SEALs of Summer: Military Romance Superbundle - Navy SEAL Style

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Yes?” Mason looked surprised. She had a feeling he’d been about to launch into a series of well-thought-out arguments. “You mean it?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” What else could she say? Mason was right—sometimes you couldn’t play it safe. Sometimes you had to take what life offered you or risk losing the chance at happiness forever. She couldn’t let Mason walk out her door given the way she felt about him. She could either go with him or stay home with her broken heart. She decided to take the risk.

  Mason whooped and gathered her into his arms, pulling her right onto his lap. “You won’t regret it. I swear.” He kissed her until her body thrummed with desire, until she found herself leaning into him, wanting to be closer. “Name your ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?” Regan repeated, too dazed by the kiss to think straight at the moment. Mason was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. Smart. Strong. And the best kisser she’d ever met.

  “It isn’t like I picked you up at a bar,” Mason said. “Let’s not play games. You know I’m looking for a wife. If you come to Montana with me, it will be to decide if you want me to be your husband. I don’t want to blow this by stepping over the lines. So tell me straight out.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Where is the line? Can I kiss you? Can I do more than that?”

  She wanted him to do more than that, but she tried to focus on what he was really asking. She appreciated that he cared about her enough to want to be clear. At the same time she wished he would just lay her down and make love to her right now. She wanted to be naked with Mason.

  “For now, just kissing,” she said. “We don’t make love until we’re really sure about us. And—” She broke off, afraid to say the next part.

  “And?”

  “And I have to be back here by May twenty-sixth.”

  “That’s three and a half weeks.”

  “That’s non-negotiable.” She used the tone she took at the bank with unruly customers.

  Mason groaned but didn’t argue. Instead, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close for another soul-searching kiss. His mouth plundered hers until her entire body blazed with unmet wants. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted to undo the buttons of his shirt and explore more of him, but she knew all too well that once they started down that path there would be no stopping.

  She leaned forward to press her breasts against his chest, aching for him to touch them, but he kept his hands resolutely on her waist. A few minutes later, he angled around to lie back on the bed with her on top of him, but despite their intimate position, all they did was make out.

  His stubble pricked her and she ran her hands along his jaw, delighting in the feel of it. It was so male, so… him. He was here, she realized all over again. Here, with her.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I’m happy.”

  “So am I.”

  Chapter Twelve

  ‡

  Mason didn’t think he’d ever had such a glorious and simultaneously frustrating night since he took Carrie Fontaine to the eighth grade dance. Nor had he spent so much time making out with a woman since that era, either, especially without taking things further. He’d been so hard through most of it that he’d ached and his hands itched to touch all the places on her body she’d labelled off-limits. He knew Regan was trying to act more responsibly than a teenager, but he would have gladly shucked off their clothes, gone for it and dealt with the consequences later. He’d booked their flights before they went to bed. After they’d talked and kissed for hours, they’d finally slept, but Mason didn’t feel rested.

  “Tell me more about the ranch.” Regan broke into his thoughts. Soon they needed to get up and get packing. For now he relished this time beside her in bed. They’d remained clothed—him in his boxers, Regan in a soft T-shirt and panties—but he’d woken to find her curled against him. He couldn’t believe how right it felt.

  “I don’t want to lie to you. Things are pretty rough there. My uncle owned the ranch for a decade before he died and a few years into it, he kind of gave up. Without my father’s help, it was too much for him to handle alone and his son never wanted any part of ranching. The house is in bad shape. We’ll need to fix some of the shingles and windows at the very least. It needs a coat of paint, too. I have no idea what we’ll find inside. I guess if I was smart I’d have gone there first and come back to get you.”

  “I like that you wanted to see me so badly you came to New York first.”

  “That’s exactly how it was.” He wanted to put a hand on her hip, run it down her thigh. He held back.

  “You know, I don’t mind the idea of fixing up an old house. It sounds kind of fun.”

  “Really? Or are you just trying to humor me?”

  “No, really. The Hall certainly is beautiful. I just hope it’s not too far gone to save.”

  “It shouldn’t be that bad.” Mason hoped that was true.

  “Are there already cattle on the ranch?”

  “No, we’ll have to start from scratch.”

  “What about chickens?”

  “Would you like chickens?”

  “Well, don’t get them just for me,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll stay. But I’ve always liked the idea of chickens.”

  “We’ll definitely have chickens,” Mason assured her, making a mental note to repair the coop as soon as possible. They’d always had chickens when he was growing up, but that was a long time ago. Still, baby chicks were just the sort of thing to warm a woman’s heart. That and a well-mannered horse to ride.

  *

  Regan wasn’t thinking about chickens. She was thinking about Mason. Here in her bed. His chest was all she could have hoped it to be. Broad, muscled. And his abs… Definitely lickable. She touched them tentatively.

  Mason’s mouth quirked into a smile. “That’s allowed.”

  “Is it?”

  He covered her hand with his and brought it up to press her palm against his heart. She could feel it beating in his chest. Strong. Steady.

  Like him. In the time they’d been together, she’d discovered that about him. He had a sense of humor. He was smart. But mostly he was rock solid—in his physique and in his personality.

  He bent to kiss her and she melted against him, loving the press of his mouth on hers. When he gathered her into his arms she felt small and sexy. Her thin T-shirt barely shielded her from his touch. She wanted him to touch her all over.

  “I like you, Regan Anderson. I like you a lot.”

  “I like you, too.” She kissed him again.

  A few minutes later they pulled away from each other and agreed it was time to get up. This was what torture felt like, Regan told herself as she showered. But when she was done and began to pack her bags, excitement overwhelmed her. She’d have nearly a month to spend with Mason and make up her mind about him. All those days.

  And all those nights.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‡

  Later that afternoon, Mason fought back a wave of anticipation as he drove Regan from the airport through Chance Creek to swing by Great Aunt Heloise’s assisted living facility on the northern edge of town. He’d rented a truck until he found one to buy, and as he drove he was gratified to see all the familiar landmarks of home. It hit him that this was all really happening. His military service was over and a whole new era of his life was opening up before him. He kept waiting for the depression his counselor had cautioned him about to kick in, but he didn’t feel it. Not yet, anyway. All he felt was excited.

  Regan eagerly looked out the window at the shops and restaurants they passed. “Are things the same as when you grew up here?” she asked.

  “DelMonaco’s is still there.” He pointed to a family-style restaurant. “And there’s the Dancing Boot.” She frowned at the unlit neon sign and plain doorway. “It’s a bar—it’s better on the inside than the outside. There’s Linda’s Diner—great food at great prices.”

  “I don’t see
any Indian or Thai food,” Regan said. “How about sushi?”

  “I doubt it, unless the place has really changed. But don’t you fret; you’ll find plenty that’s good to eat around here.”

  Regan nodded, but she looked doubtful. Mason decided he’d take her to DelMonaco’s as soon as possible. Maybe it wasn’t a fancy New York restaurant, but he loved it. Or at least he had years ago.

  “Hey—there’s an Afghan food place! And Mexican! Both in one,” Regan said excitedly, craning her head as they passed First Street. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”

  Afghan food? That was new. Even Mexican was a stretch. Chance Creek had changed, after all.

  They pulled into the parking lot of a sprawling complex. As far as assisted living facilities went, it was nice enough, the façade of the main building a combination of rough-hewn logs and glass windows. Inside was a reception area and a corridor that led to the common rooms. The individual apartments for seniors branched off in several directions. Mason led Regan to the reception desk.

  “I’m here to pick up a key. My Great Aunt Heloise Hall said she’d leave it for me.”

  “I do have a note from Heloise.” The receptionist shuffled through some papers. “Here it is. She’s waiting for you in her room. One fifty one—it’s just around that corner.”

  “She was supposed to just leave me the key.”

  The woman was apologetic but firm. “Sorry. All I have is the note.”

  “It’s no problem to say hi to your aunt. I bet she’s excited to see you,” Regan said.

  Mason suddenly wished he’d left her in the car. What if Heloise blabbed about the deal she’d made with him and his brothers? “We’ll only stop for a minute,” he told Regan. Tension tightening his jaw, he followed the receptionist’s directions to Heloise’s apartment and knocked on the door. Heloise answered almost immediately and allowed Mason to give her a peck on the cheek.

  “You’ve grown!” she announced as she ushered them to a small sitting room.

  “An inch or two maybe, back in my teens.” Mason grinned in spite of his worry. Heloise had shrunk at least that much. “We can’t stay long, Heloise. We’ll pick up the key and be on our way, then come back in a day or two for a real visit once we’ve gotten the lay of the land.”

  “Nonsense. You have plenty of time for a visit right now. Who’s this?” She turned to Regan.

  Mason sighed inwardly. This visit had the potential to be as dangerous as a sit down with an armed terrorist. “Heloise, meet Regan Anderson. Regan, this is my Great Aunt Heloise Hall.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Regan said.

  “Well, isn’t she pretty?” Heloise said. She looked up at Mason. “Are you going to marry her?”

  “I haven’t proposed yet, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You always were a slowpoke, Mason Hall. And you’ve stayed away too long. That mother of yours ought to have brought you back before now.”

  “I know she’s looking forward to coming back.” He sat down next to Regan on a small couch, relieved that Heloise hadn’t spilled the beans yet.

  “When will she come?” Heloise poured them each a cup of tea and offered a plate of dry cookies. Regan took one and bit into it. Mason declined.

  “Not until I build a house for her. That won’t be until next year at the earliest.”

  “You bring her home as soon as you can. Family should be together. Speaking of which. When are your brothers arriving?”

  “Austin will come in June, Zane by September. I’m not sure about Colt.”

  “Humph. I’ll write him a letter. Set a fire under him.”

  Mason saw that Regan was smiling. “You want all your grandsons home, don’t you?” she asked Heloise.

  “Home, married and starting their families.” She looked Regan up and down. “I hope you’re not one of these women who think they’ll be happier if they skip having children?”

  “No, I’m planning on having a family.”

  “Humph. Good. Make him put a ring on your finger first.”

  “Heloise.” Mason rolled his eyes. Same as ever.

  “It’s good advice.” Heloise fixed him with a fierce look. “Men these days think nothing of getting women pregnant and running for the hills. They’re like children themselves.”

  “I have no intention of knocking Regan up and heading for the hills.” Damn it, he’d better rein in his tongue. If he riled the old girl up, who knew what she might say.

  “No need to get vulgar.”

  Regan laughed, then bit her lip. “Sorry.”

  The corner of Heloise’s mouth turned up. “I like you.”

  Regan grinned. “I like you, too.”

  Heloise turned back to Mason. “She’ll do. Now take her home—the poor thing is exhausted and you’re tramping her around like a circus train.”

  “Yes, Aunt Heloise.” He stood up and offered Regan his hand. She took it and let him lead her to the door. “Regan, could you go on ahead and give me and my aunt a minute?”

  “Of course. See you soon, Heloise.” She slipped out into the hall and walked toward the entrance of the facility.

  Mason turned to his aunt. “She doesn’t know about your conditions for us keeping the ranch.”

  “I figured as much. I didn’t give you away, did I? Tell me something, do you love that girl?”

  Mason nodded. “I think I do. We’re going to take some time to get to know each other better, though.”

  “Don’t take too long. The clock’s ticking.”

  “One other thing we haven’t discussed. My brothers and I are going to put money in that ranch and if you change your mind at the end of the year, or if something happens and we can’t fulfill your terms, we’re going to be in a fix.”

  “You’re asking if I intend to screw you over?”

  “Now who’s being vulgar?”

  Heloise laughed. “Don’t look so high and mighty. I was cussing long before you were a glimmer in your daddy’s eye. To answer your question, no—I will not screw you over. If for any reason you fail at your attempt, I will pass the Hall on to Darren, but I will make you beneficiary to my own estate. It’s not a lot, but it will be enough to reimburse you for your efforts, with a little left over. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait until I’m dead to get it.”

  “I’d prefer it if you stayed alive.” He kissed her faded cheek.

  “Me, too.” She patted his arm. “You’ll do fine, young man. You have your father in you. Now, get along with you.”

  Mason decided that was the best he could expect from Heloise. Ten minutes later, they were past the town’s center heading south. The vista widened out again as ranchland spread to either side of the road. Far in the distance the Absaroka Mountains provided a beautiful backdrop for the spring-green pastures.

  “It’s lovely.” Regan turned to him with a smile.

  “This is home.” How many times had he passed along this road as a child? He could picture his father’s Ford F-250 like he was still riding in it. Mason’s heart squeezed when for a second he felt the old man’s presence beside him.

  The finest piece of dirt you’ll ever know. That’s how Aaron had always described the ranch. Mason wished he was there to help them rebuild it. He wondered how it would feel to bring his mother back home to the property she’d loved so much. When he’d spoken to her, he’d told her not to get her hopes up yet—not until Heloise formally passed the land down to them—but he’d promised her he’d do everything he could.

  “You boys and your wives won’t want me in the Hall,” she had laughed. “That’s too many women already in one place.”

  “We’ll build you a new home then.”

  “I’ll take Zeke’s old cabin,” she said, but Mason shied away from that idea. He didn’t like the thought of her in that sad place.

  Fifteen minutes later they turned off the country road onto the dirt track that led to Crescent Hall. Already the proud house was visible on its rise of ground. Regan was
quiet, taking in the tall gray structure with its wraparound porch, its corner tower and ornate details. With three above-ground stories, the Hall dominated the landscape. Mason knew there were barns and outbuildings beyond it, but these were hidden from the road on the downslope of the land.

  “It’s amazing.” Regan leaned closer to the window, but Mason felt his jaw tighten. The closer they got to the Hall, the more evident the damage to the structure became. It appeared his uncle hadn’t done a lick of work on the place in years. Shingles hung loosely on the roof, the paint on the porch railings and other details had almost all flaked away. He shuddered to think what might await them inside.

  Regan grew quiet too as they approached, and by the time they pulled in before the house, Mason was tense with rage. While several broken windows had been covered with plywood, he counted at least three more that had been carelessly blocked with cardboard—as if that would keep out the elements. The porch had sagged dangerously at the corner of the house. He could tell already most of it would need to be torn down and rebuilt—a large job he hadn’t planned for.

  “I didn’t think it was this bad,” he managed to say between clenched teeth to Regan before he got out of the car.

  “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” She joined him at the foot of the stairs to the porch.

  “I hope you’re right. Hold up—let me test these stairs and make sure they’re safe.” Mason tried them one at a time, pushing down on the emotions that swirled within his gut. He had to keep his temper on a leash, no matter what Zeke had done. He wasn’t going to snap in front of Regan.

  Not if he could help it.

  Why hadn’t Zeke called them when caring for it overwhelmed him? Why had he let it get so bad? Just to spite his nephews since he knew his own son wouldn’t do what it took to run the ranch? What would his father think if he could see the Hall now?

  He would just take in all the damage and make a plan to fix it. He wouldn’t hang out here bellyaching—that was for sure. Aaron Hall was a doer, not a complainer. Mason resolved to follow his lead. He squared his shoulders and led the way up the stairs.