Wet N Wild Navy SEALs

by Tawny Weber

  “You need help with your social skills,” he said agreeably.

  “I don’t need help. Period. What do you want?” She grabbed her towel and draped it around her neck. The towel had been Will’s. It was plain gray and had bleach stains along the edges from the one and only time he’d been allowed near their washing machine.

  “To talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest. How unfair was it that he hadn’t even broken a sweat?

  Of course he wanted to talk. He’d want to know how she was feeling. He’d offer to be the shoulder she cried on or the loaner guy she called when she needed a free handyman. He’d change lightbulbs, move furniture, drive her from point A to point B. It was all so nice. Thoughtful. Blah fucking blah. What she felt was mean, and the sooner he—and everyone else in Strong—accepted that, the better.

  It somehow seemed even worse because, once upon a time, she and Kade had talked marriage and living happily ever after together. Granted, they’d been young and stupid, and he’d hotfooted it out of Strong and into the military when she’d passed on his less-than-romantic proposal (hello, broken condom and teenage guilt), but she didn’t need him to be her pretend husband now.

  “Class is over,” she said. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “Is that the best you can do?”

  Not at all. She was still holding back, giving him a chance to retreat. She wasn’t a nice person to be around now, and he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing. See? She gave him credit for that.

  “Out,” she repeated and pointed. “I need to lock up.”

  He nodded and headed for the door. Unfortunately, he also held it for her so she couldn’t barricade herself inside. Damn him for being a gentleman.

  “What’s with the manners?” She hated the way he made her feel off-kilter.

  “I’m a polite guy,” he said mildly. “But I can let the door smack you if that’s your preference.”

  “I’d prefer to be left alone.”

  He jiggled the door. “If wishes were horses.”

  She snorted before she could stop herself. It wasn’t funny, but God was it true. “I’d have a horse farm.”

  “Yeah.” Reaching out, she poked him in the stomach. Hard.

  Darn. The reason why he’d smoked them all in the abs workout was obvious. The man was ripped. The warmth of his chest penetrated her palm through his T-shirt, tempting her to curl up against him and bask.

  No basking.

  His current position left her pinned between the door and his body. She could retreat back into the studio, but she wasn’t giving anything else up. Losing Will had been enough. She’d paid her karmic dues there and now the universe owed her a free pass for the next fifty years or so.

  “Move it, soldier.”

  He looked down and his fingers closed around hers. How could his hands possibly seem bigger and rougher than they had in high school? Sexier too, her libido sighed happily.

  He raised an eyebrow. She’d always hated that move because it was usually followed by an explanation of why she was wrong—and he was right. “Manhandling me?”

  “Is that what you want?” she snapped.

  “You have no idea what I want.”

  “Try me,” she suggested and then wished she could take it back, realizing how it sounded.

  The look in his eyes was unexpected but recognizable, part heat and part curiosity. Apparently her US Navy SEAL did see her as something more than a baby incubator he needed to watch out for. She probably should have felt shocked or horrified in her widowhood, but instead she was unexpectedly flattered. And more than a little bit intrigued. Apparently, she was as bad at widowhood as she’d been at marriage.

  She missed Will on so many levels, but the casual things were the hardest. Things like Will pausing behind her chair to rub her shoulders, the bump of his hip against hers as they loaded up the cart at the grocery, turning over in bed and brushing against him.

  And that wasn’t even sex. She missed the sex too, although God knew her sex life with Will had been anything but exotic. However, the pregnancy gods had decreed she turn into one of those pregnant women who wanted sex all the time, her hormones rampaging gleefully, lustfully out of control despite the unavoidable fact that she was alone.

  She didn’t like where her hormones were taking her though, so she reverted back to bitch mode. “Nice,” she said. “Hitting on the widow.”

  Ooh. That got a reaction out of him. His firm mouth tightened further—shockingly, she wondered what he would do if she traced her tongue over that hard line—and the warm light disappeared from his eyes.

  “Come check out the house.”

  She shook her head. “Not happening.”

  “Reconsider.” He gave her that tight-lipped smile that wasn’t a smile. It was all too easy to imagine him moving through the streets of some dangerous Afghani city, clearing buildings with a submachine gun.

  She pretended to think for a moment. “Nope. I’m good, and I’m going home.”

  “You have a perfectly good new home on the lot you and Will bought.” Now he sounded frustrated. Good. That made two of them.

  “I like where I am.”

  They went a couple more rounds, arguing about whether or not she should pack up and move to Will’s dream house. Or rather, she argued while he stood there like an immovable human wall. The new house was supposed to have been part of their do-over future, a fresh start for a future that wasn’t happening now. All of her memories, all of her life with Will, had taken place in the small, run-down rental cottage. No matter how gorgeous the new house was, it was empty of memories and memories were all she had.

  Eventually she gave up arguing and walked forward, betting he was enough of a gentleman to not let her pregnant belly slam into him.

  Score one for her. Kade moved aside to let her pass.

  “Got you,” she said, deliberately brushing him as she took her victory walk.

  His grin was downright evil. “I’ve prepaid. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Unfortunately, her girl parts either thought the grin was a good look for him or were thrilled he was coming back for more.

  Damn it.

  Chapter 2

  Kade’s second attempt at cardio barre was slightly more successful than the first. He waved his arms, he mostly kept up with the group, and the number of covert smiles decreased. His knee had reacted badly to yesterday’s class, locking up and refusing to bend until early this morning. This time would be better.

  “You need to stop bugging me,” Abbie declared after class as she swiped her water bottle from the floor. She wore another one of her curve-hugging, drive-Kade-crazy workout outfits, a hot-pink leotard with a black exercise top made out of little straps that crisscrossed her shoulders and her breasts. He had no idea how she got it on—or off. Finding out was quickly becoming a favorite fantasy of his.

  Bugging her, however, didn’t top his to-do list. Running his hands down the sweet, straight line of her spine, cupping her ass, and pulling her up against him? Yeah. That was on the list. Kissing her made his personal top ten as well, and he had even more ideas about where he could put his mouth. Her ear, her throat, the sun-kissed curve of her breasts. Lower. Yeah, definitely lower.

  “You need to listen to me,” he countered. Nice wouldn’t help her, he reminded himself. She already had an overdose of that from Strong’s well-intentioned but suffocating residents. He’d volunteered to give her a mental kick in the butt, and he needed to stay on task. Given their personal history, that shouldn’t be difficult to accomplish. After all, he’d routinely pissed her off while they’d been dating, and that had been without even trying.

  She gave him a look that expressed her disbelief all too clearly. “You’re not making your case.”

  “Your house is ready for you and Baby.” He eyed her stomach. “Once we paint the walls, you can move in. Have you picked out names yet?”

  “No,” she bit out.


  The ensuing pause warned him she wasn’t going there. So fine. She’d pick a name or she wouldn’t, but naming junior was a future problem, and he needed to focus on today. He’d checked out her rental cottage—from the outside and with a couple of the other smoke jumpers—while she’d been teaching her afternoon dance class, and he didn’t like thinking about her alone in that place. The roof had a green carpet of moss around the edges, and the front porch sagged, presenting a tripping hazard. If Will hadn’t been dead, Kade would have kicked his ass for letting Abbie live in a run-down dump like that. She didn’t need a broken ankle to go with all the other party favors life had handed her.

  “The new house is better,” he announced.

  “Why is it better?” She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him as if he was supposed to have a list of reasons to feed her. He was no fucking Realtor. He didn’t know how to sell her on the house, but something about her eyes got to him, like the angry sheen of wetness he saw there was because, just maybe, the ice she’d encased herself in had melted a little. Like he was getting through to her. She didn’t have to do this by herself. She wasn’t alone. She had friends who had her back, and only an idiot would throw that away. Fuck. Now he felt like a self-help book, which was an entirely new—and unwelcome—sensation.

  “Waiting here,” she snapped when the silence dragged on as he wrestled with the unexpected need to analyze his feelings. And hers. “Or is your silence your concession speech? Because I can totally work with that.”

  Funny how there could be all those years between now and the last time he’d seen her and he recognized the tone of her voice. He’d screwed up, and she’d decided to take it upon herself to point out his shortcomings. Familiar territory. He’d grown up since then, and she didn’t get to be always right anymore.

  “Do you even know how to be nice?”

  Her lips moved silently, like maybe she was counting to ten. “I don’t want to be nice.”

  He got that. He wasn’t particularly nice himself, although he was making an effort for Katie. He preferred a good fight, a few fists flying to clear the air. But from everything he’d heard about Abbie and from what he remembered from their high school days, she wasn’t that kind of person. She didn’t lash out or yell—just sniped with lethal accuracy—but right now she was hurting, and part of her needed everyone else to hurt, too.

  “You don’t have to be nice with me,” he said, meaning it. “You just have to pick out paint colors.”

  “And move.” She sighed. “I half expect to wake up one morning and find that you all have carted me over to the new house in my bed.”

  “Would it work?” Because he could make it happen.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “No one says you can’t. We just want to help.” He grabbed her hand and shoved a few carefully chosen paint swatches into her palm. “Take a look at these.”

  Instead of eyeballing his color choices, however, she looked at him instead. “How come you want to help? No. Don’t answer that. I can guess. Katie asked you. Laura Jo nagged you.”

  “You look tired.” Admitting she was right wouldn’t help his cause.

  She gave him a look. “I have five months’ worth of Baby kicking me at night, my back aches, and I already have to pee every twenty minutes. By the end of my last trimester, I’m going to be living in my bathroom.”

  “So you definitely have a vested interest in paint colors.” He pulled her toward him, and to his surprise, she let him. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, although she maintained more than a few inches of space between them. Her belly brushed against him, the small Will-junior-in-progress mound warm and hard. He inhaled, getting a whiff of mint and rosemary. Maybe it was her shampoo, although in high school she’d smelled like strawberry-scented Suave. He didn’t know, but he liked the new Abbie too. Since she’d said her back hurt, he placed his hand against the base of her spine and rubbed.

  She moaned, arching into his touch. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Neither do you,” he pointed out. She was cranky and mean with a side of surly. He actually found it cute—and relaxing. He didn’t have to worry about what came out of his mouth around her because she’d roll with the punches. They’d already gotten the relationship stuff—and the sex—out of the way years ago, so now they could just be friends. Or he could be her punching bag. Whatever she needed. He was big enough to take the hits, and she definitely needed something—someone—even if she wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t need to be Dr. Phil to know that.

  She looked down at the swatches. “You’d really paint a house that color?”

  Keeping one arm around her waist, he took them from her and held the chips up. The samples looked even worse in the sunlight pouring through the studio’s windows. The color on top was a cross between pea green and olive khaki. It had taken twenty minutes of scouring the paint racks at Home Depot to find a color that butt ugly. Shockingly, most people preferred tasteful colors in their homes. Except for kids’ nurseries. Those things looked like a rainbow that had eaten a bad mushroom.

  He grinned down at her, knowing he had her hooked. Finally. “You pick the colors—or I pick the colors. Uncle Sam gave me a knapsack this shade, so I’m feeling sentimental.”

  She hesitated and stepped away from him, which was a disappointment because he’d liked holding her.

  “I’ll even give you a ride,” he said, and then, to his shock, she nodded. Not particularly graciously or even with a smile, but imagine that. Miss Pissy had actually agreed with him, and the world hadn’t come to an end. Since even he knew he shouldn’t push his luck, he settled for shutting his mouth and leading the way to his truck.

  Will had wanted to build their house somewhere where they had space, which meant they’d chosen a lot well outside Strong. It took almost twenty minutes to reach the turnoff and then another ten to make it down the unpaved access road. The place had a distinct lack of UPS services, but it was on the banks of a river and offered nothing but space. With no other houses for miles, their land had a straight-up, awesome view of the mountains and forest. Will had already been planning weekend fishing trips with Baby and checking out junior fishing rods online.

  Kade was an excellent driver, and if Abbie had to have a companion, he’d do. He didn’t talk, which she appreciated. As soon as he’d gotten her settled into the front seat—because apparently he thought pregnant was synonymous with fragile—he flipped on the radio and let Eric Paslay do the talking for both of them. Or maybe he still felt awkward over their high school breakup all those years ago.

  Honestly, with Kade she’d never known where she stood. He didn’t talk much—just stomped around, shooting heated looks from those gorgeous eyes of his. Whatever. He’d wanted her in his truck, wanted her to pick paint colors, and—surprise, surprise—he’d gotten his way. Kade had always been good at that, which was one of the many reasons she’d broken up with him.

  The new house was from one of those Sunset Magazine build-your-own-house kits. Maybe it was a guy thing. Start with birdhouses and model cars. Graduate to twelve hundred square feet of modern contemporary. She’d been excited about a second bathroom and a soaking tub. Will had been excited about the front porch and building a barbecue island in the backyard that could hold hot dogs for two hundred people. She couldn’t imagine living here without him or trying to raise a baby on her own here.

  So what if she could barely afford the rent and her friends thought she was crazy to hang onto a rental bungalow? It was teeny—Will had claimed his feet hung out into the living room when he got into their bed—and had more cold water than hot. But it had been their place, and it always would be, right up until the day she gave it up. Which would be precisely never or, alternatively, when hell froze over.

  Kade pulled up in front of the porch of the new house. Someone had poured gravel, creating a welcoming semicircle and a walkway to the front door. Bringing in things like the
groceries would be easy, and she’d always be able to see who was visiting.

  If she ever lived here. Again, so not happening.

  “Home sweet home,” he announced, understandably oblivious to the running commentary in her head. He never had been good at figuring out what she’d been feeling, although she had to give him points for asking regularly. Obviously, he’d believed knowing was mission critical.

  “Is making me come out here Katie’s idea?”

  Because she found it hard to believe he was here because he still felt anything for her beside the kind of mild curiosity you felt when you ran into someone you’d known years ago. Or maybe he had a death wish. God knew she’d have killed Kade by now if she’d accepted the unromantic proposal he’d blurted out their senior year of high school when he’d pulled out and discovered the condom had broken. She’d wanted to be more than a responsibility he felt the need to own up to, so she’d shot him down. After that, their relationship had been all downhill until they broke up, rather like the condom.

  “My being here has nothing to do with Katie.” He jumped down and came around, but she was already out. She didn’t need a hand, and she definitely didn’t need someone to open her door for her.

  “I’ve got this,” she said. “And it is Katie that put you up to torturing me, isn’t it?”

  He’d always gotten really still when he lied to her—not that he’d done all that much lying when they’d been seeing each other, but there had been moments, like when she’d asked him if he wanted to have Thanksgiving at her house or see a chick flick—and he hadn’t shaken that tell entirely. He’d been conscripted into the drag-Abbie-out-to-her-new-house army—he hadn’t enlisted voluntarily.

  “Katie and I are friends,” he said easily, walking around to the truck bed to grab a few things.