by Lucy Ryder
They’d have been retrieving his body from the bottom of the gorge. And she’d have been dealing with yet another devastating loss.
Nate was bossy and annoying but she didn’t want to contemplate a world without him in it.
She was still stewing when Paige arrived, laden down with bags from a local supermarket. She let the other woman in and ignored her concerned frown as Paige headed for the kitchen and dropped the bags on the table.
“Why is your face red like you’re up to something illegal?” she demanded, placing her palm on Frankie’s forehead and checking her eyes. “Are you sick? Have you been taking your antibiotics? I hear you haven’t been to have your wounds checked.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said mildly, and folded her arms, propping her hip against the counter. “Your turn to babysit?”
Paige made a half-hearted scoffing sound. “Even if that were true—and it’s not, because you’re a grown woman—you need your battle wounds checked and I thought we could spend some girl time together.”
“So you’re not here to cook for me just to make sure I eat?”
Paige looked surprised for a moment before resuming her chore with a snort. “Right.” She chuckled. “Like I cook. But don’t worry, the doctor has just the thing for what ails you.”
“Wine?”
“And other stuff.” Paige beamed with delight. “We’re going to have ourselves a party.”
“What are we celebrating?”
The look Paige sent her was filled with censure. “Since when do we need a reason to drink wine, eat ice cream and watch chick flicks?”
*
Hours later, Frankie watched hockey on the sports channel while Paige slept, curled up on the sofa like she’d entered hibernation. They’d watched a rom com first, during which Frankie had sneered at the soppy moments, predicting exactly what would happen next and hooting with laughter at the clichéd dialogue.
At first Paige had tried to shush her but the plot had been so corny they’d ended up rewriting it in the most outrageous ways they could think of.
They’d made dinner and returned to watch an action adventure movie but Paige had soon fallen asleep. It was a movie Frankie had already seen so she’d switched over to sports.
The game had just gone into overtime when she heard a faint noise outside, followed by the clatter of a trash can falling over.
Grabbing her brother’s old baseball bat, Frankie padded to the front door and pressed her ear against the wood. Just when she thought the noise might have been one of the neighborhood raccoons, scavenging for an easy meal, she heard another thud, followed by soft cursing.
Whipping open the door, she stepped out and hefted the bat over her shoulder in a classic batter’s stance. “Make another move, buster,” she snarled, “and I’ll use your head for batting practice.”
Another curse had her tightening her grip and peering into the darkness as a large shadow materialized out of the night. Her pulse skipped a couple of beats and she swallowed a stupid girly squeak that would have mortified her if it had escaped.
Realizing that her neighborhood prowler was someone she knew, someone even more dangerous to her body and mind, Frankie demanded, “What are you doing sneaking around like a pervert?”
Nate lifted an arm to swipe at his face and it took only an instant to discover why. He was soaked, his uniform sticking to his skin like he was a hunky seal-a-meal.
Yum.
No, Frankie lectured herself silently, studying the man standing with one foot on the bottom step looking hotter than any man had a right to look in the middle of the night. Not yum, dummy. She was mad at him. Mad that kissing her and then seeing her naked had made him run away like she had a contagious disease.
“Run into any sprinklers while you were out playing covert ops in my garden?”
Nate made a rough sound of frustration in his throat and stomped up the stairs, his expression morphing from disgruntled to enquiring as he took in the baseball bat resting on her shoulder, her opposite hand resting on a canted hip.
“Expecting someone?”
“It’s how I greet unwelcome guests,” she replied smartly, sucking in a sharp breath when he came closer and the ambient light from inside illuminated his face. “What the heck, Nate?” she demanded, nudging him in his wide chest with the bat. “Have you been beating up the big boys at the Seafarers again?”
“Hey, careful with that,” he complained, smoothly grabbing the bat as though he expected her to use it. Not that she wasn’t tempted, but it looked like he’d just gone a couple of rounds with an LA street gang. “That was seventeen years ago and in case you haven’t noticed, I am one of the big boys.”
Of course she’d noticed. She’d have been an idiot not to see that he’d become a big badass boy. A name she’d called him—maybe—the other night in her drugged and weakened state.
She ran her gaze over him, telling herself that she wasn’t noticing how his soaked clothes clung to every inch of muscle, sinew and bone, every inch of awesome masculine perfection.
“All I’m seeing is an idiot dripping on my ma—” She stopped abruptly when she noticed a darker stain marring the wet fabric of his shirt. “Omigod, you’re…bleeding?”
He sighed and worked his jaw as though he was gritting his teeth. “It’s nothing.”
Nothing? Who was he kidding?
She sucked in a furious breath before saying tersely, “I’ll be the judge of that,” determined not to give him the satisfaction of falling apart like the silly heroine in the rom com she and Paige had watched earlier. But the awful truth was the sight of his blood instantly reminded her of how dangerous his job could be. Of how fragile human life really was. Of all the years worrying about him and Jack, only to have her worst fears confirmed with her brother’s death.
“Come in and take off your boots,” she ordered to cover her reaction. “I just cleaned.”
He winced and held his side as he bent to unlace one tactical boot. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”
“I was taking it easy,” she retorted, bending to brush his hands aside so she could unfasten his boots herself. “I only vacuumed.”
She watched as he toed the boots off and left them beside the door before he stepped inside.
“Paige here?” he asked.
“Why?” she demanded suspiciously, wondering if he’d come specifically so the doctor could fix him up. But, then, of course he had, she reminded herself irritably. And since he’d stayed away lately, she had to wonder if he’d been worried she’d get romantic ideas.
“Her car’s in the driveway. I was about to leave when I heard the trash can go over and decided to check it out.” He entered the kitchen and squinted in the bright light. “Since when do you open a door without first checking who it is?”
“Shh,” Frankie warned in a low tone. “Paige is sleeping. I was about to head off to bed when I heard you stumbling around like the three stooges after an all-night bender.”
“I’m too old for benders and I’ll have you know I’m an expert at moving among the enemy without them ever knowing I’ve been there.”
She didn’t want to think about him sneaking around enemy territory. It gave her nightmares and made her act badly.
“You’ve clearly lost your edge,” she snorted, ruthlessly suppressing a quiver when his eyes went dark. Dark in a look she knew all too well. Maybe hadn’t seen in a good long while, but still recognized—especially when his mouth curved into a sensual smile that had her knees wobbling and her belly doing the Highland fling on hot coals.
For years she’d watched him ensnare women of all ages with his dark good looks and bad-boy smile, but he’d never looked at her as anything but Jack Bryce’s little sister.
She swallowed. How the heck was she supposed to handle this older, hotter, brooding version of the boy she’d once adored? A man with sexy eyes and sexier mouth?
“Ya think?” he drawled dryly, but there w
as an edge to his voice that confused Frankie and she turned away before he saw exactly how he affected her. Limping to the refrigerator, she yanked it open, wondering if this was his way of keeping her off balance.
That it was working annoyed her no end.
“What are you doing here at this time of night looking like…?” She waved her hand at his face. “Like that?”
*
Nate had done a lot of crazy stuff in his lifetime, often—tonight, for instance—disregarding his own safety to protect others. But he’d never made a habit of visiting women where he wasn’t sure of his welcome.
He’d been with a lot of sophisticated, beautiful woman but when he’d looked up and seen Frankie standing on her porch, the light spilling over her body like she was a kickass heroine in an action movie, it had hit him right between the eyes.
Standing there with her legs spread for balance, a baseball bat gripped in one hand and resting on her shoulder, she’d made his world tilt on its axis. Her hair was wild and messy and as far as he could see there wasn’t a lick of makeup on her face. Her natural beauty was patently obvious.
It reminded him of exactly why he’d stayed away—because he wasn’t nearly as immune to her as he’d thought. But, then, he hadn’t meant to come here at all, fully intending to go home to a hot shower and bed.
Weary, he leaned against the counter and watched as she reached into the refrigerator to pull out a beer. He didn’t even want to think about the fact he was suddenly allowing himself to see her as the sexiest woman he’d ever met. She was annoying, reckless, contrary and could be downright belligerent when she wanted to be.
But she was also tall and curvy, every man’s living fantasy, even dressed in snug shorts, a baggy T-shirt and thick socks. She’d also piled her luxurious red-gold curls atop her head in a style that was both messy and incredibly appealing.
His hands itched to explore but before he could reach out and bury his fingers in the heavy mass, she turned and silently handed him the beer. With a look that was hard to read, she disappeared down the passage, leaving him to wonder if she’d seen where his gaze had been.
Not that he cared, Nate assured himself. He was a red-blooded male over thirty and could look where he wanted.
Except there, a voice in his head reminded him. There you’ll find only trouble.
But Nate ignored the voice and tried to decide what it was about her that kept throwing him off balance. She was all grown up, sure, and there was still that streak of recklessness…but she’d changed.
Or maybe…maybe his years in the SEALs—seeing and doing things ordinary people couldn’t imagine—had changed him. And perhaps that had changed the way he saw her. Maybe he was being kept off balance by the brief flashes he saw of that lively young girl in the very put-together woman she’d become.
Before he could ponder it further, she was back with her emergency medical kit, demanding “What?” when she caught his somber gaze.
He shook his head and the sensation of his world tilting on its axis faded. “I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else.” He paused, wondering how to mention the other big headache in his life. The video that made her look like a kickass superhero and him…well, not so much.
She put the backpack on the table and flashed him a wary look. Free of cosmetics, her skin was smooth and dewy and infinitely touchable.
“Tell me what?”
He lifted a hand to scratch his jaw, wondering why he was noticing her skin now. Deep down he knew, though. After that kiss…the taste, scent and feel of her skin had been burned into his mind and his senses.
Realizing what he was thinking, Nate lifted a hand to massage the band of tension tightening around his skull.
Get a grip.
“There’s a video clip online,” he growled, wondering what he’d thought he was doing when he’d found himself outside her house. He should have put his truck back in gear and got out of there. He should have listened to his gut, which had been screaming like a five-alarm fire. But, no. He’d had to go all super-soldier when he’d heard the trash can falling. As though he wanted to be the hero Frankie said she didn’t want or need.
She gave a short derisive laugh and for a horrifying moment he thought he’d voiced his thoughts out loud.
“What?”
Her gaze was mocking. “I’ve seen it, Nathan. Terri beat you to it.”
“How did you—Never mind.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck where his muscles bunched with tension and fatigue. “Just don’t answer any calls or talk to anyone. Publicity will handle it.”
She unzipped the emergency kit and began pulling out supplies. “I know you hid my phone,” she said, flashing him a look that dared him to deny it. “And swore everyone to silence.” She narrowed her gaze. “The question is why?”
Nate watched her toss a packet of alcohol swabs onto the table. He didn’t want to analyze his actions so he went with, “I didn’t hide it. I put it in rice because it was wet and forgot to tell you.” It was the truth. Just not the full truth, which was that he’d looked like a rookie who had needed saving.
Her snort conveyed her opinion of his lame explanation. “Are you sure it wasn’t because the big badass SEAL needed saving…by a girl?”
“Of course not.” He managed a chuckle, thinking that Frankie had always been too sharp and perceptive for her own good. “I think my ego and rep can handle that.” He broke off to yawn. “Besides, you needed the rest.”
“Looks like you should take your own advice.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Yeah, well.” He rubbed a hand over his face before murmuring, “Hard to get any rest when you’re boarding dark unmarked vessels carrying human cargo.”
Frankie stilled and her eyes widened. “You mean like…traffickers? Here? In Port St. John’s?”
Nate grunted and folded his arms across his chest, wincing at the pain radiating from where a bullet had grazed him. He’d been conducting night stealth training when they’d come across the battered vessel a little too close to the coast for comfort.
“We intended to surprise the crew, only to find illegals hoping to sneak into Canada via the islands.”
“Does MSRT handle that sort of thing?”
“If there’s a threat alert but we were already out on maneuvers and decided to check it out.” He ran his fingers through his hair, scattering water droplets in every direction.
Eyes searching, she gestured to his face. “Is that where you got on the wrong end of a fist, Commander I-Used-to-be-a-Badass-Navy-SEAL?”
His mouth twitched because a teasing Frankie was always hard to resist. “It’s Lieutenant Commander, as you well know. And I’m still a badass.”
She smirked but ignored the chastisement, asking instead, “Hungry?”
“You offering to cook me a meal, Red?”
She rolled her eyes and made a scoffing sound. “In your dreams. I only cook for people I like.”
He allowed a smile to tease the corner of his mouth and addressed the issue—or one of the issues—between them. “Is that why you told me the other night that you were glad I was home? Because you don’t like me? Or is it because I’m a sexy BAB?”
Wild color appeared beneath her creamy skin, making him want to touch it, see if it was as soft and warm as it looked. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she drawled ironically. “I was drugged out of my mind. Besides, I thought you were someone else.”
Nate just chuckled because he knew she was lying; knew she was embarrassed by the momentary vulnerability.
“There’s leftovers from dinner,” she continued after a hard stare. “Why don’t you ditch the wet clothes while I rummage around?”
“Did…did I hear you right?” he demanded, pretending to be shocked. “Did you just tell me to undress?” He waited until she lifted her gaze. “Trying to get me naked by offering to feed me, Francis?”
She rolled her eyes. “You forget I’ve seen you in swimwear, Nate,” she drawled
smoothly, and turned away, but he caught the deepening flush that rose up the back of her neck. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
He gave a soft snort and reached for his buttons, reminding himself that the reason he was removing his shirt was because he’d been wearing a wetsuit instead of tactical gear when he’d climbed aboard the unmarked vessel.
Immediately sensing something off, he’d reacted a split second before gunfire had erupted from the stern. He’d shoved the rookie with him aside but hadn’t managed to avoid the bullet himself. Fortunately, it had just grazed him but his fall over the trash can outside had reopened the wound and it had begun bleeding again.
“That was over a decade ago,” he said referring to her insult about his body. “Before I joined the SEALs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I saw you—” She went abruptly quiet, as though realizing what she’d been about to admit. “On second thoughts, you’re right.” She waved her hand, dipping her head to pretend interest in the medical supplies, which meant some red-gold curls slid across her rosy cheek to hide her expression.
Amused by her reaction, he said softly, “Been spying on me, Red?”
She stiffened, high color staining the edge of her cheekbones. He doubted many people got to see Francis Abigail Bryce blush. “Th-that’s…that’s ridiculous,” she spluttered in outrage. “It’s not spying if you’re strutting around half-naked in public for everyone to see.”
“Public?” His eyes narrowed in confusion that quickly cleared when he remembered catching her and Paige—along with half the female population of PSJ—hanging over the boardwalk railing, watching beach training and cheering them on a few weeks ago. “Oh, right.” He chuckled. “Beach training.”
“And it wasn’t you I was looking at, anyway. So don’t go getting a big head.” She swept a scornful gaze over his wet T, her expression changing to one of horror when she caught sight of the blood staining his shirt. “And, dammit, Nate, I thought you were done being a hero.”
“It’s my job, Francis. I was a little off my game, that’s all. Besides,” he continued impatiently, because the reason he’d been off his game was standing there looking sexy and annoyed. He never used to have problems focusing, but lately he’d been preoccupied. It scared him because if being in the teams had taught him one thing, it was that when a man allowed himself to be distracted people died.