Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5

by Hamilton, Sharon

  Back in her quarters, her roommate had just finished gluing green rhinestones on her cheekbones. The contortionist from China slipped on a bright, lime-green satin cape with blue and green imitation peacock feathers at the neckline. Her green slippers fit her delicate feet snugly.

  “Break a leg, Li.”

  “You too,” she said as she swished past Sophia.

  Sophia took out her red flower clip and placed it above her left ear. She removed the towel and closely examined her dress for any evidence of dinner and found none. She walked through another spritz of perfume, this time a lemon scent, recalling gleefully that it had made Roberto sneeze once.

  Showtime.

  A sullen, dark-eyed male dancer who had just joined the ship stared at her skimpy hemline and scowled. Three of them clung to the shadows as if shy about entering the dining hall. She recognized the guttural Arabic tones she’d become familiar with in Morocco, breaking through whispers at her back as she made her way down the wider hall to the staff elevators.

  A crowd surrounded Sophia and Roberto as she stretched back and away from the Brazilian dancer, her head flung back far enough to look in the opposite direction from his. When the music started, the frame of his arms and chest guided her, guiding her to bend and lean at his whim. She normally didn’t mind that she had to be so responsive to his touch, to his every direction, even the minute, subtle ones that warned her of a change in direction, a twirl or a tight, inside turn against his muscled torso. But she was more aware of the tightness in his pants than before, and he held her closer, his fingers again approaching areas that were off limits.

  She wasn’t allowed to show expression as they glided across the dance floor, entertaining an enraptured crowd anxious to imitate them. Flashes blinded her as they danced precariously close to the crowd of onlookers, as they sashayed between them, and Roberto turned her with the command from his first two fingers. Colors of the walls and overhead lights streaked and blended like melted glass. Voices echoed as if coming from a dream.

  At last the dance ended. As was their custom, he would bow to her and she would bend over her right leg in a graceful curtsey, but today Roberto held her longer, breathing in her scent, his nostrils flaring. She heard a low rumble deep in his throat, and then all of a sudden he released her and turned to acknowledge the crowd, which overflowed with applause and cheers. She held on to his two fingers as if tethered like a bird of prey, breathing hard and examining the edges of the room, looking for an escape.

  But she saw no escape as she examined the distorted faces of the rotund tourists in various stages of intoxication. Their wild eyes and knowing stares pulled at her skin, making her feel like a caged animal.

  The dance lesson itself was always led by Roberto. He’d demonstrate the correct posture and angle of the body, where the hands were placed, how she was to lean, where she was to look, how he was to give her the signal to do his bidding. She stoically demonstrated everything he explained, avoiding eye contact. A couple of times he dropped their stance and he shook her arms to loosen them up, asking her in a low, purring tone not be so tense. The more he begged her to relax the more the hair at the back of her neck stood on end. She even managed to take a ‘horrible misstep,’ which she never did, and land hard on top of his right foot.

  Roberto examined her, peering down from his six-foot frame in what could only be called a sneer. She remained committed to showing no emotion. No smile, no flashing eyes, and no sad lift of the eyebrows. She thought of herself as a porcelain doll on display.

  And then she saw Mark. He was leaning against one of the shiny columns in a pair of faded blue jeans, canvas slip-ons and a light blue long-sleeved V-necked T-shirt. It wasn’t fair that he could to stand there and stare at her, those blue eyes traveling all over her, challenging her to concentrate on the dance while knowing she was affected by his gaze. She made a point to avoid looking directly at him, but watched him from the corner of her eye so Roberto wouldn’t catch on.

  But it was no use. Minutes after noticing the American who watched them dance, Roberto swung them very close, almost brushing against Mark’s chest and nearly causing them to collide with several older dancers as he whirled her around in his powerful arms. Roberto’s cheeks tightened as tiny lights in his dark eyes looked excited, but menacing. Fear crested up from her waist and scattered over her shoulders and arms, dissipating into the air above the dance floor.

  The end of the music couldn’t come too soon. She floated to the side of her Brazilian partner, free from the grip of his fingers on hers, and felt like a piece of wrapping paper flung to the side by an impatient gift recipient. Until he grabbed her fingers, yanking them down, cracking one of her knuckles. Of course he wouldn’t look at her, but he let her know most emphatically that he was royally pissed, and, she would have to say, possibly violent.

  But she wouldn’t let him see he had hurt her. It would only add to his pleasure in the debasement she’d experienced at his hand. Her eyes fluttered with demure elegance she’d seen Li manage after a bad fall from the ropes during her routine. Like the brave smile her mother always gave her when they talked about her American father, the husband she missed now more than ever.

  The pain radiated down her wrist as Roberto curled back her entire hand, spun around quickly to the rapt applause from the audience who oblivious to what he’d just done. The smile plastered on his face was downright evil.

  Tears streamed down her face as the pain began to get unbearable, and her arm got limp. Perhaps if she fainted, she thought, then he’d stop. But it would be just her luck, the Brazilian monster would carry her off to his room and do unmentionable things to her.

  Does Matheus know about this, his best friend, and how he treats his fiancé?

  The answer both puzzled and worried her. Surely he must know what Roberto was capable of? And if that were so, why would Matheus trust him to be on the cruise with her?

  Roberto gave her a brief gloat just before he released her hand with a devilish grin and a flourish, extending his arm straight up into the air. She was going to say something when a hulking body pushed between her and her dance partner.

  “Find someone else to torture, you son of a bitch,” Mark said, pushing her behind him.

  For a brief second everything was hushed, quiet. Even the music stopped. Sophia knew Mark was leaving it up to Roberto decided how far he wanted to escalate things, and she could read in the American’s clenched jawline that he’d take it all the way if he needed to. The man was fully engaged.

  Roberto was a smart man, she thought. He took a couple of steps back and bowed ever so slightly to Mark who now had completely blocked her from Roberto’s reach.

  “She’s my partner,” Roberto hissed, but kept it low, just between the two of them.

  “Not any longer. She quit,” Mark said without checking with her. Sophia wasn’t sure that was wise. “For now. Perhaps you can get yourself a French hen or a German polka dancer to abuse. But she’s done for the evening.” Mark stepped toward the Brazilian to emphasize the point.

  Sophia looked down at her wrist, which was now getting black and blue. He had hurt her far more than she realized at the time. She hid it behind her back and was glad she had, since Mark grabbed her other wrist and led her off the dance floor. Behind her she heard Roberto instruct the crowd about what they’d just witnessed, trying to put them at ease.

  “You see, ladies and gentlemen,” he almost shouted. “Dancing the Tango requires passion. The dance floor is a stage where love is explored in all its extremes.”

  That seemed to satisfy the masses.

  As Mark whisked her away from the crowds, she dared to ask the question, “Where are you taking me, Mark?”

  “As far away from that bastard as possible.”

  “Mark, it is my job.”

  “No, it isn’t your job,” he said without looking at her. His cheekbones had tightened. He looked almost sick. “You don’t have to put up with that.”

  H
e stopped abruptly, faced her, and for the first time looked in her eyes.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Her tears still trickled down her cheeks. She couldn’t answer him, keeping her wrist safely behind her back.

  “Show me, Sophia. Show me what he did to you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Show me,” he demanded. He wasn’t smiling. Then, as if checking himself, suddenly softened. “I want to see your hand, please, Sophia.” His palms gripped her cheeks as he drew her head to his face and touched her lips with his.

  She tried to wrestle free, since it was forbidden. She didn’t want to get fired.

  “I can’t. I can’t be seen with you, Mark. I’ll lose my job.”

  “Then take me some place where no one else is, or, so help me God, I’ll drag you to my cabin.”

  Chapter 11

  ‡

  Mark was breathing hard. She’d insisted he follow her, but at a distance, so it wouldn’t appear he was pursuing her. Hell, yes, he was running after her. He never wanted to let her go. His protective nature had swelled to unrealistic proportions, and they could both get in trouble, but he would make sure she was safe, and then sort out the consequences later. So, if she said follow behind, some twenty feet behind, he’d do just that. He knew how to follow orders.

  She almost disappeared down the stairwell by the elevators. He raced to catch up with her and spotted her rounding the corner to the left and down another corridor, past the internet station, past the chapel, to a meeting room of some kind set up with tables in rows facing a small lectern.

  No one else was in the room, so he slowed down, expecting her to take up a chair, but she passed the lectern and exited a doorway onto a deck at lifeboat level. He checked the handle before he let the metal door close behind him to make sure they didn’t get locked out. The gray-painted surface of the deck felt spongy beneath his feet. It was eerie to see the ocean pouring past them sideways, while they were lulled by the rumble and noise of the huge ship’s engines. Looking right and then left, he reassured himself that they were completely alone.

  She was still looking to the sides, making sure no one could see them, when he grabbed her arm at the elbow and urgently pulled her to his chest. It became the most important thing of his life, holding her in his arms again. And she struggled at first.

  “Don’t fight it, Sophia. Let me hold you. Please. Let me hold you,” he’d whispered. He hoped his voice was soft enough to calm her down.

  She hesitated at the request, and he knew she had caved but didn’t want to show it. Her little body was shaking like a leaf. Her backbone was rigid, until he put his hand at the top of her spine and massaged her neck. Then he felt her melt into him and even bring her arms up around him, her hands smoothing over his back. There was no mistaking her need.

  He let her rest her cheek against his chest. Wanted her to feel the beat of his heart, how she excited him, how he needed her close to him, how he needed to protect her from the whole world if need be. He prayed that was the message he was giving her. He was careful not to make it sexual, in case she couldn’t go as far as he wished they could go.

  Until he heard her little moan as she squeezed her chest against his, her hands coming around to the front of him and reaching up to his neck, and then his face.

  What he saw when he leaned back and scanned her pretty face surprised him. She had tears running down her cheeks, her makeup was smeared, the dark eyeliner and shimmering eye makeup migrating down from her eyes and over her cheeks. His thumbs removed her tears.

  “Shhh. You’re safe, Sophia. You’re safe, sweetheart.”

  He expected her to feel reassured, but instead another flood of tears filled her eyes, and that’s when he realized she was confused and in a lot of emotional pain, if not physical pain.

  “Show me where he hurt you,” he said as he kissed her wrists one at a time. He felt the angry warmth of her bruise as he kissed the injured wrist and hand. He held it gently between his palms. Without him needing to pull her, she leaned against him and watched as he ministered to her injury, her eyes spilling over, as if his kisses would heal her. He even started to believe it too.

  “So sorry, baby,” he said, looking at her mouth, hungering for the touch of those lips.

  Her eyes also studied his mouth as he slowly crossed the threshold and closed the distance between them. His tongue ran along the seam between her lips, and she opened to him with a little moan. The fire in his belly ignited something more than lust. No question he wanted her, but it was more than that.

  He nibbled at her mouth, careful not to go too deep or too far, but she pulled his head closer and sank her tongue deep into his mouth. Her legs parted and he could feel her pubic bone rub against the hardness of his erection.

  The conversation they’d had in the little abandoned bar came flooding back. Was this the itch that she wanted scratched? Or was this something else?

  For him, he wanted to soothe her, protect her, show her how he felt about her, and give her some sense of how she’d made him feel for that stolen afternoon in Savona. It was important he show her with his body that it wasn’t just sex. He wanted to give her more than just his sperm, he wanted to give her the tenderest part of him, whatever that was.

  It didn’t seem right to just go full tilt into each other’s arms without something being said, without something being understood fully. Mark knew his intensity scared away most women. He had the control to hold back if she wasn’t ready for what he could give. But just what did she want? His body? His protection? The safe haven of his arms? Or was it something else?

  And then he started to have those doubts again. Was he good enough? Was she just interested in his body, or something else?

  What the fuck are you doing, Mark?

  Something made him stop. He carefully peeled her arms from his neck, placing his forehead against hers. He kissed her injured wrist again, her palms, and her fingers, and noticed she was not wearing an engagement ring.

  That set off all the bells and whistles, all the questions he knew he had to ask before he’d get nekked with this beautiful woman. She smelled fresh and lemony. Her breathing was intoxicating. Each time her chest heaved, he felt the delicious soft pressure of her breasts against his pecs.

  He was going to let her set the pace. No way was he going to take advantage of her, even if he thought that’s what she wanted.

  “You want to talk?” she whispered.

  He nodded, still pressing his forehead against hers.

  “I’m not even sure what’s going on, Mark.”

  Well then, all the more reason to talk, sweetheart. “So we talk, Sophia, until you can tell me what’s going on,” he said. He tucked errant strands of her curly hair around her ear. He kissed her there, let her hear the hitch in his breathing. “I think I can handle anything you tell me, Sophia.”

  She relaxed a bit at that.

  They heard some scuffling at the end of the deck and saw two white-clad cooks step outside a doorway to have a smoke. They didn’t expect to see anyone else on deck and so hadn’t looked, engrossed in their Italian conversation.

  She urgently found his hands and pulled him toward one of the large, orange lifeboats. She unsnapped the thick plastic covering on the doorway and slipped inside. He followed.

  The boat was big enough for about thirty people, with bench seats, life vests and equipment hanging from secured clamps along the walls. Several large boxes were labeled with various kinds of safety supplies. The seats were covered in orange vinyl cushions.

  Checking to see what was visible from the deck, she brought him to a private corner diagonal from the doorway. When she reached the shadows, she sat and pulled him down next to her.

  She kept hold of his right hand, smoothing fingers over his arm. She stroked the frog print tat that peeked out from under his sleeve.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she held it a bit before releasing it, like she was resigned to revealing something. He wasn’t sure he
was going to like what she said, but there was no way he was going to go anywhere with her until he got some answers. He rubbed her fourth finger with his and looked into her eyes. He didn’t have to ask her why she wasn’t wearing the ring. He could see she was thinking about it as he rubbed her there, as she studied him with that liquid gaze that he’d lost himself in that afternoon as the sun was setting. For just a second he felt like he was back there, in her tiny apartment, drinking water and feeling the wonder of her hot and sweaty sheets full of the smells of her body mixed with his own.

  He could see she was struggling.

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” He put his arm around her shoulders and held her safely, secretly loving the feel of her hair against the underside of his chin, against his neck. He held himself gently against her shaking body. God, how he wished he could turn all her pent-up emotion into passion. He knew he could love her until she shattered beneath him and set them both free.

  “I’m confused,” she whispered.

  “No crime in that.”

  “I thought I’d feel different.”

  “Um hum,” He wasn’t going to touch that one. His thumb rubbed against her shoulder in a lazy figure eight pattern. He worked to bring his breathing in line with hers, in tandem.

  “I love him.”

  “That asshole upstairs?” Mark asked chuckling softly. He knew the answer, but was trying to make light.

  “No. Roberto is Matheus’s best friend.”

  “Some best friend. I’d kill someone who treated my woman like that.”

  She jerked at this comment. He’d hit a nerve.

  Good to know.

  “It bothers me too.”

  “It should. No offense, but, Sophia, how well do you really know your fiancé? I mean, if this is his best friend, what are his lesser friends like?”