Wet N Wild Navy SEALs

by Tawny Weber

  “In direct correlation with the drop in retention.”

  Two sharp raps drew Marc’s attention. “Commander,” Perry poked his head in “Lieutenant Chapel is here, sir.”

  “You may want to keep our earlier discussion under your hat,” Admiral Dann advised.

  “That was my intention, sir.” Marc turned to his waiting yeoman. “Show the Lieutenant in.”

  Perry opened the door wider and stepped aside to admit the Lieutenant. She wore dress whites again. Skirt exposing the knee. Legs sexy as hell and twice as distracting. That was another thing he’d take care of.

  If she stayed, she played by his rules.

  “Have a seat, Lieutenant.” He gestured toward the matching black leather couches, noting the fact she avoided direct eye contact. The rules had changed since Friday night.

  She released the last button on her jacket. Setting her laptop on the coffee table and her briefcase by her feet, she perched carefully on the edge of the seat, knees primly together. She caught him looking and tugged at the hem of her skirt, then checked her action and hiked it back up.

  “Admiral.” Genuine pleasure sparkled in her eyes. “Commander.” Wariness replaced pleasure.

  Though he thought they’d ended Friday with a truce, she must have decided otherwise. It was just as well. The real battle had yet to begin.

  Marc waved the petty officer out, and then got right to the point. “The Admiral’s briefed me regarding your study, Lieutenant.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’m open to the idea.”

  She looked from him to the Admiral. The older man offered a curt nod. She was clearly surprised. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” Marc’s voice remained open and direct in spite of what could be considered a little white lie. His position hadn’t changed. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want her study to proceed. It was hard enough to pretend he did.

  “Somehow I didn’t expect you to be this easy.”

  “I haven’t said yes, yet.”

  “What is it going to take to get you to say yes?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “I’d like to see what I’m getting myself into first.”

  “Of course.” Popping the catch on her briefcase, she produced handouts for each of them. “This is my proposal. There’s a timeline on the last page.” She gave them a minute to flip to it. “I’d like to get started right away.”

  “One year? With six months spent in actual training?”

  “It will give me a chance—”

  “That’s not acceptable.” He dropped the cover-sheet back in place and set the proposal aside. He didn’t want to think about an extended period of time in her company.

  “I’d have to agree with Miller, Tabby.”

  Her gaze darted between them. “I need to observe at least one training group. And participate with another. For practical application and comparison.”

  “I can assure you, Lieutenant, my instructors are equally hard on all trainees.” He turned to the senior man. “Admiral, I can spare four weeks. Anything more would be disruptive.”

  “What? You’re in downtime. There aren’t even any trainees for me to observe. How am I supposed—“

  “Lieutenant Chapel,” Admiral Dann cautioned.

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  Marc leaned forward. “Because we’re in downtime, I can spare four weeks. You’ll have full cooperation from the instructors. There’s a lot that goes on in preparing for the next wave. We have a videotape library of training and there are medical rollbacks you can talk to. We have several with minor injuries waiting for the next cycle. Take it or leave it,” he dared her, knowing the victory was his.

  “What choice do I have? Of course I’ll take it.”

  For the first time Marc saw vulnerability in her green eyes and it unnerved him. All his instincts were honed to protect and defend. Pitting himself against the weaker sex mocked everything he stood for.

  “Then it’s settled.” The Admiral tucked her handout into his briefcase and rose to his feet.

  Tabitha and Marc did the same.

  “Miller,” Admiral Dann gripped his extended hand. “I’ll trust you two to work out the details. If you need to reach me I’ll be at NAS Fallon, NV through next weekend. My daughter’s graduating from Fighter Weapons School.”

  “Top Gun?” Marc asked.

  “What can I say? The face of the Navy is changing.” The Admiral looked pointedly at Tabitha. “Good luck, Tabby.”

  Marc held his tongue. Under orders he’d conceded to the study. But he refused to give up the fight. What had she said? She knew which battles were worth the fight. Well, so did he.

  “Say hello to Michelle. And Zach,” Tabitha added.

  “Tabby’s brother is in the same class,” Admiral Dann explained. “Now there’s someone who would be an asset to the SEALs.”

  Marc watched Tabitha bristle. “Zach gets his thrills from carrier landings.”

  “Maybe you can put me in touch with your brother, Lieutenant,” he taunted. “SEALs can always use a good pilot.”

  She gave him a scathing look.

  “That’s my cue to leave.” Picking up his walking stick, the Admiral headed to the door. “Miller.” The older man nodded. “Tabby, I’ll see you this weekend if you can make it to the graduation. If not, I’ll give the family your best.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to my dad just yet. I’d like to break the news myself.”

  “All right,” Admiral Dann agreed. “But don’t wait too long. Word has a way of getting around.” So Prince didn’t know and Admiral Dann wasn’t going to tell him. Marc noted the look of affection that passed between godfather and goddaughter. When this was over, the Admiral would retain his hero status while Marc would be resigned to knight in tarnished armor.

  Somewhere deep in his gut that thought sat uneasily.

  The Admiral paused in the doorway. “I suppose these words are unnecessary, but... no more dancing, you two.”

  Tabby felt a blush tinge her cheeks. Miller closed the door, and it was like waiting for a bomb to explode and Fourth of July fireworks all rolled into one. Dread and anticipation.

  He’d given in. But she wasn’t stupid.

  Uncle Mitch had everything to do with her small victory. She’d been put off by their early meeting. Now she wasn’t so sure she should be. Obviously he’d smoothed things over for her.

  “Eight o’clock?” Protocol be damned.

  If he got mad, at least it would break the tension.

  “We had things to discuss. The man is my boss.” His gaze traveled the length of her body. “And now I’m yours.”

  In the face of that pronouncement Tabby pushed aside the unexplored feelings she’d struggled with all weekend. She didn’t know what to make of his car being in the BOQ parking lot Saturday morning. And had found herself thinking of the man all too often over the weekend.

  But today was different. She had to put on a facade with the uniform and wear a professional demeanor like the gold braid on her epaulets.

  Four weeks was a sorry compromise for what she wanted.

  But was better off not spending a year in the man’s company.

  “So, boss, where do I hang my hat?” she asked.

  His blue gaze darkened, then narrowed. “We need to set some boundaries, Lieutenant. A...TENNN...HUN!” He sounded off in what could only be described as a drill instructor’s bellow. Walls shook and windows rattled. “I called ATTENTION, Lieutenant.”

  Tabby was too Navy not to respond. She knew an order when she heard one. Like a caged predator with raw meat, he circled while she waited for him to tear into her, piece by piece.

  “Let’s go over the rules. You’re here for four weeks and four weeks only. While here you’ll follow Miller Regs to the letter, which includes any rule I make up on a whim. Rule number one.” He held up his index finger. “You’ll address me by rank in public, by name in private, and
by sir when I have you at attention. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir.” With him yelling just inches from her face how could it not be?

  “Rule number two.” Up popped his middle finger. “We wear our skirts three inches below the knee around here. And we’re not going to have this discussion again. Where does the uniform hemline fall, Lieutenant?”

  Tabby decided he was having too much fun. She’d like to see him in a skirt! “Three inches below the knee, sir.” Not according to Navy regs.

  She could think it. She just didn’t dare say it.

  “Lower the hemline. That’s an order! Rule number three.” His ring finger rose to the call. “There’ll be no fraternization while under my command. No SEALs, officer or enlisted. Past, present, or future.”

  Now he sounded like her father. She’d never date a married man, that was a given—and a court-martial offense. She couldn’t date the enlisted men. Though enlisted and officer marriages had been known to take place, and she didn’t think they met at the chapel door.

  Miller was way off-limits because he was her CO.

  But any other officer or civilian should be fair game! Hugh, for example. Or Alan.

  But she had news for the Commander, she didn’t want to date a Navy SEAL. She wanted to be one.

  She listened for any hint of his steps as he circled behind her. She felt his breath on her neck. Shivers raced the length of her spine.

  “Have I made myself clear?”

  You don’t have to win all the time, Chapel.

  “Yes, sir,” she said tightly, focusing on the paneled wall in front of her. A series of awards and pictures hung in neat patterns and she concentrated on those. Was that Miller shaking hands with the President? It looked like the top brass in Washington did know about this guy.

  “Four.” Pinkie. “When addressing a superior officer in the presence of another officer or officers, ask. Don’t demand. Even if he’s your godfather.”

  Ouch! She almost winced visibly at that one.

  “And five,” Thumb up. “Knock when entering my domain and I’ll give you the same courtesy.”

  He stood somewhere behind her. The silence went on so long she wondered whether he’d left the room.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “I knew it! Sooner or later you had to open your mouth.” Smugness underlined each word. “I should mention rule number six.” She couldn’t see if he held up another digit. “The man on top always gets the last word.”

  Damn! He’d tricked her!

  “In the line of duty I’ve gone hours, even days without speaking. Trainees learn to give me quiet or noise on demand. Let me hear the SEAL victory cry, Lieutenant.”

  “Hoo-yah, sir!”

  “Louder,” he demanded.

  “Yes, sir! Hoo-yah!”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  She answered every time. And still he wanted more. “Hoo-yah!” She croaked a hoarse response.

  “Hoo-yah!” he answered with a resounding bellow. And then he didn’t ask again.

  Breathing fast and shallow, she inhaled deeply to try and regain control.

  “Your jacket’s unbuttoned.” He stepped into her line of vision again and dropped his voice to a low rumble. “Permission to touch.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She met his request with direct eye contact. Satisfaction spread across his features, lighting his eyes and curving his mouth as she broke bearing. He’d meant to do that. Damn him.

  Shifting her gaze, Tabby concentrated on setting his mouth out of focus. The soft blur became an unwelcome reminder of how often since meeting the man she’d thought about kissing him.

  “Lieutenant,” he prompted.

  He had to ask. And he could only correct the problem. No more. To keep him from touching her all she had to say was permission denied.

  “Permission granted.”

  He reached for her gaping jacket and buttoned it. She sucked in her breath.

  “If your uniform’s too tight have it let out.” With a tug he smoothed the jacket over her skirt and dropped his hands away.

  Was he calling her fat? Indignation boiled her blood. All her uniforms were tailored to fit perfectly! Unbuttoning her jacket kept it from wrinkling when she sat down.

  Locking her knees, she held her back ramrod straight.

  He circled behind her again. “Unlock your knees. You’ll pass out.”

  Tabby bent them slightly only because he was right. The last thing she needed was to faint. As if he’d catch her.

  Chapter 7

  Marc positioned himself to catch Tabitha if she fell. Shouting took oxygen and locked knees cut off circulation. Not a good combination. Add a little sun and sweat, and he’d seen whole lines of trainees drop.

  He’d had his fun. Maybe too much. It was time to get on with the inspection and get her settled in. Strawberry blond hair brushed her collar well within regulation. For women, hair couldn’t fall below the collar.

  Different standards for different sexes.

  He didn’t have a problem with that. Women had their place in support, not in combat. The problem was women who changed the standards so they could fit the requirements.

  The problem was Tabitha Chapel.

  “Your hair’s below your collar,” he snapped. Why had he said that? She had beautiful hair. Now he’d be forced to make her cut it. Reaching up, he touched a strand. Just as soft as he’d imagined.

  She twisted out of his grasp. “I didn’t give you permission.” Moving past him to the couch, she picked up her briefcase.

  His hand stilled, midair. Feeling comical, he dropped it to his side.

  Hoo-yah. Big trouble, boy.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Lieutenant? You’re not dismissed.”

  She turned on him. “I won’t be harassed.”

  “It was an accident.” He fisted his hands at his sides.

  “Accidents are involuntary. I call it a mistake.” She held up her index finger. “You’re allowed one."

  “I guess you wouldn’t understand uncontrollable urges.” He couldn’t resist. But that was Friday. This was Monday, and a whole new set of rules.

  She stalked right up to him and dropped her hard-sided briefcase.

  It landed on his foot. He hopped backward, cursing under his breath.

  “Oops, sorry. That was an accident,” she said, retrieving the briefcase.

  She stared back with innocent eyes as he scowled at her.

  “You’re allowed one.” He hobbled to the door. “Preach, show the Lieutenant to her office.”

  He always had the last word and the last laugh.

  0959 Monday: Temporary Office of Lieutenant Chapel

  NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER,

  Coronado, CA

  He had to be kidding. It was little more than a storage closet with more shelves than space. A single window with grime thicker than the pane didn’t even allow in any light.

  One Navy issue haze-gray desk and one wobbly chair completed the inventory.

  Tabby tossed her hat to the desktop, then removed her jacket, before hanging it on the back of the partially opened door and rolling up her sleeves.

  She heard a light rap and turned to find Miller filling the frame with his attitude. Apparently he’d recovered from the briefcase incident.

  “Comfy?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.” She forced a demure smile.

  He surveyed the closet. “I see you’ve found the old videotapes.” He pointed to the shelves behind her.

  “And enough toilet paper for any emergency,” she mocked.

  He chuckled. “It’ll be nice having you around, Chapel.”

  For a moment she let herself believe he really meant it.

  Then he reached outside the door and produced a wastebasket. “Oh, I almost forgot...” He dumped a pile of papers on her desk while she stared dumbfounded.

  “What—”

  “The contents of my In box. If you want the i
nside scoop on SEALs you’ll get through that by Friday.”

  Tabby picked up the top sheet and skimmed the routine memo. “Some inside scoop.” She put it back on the heap.

  He left the room and reappeared a second later with a TV/VCR cart. “For the tapes.”

  His grin broadened and she knew he wasn’t through yet. He started unloading binder after binder from the cart’s bottom shelf. Ranging in size from one to three inches, they ended up in a teetering stack on her desk.

  “Memorize and comply. By Friday.” He pulled one off the top. “Start with this. It’s the SOP for training.”

  Miller Regs, she read, Standard Operating Procedures for SEAL training. If it covered hemlines, she’d bet the entry was new.

  The man was definitely getting on her nerves. How was she supposed to cope with four weeks of his condescending manner and keep her mouth shut in deference to his rank?

  Next he uncovered her buried phone system. “This button gets you Preach. This one my office. Training Officer. Classrooms by room number. SEAL barracks.” He went down the list. “Dial 0 for the base operator and 9 if you want an outside line. Any questions?”

  About a million that had nothing to do with this joke he called orientation. She shook her head. Let him have his fun. She had a job to do.

  “Good.”

  As she sat in the desk chair, she said, “Maybe just one—” The seat collapsed. The rollers slipped. And she flew backward, hitting her head on the shelf. She wound up with her heels in the air, while rolls of toilet paper fell on her in a final humiliation.

  “Are you all right?” Concern clouded his handsome features as he rushed over to help her up.

  Of course she wasn’t all right!

  He braced her forearm and pulled her up to a sitting position. She tugged down the hem of her skirt. From now on she wore pants.

  He ran his hand along the back of her head.

  She winced when he found the lump.

  “That’s a nasty bump. Let’s get you over to sick bay.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. Why didn’t he laugh so she could get mad? Instead he showed genuine concern. Reminding her he was a nice guy. And if he was any other man aside from her Commanding Officer, she’d might even welcome his touch.