by Tawny Weber
“Commodities, man. I’ve got my own brokerage. Doing well,” Russell said with a grin. “You want to make money, I’m your man.”
“Ensign’s pay isn’t much, but when I make SEAL I’ll have a little to throw your way,” he decided, gesturing to a passing waitress, then pointing at Eli’s beer to indicated he wanted one of his own.
Then he took a closer look at the man he hadn’t seen a lot of in the last few years. His age right in between the elder Eli and Bryanna the baby, Russell was a combination of his siblings’ looks. Dark hair and a tall, rugged build like his brother, he had his little sister’s blue eyes, easy smile and mind for numbers.
While he waited for his beer, he and Russell caught up. Eli sat, silently watching. It was because he was used to those type of tactics and because he knew it was simply the way Eli was that it didn’t bug Sam to have the guy staring.
“Gwen Fitzpatrick is your best financial analyst?” he said, repeating the most salient of Russell’s comments. “Didn’t she live in the neighborhood? I think she and Noah were in the same graduating class.”
Even as Russell nodded, Sam frowned. There was something about Gwen nagging at the back of his brain. Before he could figure it out, the waitress brought his beer and conversation turned general. Who was doing what, where they’d been seen last, a little bragging and a few muscle flexes. Since the conversation avoided Bryanna, Sam counted himself lucky and simply enjoyed.
But when Russell said his goodbyes, offering Sam that hug again and a punch to the shoulder for his older brother, the ease faded.
Sam and Eli sat in silence, nursing what was left of their beers. There was a reason for it, Sam was sure. Eli never did anything without reason. The other man was a SEAL, but had nothing to do with BUD/S or SQT so it was doubtful that’s what Eli wanted to talk to him about. It could be advice, but the other man wasn’t known for his altruism.
Which left Bryanna.
Damn.
“So what’s the deal?” Sam finally asked, figuring he’d rather get right to the battle instead of dancing around it.
“Might be breaking the rule there, Sammy.” Eli’s smile was sharp. “If and when, remember.”
“If and when as it applies to duty, to a mission, to orders and explanations.” Taking a swig of his beer, Sam gave himself a second to appreciate the smooth flavor then arched his brow. “We’re off duty, you’re not in uniform and we’re in a civilian bar filled with ferns. If and when aren’t applicable, are they? So what’s the deal?”
Sam leaned back in his chair, waiting.
Eli leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands wrapped around the beer bottle. His eyes, blue like Bryanna’s, locked on Sam’s.
“You’re going to make SEALs. Top scores, all three BUD/S phases, just a few months to go.”
Sam didn’t respond. He didn’t relax at those words. He figured this must be groundwork since so far, Eli was simply stating the obvious.
“Gotta get through parachute training, but you’ve jumped before.” Eli shrugged off the fact that Sam would quite likely be jumping in sleeting rain or icy snow as if it were no big deal. Which, actually, it wasn’t. “Once you pass qualification testing, you’ll be assigned a team. Your EOD skills will serve you well. Every team needs a guy willing to throw himself on an explosive.”
“Looking forward to doing my part.”
Eli’s lips almost quirked at that.
“You’ll make the team, but you’ll still have to prove yourself. First to the team, then to everyone else.”
This was a pep talk, Sam realized, starting to relax. Eli wasn’t gonna haul him out behind the bar and kick his ass for giving the guy’s little sister nine orgasms the previous night.
“So you’re telling me it isn’t gonna be easy.” He signaled the waitress for another round.
“I’m telling you that the first year after you earn your trident will make Hell Week a fond memory.”
“Any tips? Suggestions? Fond memories of your own you want to share?”
Eli’s frown made Sam sigh. It was moments like this that he missed his brother. Noah handled Eli much better than Sam ever could. Because while Petty Officer Spencer might be one hell of a SEAL, the guy had jack for a sense of humor.
“Focus,” Eli said after the waitress swapped out their empties. “Clarify your motivation. To yourself, to the team, to your unit. To your superiors.”
“That’s a lot of clarification.”
“You want to make it, you need to know why. Otherwise you won’t handle the challenges. Not well, not for long.”
Sam frowned, playing that through his mind, then nodded.
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll do that. I’m on light duty through the holidays. That’s good thinking time.”
“Not if you’re busy making googoo eyes at my sister.”
Shit. Talk about being blindsided. Sam shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears while his mind raced. He and Bryanna weren’t secret, and they weren’t doing anything wrong. But their perspective and her brother’s might disagree on that point. Leave it to Eli to pull off the big brother disapproval in a sneak attack.
“Hold up.” Sam scowled, lifting one hand as if he could halt not only the words, but the lousy attitude that came with them. “You’re trying to tell me you hauled Russell here to remind me that Bryanna has big brothers? Brothers that don’t approve of her and I making, what’d you call it? Googoo eyes at each other?”
“Bry’s twenty-three. She’s smart. She knows her own mind. And she knows how to punch a guy in those googoo eyes if she doesn’t want them aimed her way.” Before Sam could relax into the idea that he might not be getting a big-brother-inspired ass kicking, Eli continued. “What she might not know, though, is that you’ll be ending things with her soon.”
Sam scowled. Why the hell would he do that?
“You want to be a SEAL, you commit to the team. Exclusively. Remember your pledge.”
Sam wanted to point out that he’d only been sixteen when he’d vowed never to let his focus on the goal waver, never to let it split. That pledge had included something about not owning property and doing a thousand pushups a day, but he didn’t figure asking Eli if he’d exercised yet or ditched his truck was smart. But, still, Sam wasn’t sure if the guy was protecting his little sister or protecting his vision of what it meant to be a SEAL.
“I’m not going to lecture you on the meaning of a pledge, the impact of backing out of it. You already know those things.” Eli grimaced, for the first time looking uncomfortable. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You don’t have to report tomorrow so I’m gonna buy you another beer. Then we’re going to ditch this fern-infested place and hit Olive Oyl’s. There, I’ll buy you tequila.”
“Going for drunk?” Sam said tonelessly, his eyes locked on the brown bottle he was twisting between his hands.
“You are. Me, I’m just here to remind you of your motivation and help you stay focused. And, I suppose, to play designated driver.”
Sam raised his troubled gaze to look at the man who’d first made him believe he could be a SEAL.
“Why?”
“Like I said. You need to clarify your motivation. If it isn’t strong enough, you can’t do what you need to do.” For the first time since Sam had walked into the bar, Eli’s stoic mask cracked. Beneath it was a mix of sympathy and pride. “If your reasons for wanting to be a SEAL are strong enough, then I’m here for support. Because giving things up, sometimes it sucks.”
“Giving people up, you mean.”
“Sucks,” Eli agreed with a nod. “Finish your beer. It’ll be easier once you’re drunk. Still sucks, though.”
Chapter 6
Bryanna paced her living room, her bare feet making no noise as she stomped from one end to the other and back again. The sassy Lucite heels she’d started out in three hours ago lay, forgotten, in the corner where she’d kicked them a few hours ago.
As she paced past her pretty little gateleg
table, the scent of gutted candles and overcooked meat overpowered her new perfume. She didn’t bother looking toward the kitchen. The sight of all that wasted food would probably make her scream.
Again.
Instead, she glanced at her watch. She glared at the front door. She debated going to bed, but there was too much energy—furious, irritated, frustrated, angry energy—pounding through her. So she paced.
Again.
Her favorite chenille robe flapped around her bare legs, the thick fabric a ratty contrast to the tiny strips of blue satin she wore beneath. Blue satin and baby oil, since she’d figured it was better to cover all her bases.
She considered it a point in her favor that she hadn’t changed into her sweatpants at hour two. She’d wanted to, right about the time she’d had to toss the rubbery Chicken Piccata down the garbage disposal. But unlike the ruined dinner, she wasn’t willing to give up on her plan to convince Sam that they were meant to be together.
For freaking ever, dammit.
So she’d kept her sexy nighty on, she’d kept her sultry makeup on and when Sam got here, she’d keep a tight grip on her temper.
She loved Sam. She wanted to spend her life with him. She had a little more than a week to show him all the reasons that she was the woman he wanted to spend his life with. To prove to him that she’d make his life wonderful. Interesting and fun and sexy and complete. Enough that he wouldn’t regret turning away from the training, from the dream of being a SEAL.
And jumping all over him with accusations and ugly temper wouldn’t help her accomplish any of that.
So when he got here, she’d play nice. She’d behave.
If he got here.
She growled, grabbing her cellphone off the coffee table on her next pass. It only took two flicks of her thumb to bring up the message again.
Don’t. Wait. Up.
What kind of goddamn message was that?
And it wasn’t even from Sam.
Nope, he hadn’t bothered to let her know he’d be late for their romantic dinner. He’d had Eli do it.
Eli.
The man with probably the biggest influence of anyone on Sam. The jerk that’d demanded from his friends a vow based on his narrow-minded, uptight, idiotic belief the best SEALs were single SEALs.
Eli.
Her very own ass hat of a brother. The man who put his career ahead of every single thing in the entire world. Including the woman who’d loved him.
The idea of her brother peddling his small-minded ideas to the man she loved made her fingers clench, her cellphone digging into her flesh before she sent the phone flying across the room.
As if it were the signal he’d been waiting for, Sam stepped into the room just as the phone bounced off the couch, skidded over the hardwood and landed next to the door.
“Hey, baby,” he greeted, sending her a blurry grin as he bent over to scoop up her phone.
“Hey, baby?” she repeated through clenched teeth. He didn’t even have the decency to look sorry for standing her up. Instead, he looked happy as hell.
He tossed her cellphone on the couch, where, this time, it stayed. He tilted his head from side to side as if working out a little tension.
“Miss me?” he asked with a wink.
And that was it. Her control simply snapped. She was pretty sure she even heard the twang when it happened.
Suddenly Bryanna didn’t care about making Sam happy. She didn’t give a good damn about convincing him that she was the best thing in his world.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asked in a voice low with fury. The anger flamed a little hotter when she realized that Sam either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.
“I was over in Coronado for awhile. Met these great guys. Great bunch, deployed with SEAL Team Three. It was so cool.” The whole time he was talking, Sam was moving. First he sauntered into the kitchen. She heard the fridge open, metal hit tile, then he sauntered back out, a beer in hand. “We ended up shooting some pool, then getting pizza.”
“So you ate already,” she said, ignoring the fact that the garbage disposal had already eaten their dinner. “Despite the fact that you said you’d be here for dinner at six. That was four hours ago.”
“I got caught up. Sorry I missed dinner,” he said with an easy shrug. Then, as if he’d just noticed her, Sam’s eyes went wide as he looked her up, then down. “I think I’m ready for dessert though.”
“And by dessert, I suppose you mean something other than the sticky toffee pudding that I made?” From scratch, twice, dammit. She’d had to throw the first batch away because she’d missed a step in the cookbook.
“I’d rather get you sticky,” he said with an agreeable grin before taking a long drink of his beer. “Then I’ll lick you clean.”
The look in his dark eyes was so hot, so sexy, that it was all Bryanna could do not to throw off her robe and let him get down to it. But she wasn’t some slutty base bunny who was looking for cheap thrills or to get her fingers on his paycheck, such as it was. So she’d be damned if she’d be treated that way.
“You told me you’d be here for dinner, four hours ago,” she said again, shooting for a calm and friendly tone. From the arch of his brow, she knew she’d missed. “Not letting me know you were going to miss dinner until an hour after you were supposed to be here was rude. Blowing me off to screw around at a bar was obnoxious.”
“I’m here now,” he said, his words clipped and precise. “And what I was doing, who I was with and why, would be my business. Maybe you don’t understand what my career means. Maybe you don’t realize what it’s going to be like soon.”
Oh, God, she didn’t want to. Bryanna’s breath knotted in her chest, pain stabbing at it as she thought of his career, and what the changes he was making would mean.
To him.
To her.
To them.
“I know exactly what it means,” she said, looking at him through devastated eyes. “And I don’t like it.”
She’d blown it.
As angry at herself now as she was at him, Bryanna threw her hands in the air and headed for her room.
“Go home, sleep on the couch, do what you want. I’m going to bed.”
Bryanna didn’t bother with the light to yank down the bedspread. Before she could toss her robe aside, she realized Sam had followed her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
“What I want.”
It wasn’t until he had her trapped between his body and the wall that Bryanna realized that the odd scent in the air was booze on his breath.
“You’re drunk,” she accused. She wanted to press her hands against his chest and push him away. But she was afraid that if she touched him she’d grab so tight she’d never let him go.
“Not drunk, just buzzed.” He anchored one hand on either side of her head. His body wasn’t touching hers. So why did she feel so turned on? She was still pissed, the anger pulsed through her veins, pounding counterpart to the heavy thrum of lust. “No big. I caught a ride with one of the guys instead of driving. Figured you could take me back to my car tomorrow.”
He loomed over her, his shoulders so broad they blocked the light from the other room. His face was in shadow, so all she could see was the gleam in his eyes.
“Taking a lot for granted, aren’t you?” This time she did push. But his chest was as solid as a rock. A very hard, very smooth, deliciously tempting rock. “Get out of my way.”
She tried to move to the left, but he bent his elbow, blocking her. When she angled to the right, he dropped his other hand lower.
“In your way? Baby, I’m right where you want me.”
To prove his point, Sam lowered his head.
When Bryanna turned hers away, he settled his lips on her throat without a murmur.
“I’m not in the mood.” At least, she didn’t want to be. But desire, so familiar and always there just beneath the surface, swirled.
“Right. Like yo
u don’t want me?”
His laugh was like salt in her wound. Like he knew how much she loved him, was sure she’d always be there. No matter how he treated her. He’d blow off meals, choose his buddies over her, walk away from her.
And she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
“I don’t want you,” she insisted, hoping one of them would believe it. When he laughed, she pushed again. She gritted her teeth and glared. “Sam, get out of my way.”
“Uh huh,” he murmured, pushing the robe from her shoulders and leaving little tingles behind where he’d touched. “When I’m done.”
From the slow, easy slide of his lips over her bare shoulder, he didn’t plan on being done anytime soon.
She wanted to hold onto the mad. She tried, with desperate need, to grab it back. It was her last defense, her only chance, she knew, to protect her heart.
But Sam shifted, then. His body leaned into hers, hot and hard. His hands skimmed down her sides, gripped her hips and pulled her tight against his body. Bryanna controlled her own body, she told herself. She was a strong woman, one who had control over her reactions. But when her belly rubbed against the hard length of his erection, need stirred, wet and desperate.
“Sam—”
Instead of listening, instead of even giving her a chance to voice the rest of that protest, he took her mouth. And with one sweep of his tongue, obliterated her determination.
Passion washed over her, hot and needy and exciting.
“The bed...” she murmured, pulling her mouth away. Her head fell back against the wall, her fingers gripping tight to his shoulders to keep herself upright.
“To hell with the bed.”
He moved, fast and sharp.
She gasped at the sound of ripping fabric. She felt the cool waft of air over her suddenly bare skin. She mentally kissed her expensive new nighty goodbye. Her thighs trembled and her knees shook. Need curled, low and tight in her belly.
“Sam—”