world and prayed she felt the same. He held nothing back. He put it all on the line. His heart, his soul, his love. If she would have him, he was entirely hers.
Again and again he stroked into her, deeper and deeper until she was stretched as tight as a bow beneath him, waiting for the final arrow of release to fire.
All at once, his entire being exploded into orgasm, ripping him apart as he arched into her one last time, shouting hoarsely. Sherri met him halfway, crying out as she shuddered violently beneath him and around him.
He actually blacked out a little, so powerful were their mutual orgasms.
When he regained awareness of his surroundings, it dawned on him that he was crushing her, and that they were both breathing hard. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She sprawled across him bonelessly, her hair spilling across his chest in strands of gold. Lazily, he ran his fingers through its silken softness.
“Huh. You weren’t wrong about people speaking the truth under duress,” she commented.
“How’s that?” He managed to form words to reply.
“Didn’t you hear what you shouted just now?”
He frowned, reaching back through the fog of that epic orgasm to replay it in his mind. He started to chuckle. Then to laugh.
“Son of a bitch,” he chortled as his laughter finally wound down.
Quickly, he reversed their positions, propping himself up on an elbow to stare down at her. “How about we try this one more time? And this time, when neither one of us is out of our mind with fear, or exhaustion, or orgasmic pleasure?”
“You first, Mr. Caldwell.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Tate.” He gazed down at her, drinking in her tousled beauty, so much sexier and more natural than her polished pageant self, and deciding he liked her exactly like this best of all.
He smiled, letting all the joy in his heart out and said, “I told you once you didn’t have the heart of a SEAL.”
“I remember,” she murmured.
“I was twice wrong. Not only do you have the heart of a SEAL, you have the heart of this SEAL. I love you, Sherri. I’m yours. Every last scarred, beat-up, stupid-at-relationships, lousy-at-expressing-feelings bit of me.”
Her smile was nothing short of otherworldly. “I love you, too, Griffin.”
* * *
Sherri sat on deck watching the sun slip into the west, and a deep calm washed over her. This place, this moment, this man—they added up to a sense of happiness, of rightness, she doubted anything else in her life could ever top.
She consciously made a memory of this sunset. In the future, whenever she was far from home in a dangerous place, she would recall this exact moment and know that the world had good in it. Happiness.
Griffin emerged from the galley where he’d been cleaning up after grilling her the best steak she’d ever had. The man did know what a girl needed after Hell Week and a week from hell. He’d pulled on a pair of jeans slung low on his hips the way she liked them best, and his chest was bare. She would never tire of the sight of him like this, barefoot and sexy as hell.
He came to her chaise longue and reached down for her, drawing her to her feet. And then he did an odd thing. He went down on one knee before her. Washed in the crimson light of the setting sun, he looked like some sort of knight of olden times kneeling there.
“I have something for you, Sherri. I ordered it a while back, but I swore the day you went missing that I would give it to you when I found you, alive or dead.”
“Well, that’s morbid,” she teased gently.
He smiled up at her, but his eyes remained serious. “I heard about the guys giving their Budweisers to you in the hearing this afternoon. The entire SEAL community is talking about it, and my phone has been blowing up over it.”
She nodded, still humbled by the display. “It was overwhelming.”
“It was well deserved,” he said firmly.
She smiled down at him. It was nice to hear him say that out loud.
He continued, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it. But Cal asked me to stay away from your hearing.”
“Why?” she blurted out.
“He knows me too well. And he saw how hard I freaked out when you went missing. He’s no dummy, he knows how I feel about you. I think he was worried if the hearing didn’t go your way, I would lose my cool and go after Duquesne.”
“Would you have?” she asked, curious.
“Oh, hell to the yes. I know better than anyone how much you deserve to be on the teams. You’ve earned every bit of it.”
Warmth flowed through her at his ringing endorsement. And to think, he’d been the most determined of all to force her out of the SEALs. They’d come a long way, the two of them.
“Why are you down there on the floor?” she asked. “I’d much rather have you up here kissing me.”
“Because I still haven’t given you this.” He held out a small black leather box.
She took it, smiled at him over it, and opened it.
She stared at the piece inside. She’d expected a Budweiser pin. But she was wrong. Oh, it was a SEAL insignia all right, but it was a ring. A bright-gold ring, with a tiny eagle clasping a miniature trident and flintlock in its talons, its delicate wings flying over a spectacular solitaire diamond.
“I know you can’t marry me yet,” Griffin said. “You have to finish BUD/S, and I have to go to Afghanistan and kill Haddad. But would you keep this with you as a promise ring? One day, I promise I’ll come home, put it on your finger, and make you my wife.”
She stared down at the ring and back at him. Tears blurred her vision until the man and the ring were one great, shining blob of joy.
“Yes, Griffin. I’ll keep it. And I’ll come home, too, put it on my finger, and marry you. And I’m holding you to your promise.”
“Never fear. I’m all yours, Sherri Tate. Forever.”
Laughing, he rose to his feet and gathered her in his arms for a glorious kiss, bathed in the last rays of the sun, to seal the deal.
Acknowledgments
My writing doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and in fact, I rely on a number of friends and experts to fuel my work and keep me accurate. Unfortunately, the people I call on when I have a technical question about Special Forces missions or covert operations cannot be named here nor be publicly thanked for their invaluable assistance. Therefore, this will be an un-acknowledgement.
To the outstanding men and women who have patiently answered my questions or demonstrated some operational technique at the drop of a hat…thank you, thank you, thank you. You know who you are, and I’m grateful beyond words for your generosity. I’m also humbled that you trust me not to misuse sensitive information or endanger ongoing operations. I hope both my discretion and my stories live up to your faith in me. It’s an honor to be allowed a glimpse into your world and share a bit of it with readers.
Here’s a special sneak peek at the next book in Cindy Dees’s Valkyrie Ops series
Diving Deep
Anna Marlow slipped insi
de Miss Mabel’s Country Saloon and Dancehall, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dim, neon light while the odors of stale beer and cigarette smoke assaulted her nose. The way she heard it, Miss Mabel was actually a fat, bald guy with roving hands and a taste for blondes. Sometimes, it was good to be dark-haired and caramel complected.
Where are you, Trev? What’s got you hiding in a bar you despise?
She checked off faces, looking for the familiar features and tall, elegant physique. Sometimes in her fantasies about her Reaper teammate, Trevor Westbrook was a dashing spy or British nobleman. He certainly looked the part with his whiskey hair and cognac eyes.
Of course, he was significantly less civilized when it came to training with the rest of their U.S. Navy SEAL teammates. When the range went hot, he was a predator through and through.
One of these days, she would get cleared to go into the field for real. And then she could finally prove that SEAL training worked on a woman.
She scanned the line-dancing crowd shuffling back and forth on the wood-plank floor. Absently, she noted exits and obstacles, plotted egress routes, catalogued sight lines, and spotted potential hostiles. Low threat environment.
A Marine from nearby Camp Lejeune—if his high-and-tight haircut was any indication—veered away from her, looking vaguely alarmed. Whoops. She must be scowling harder than she’d realized.
Stand down, girlfriend. This isn’t a mission. She’d been training non-stop for a solid year, and emerging from the world of hardcore SEAL operations into a real-world environment full of civilians like this was a shock to her system.
Trevor’s vintage Dodge Charger was in the parking lot, so he was definitely here, somewhere. Where would a Trevor beast hide?
The telltale cluster of women caught her attention first, circling their target like agitated sharks. Target acquired. She headed for the feeding frenzy and spotted their quarry. Tally ho. Trevor was hunched over a beer on the last barstool at the end of the bar, scowling murderously. Not that it stopped the ladies from surrounding him in a tight flock. If they had any idea how dangerous he really was, they would be giving him a much wider berth.