Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  She was becoming more and more convinced his plan was to take her at any cost. His hands held her waist a little too long, they slipped down previously avoided body parts in casual caresses. His sighs and little grunts, not perceptible to anyone but her, were dangerously obvious. Did he think this sort of behavior was desired? If Mark weren’t around, she’d be going to Brazil to meet Matheus and his family. Roberto, even if she had been interested, and she never had been, would have been at best a distant second. As it was, he’d never been on her radar. What, she wondered, made him think he ever could be?

  She’d felt this cruise was a big mistake. The wedding was being planned by people she hadn’t met. “It’s the way we do it here. My mother would never forgive herself,” Matheus had said in his soft, Brazilian accent. She’d loved that part about him. His gentleness was what had attracted her to him. And the promise of an exotic life in a foreign land.

  And then, just a dream, Mark had appeared on that cobblestoned street, near the place where Matheus had proposed last year. That’s the day her whole world had changed. She impulsively decided the handsome American would be her goodbye kiss to all the men she’d loved, a goodbye kiss to her single life. She’d be taking the path away from everything familiar, from where her loving father had lived, and replacing it with an exciting new adventure in Brazil with her handsome new husband.

  She hadn’t expected that Mark’s ways would charm her so completely. The simple, direct way he’d tried to talk to her when he didn’t know she understood, with that casual American drawl and straightforward honesty that had gone straight to her heart. Just the way her father had been, the airman with the bomber jacket her mother had fallen for in Italy those years ago. Had she fallen for Mark because she missed her dad?

  She knew the answer was no. But being in Mark’s arms felt like coming home, like remembering the way the Central Valley looked in the early morning hours when the tule fog covered everything with a gray blanket. She knew what it smelled like to drive past orchards of blooming peach trees, or fields where you could almost see the corn grow. She’d remembered the picnics they’d taken at Doran Beach, when it was really too cold and windy, but she didn’t care. Her daddy was there and that was all the warmth she’d required. She remembered holding his hand while riding the cable car or visiting the aquarium in San Francisco. She remembered going to apple farms and pumpkin patches with her grade school classes, so proud her father was a soldier, and couldn’t always be there, but happy when he could be.

  She’d worked hard as a young girl to not let her grief make it harder on her mother. America had not been her mother’s home. But now Sophia realized it was hers, as surely as the name on her U.S. passport.

  She wasn’t ready to put that image of her father and her American life away forever. That’s what had opened the door a crack, why she’d taken the chance with the American that afternoon.

  And all Mark had to do was walk in. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t say goodbye to her past without one more dalliance, one more flirtation to help her remember what it meant to be a California girl and proud of the uniform her father wore. She’d forgotten what that service and sacrifice had meant to her.

  Roberto’s touch on her shoulder made her jump. It was more like a flinch so she plastered a bright smile on her face and spun around to greet him. Her private indecision and pain would be just that: private. She wasn’t going to share an ounce of anything going on inside her with Roberto.

  “I’m ready,” she said as she pulled her wet towel from her neck and placed her hands in position in his before he’d set his form up. She felt he’d wanted to talk to her, not resume their practice. She wasn’t going to give him the chance.

  Roberto drew her tighter against him, and she felt his arousal. With her gaze focused off to the left at a point on the wall between columns, she allowed herself to be pulled into him, allowed him to press further, felt his eyes on her, saw his little smile that quirked up at the corners of his mouth. He was pushing to have it register with her, to have her recognize his intent, but she remained the graceful ice queen who was his dance partner but never, ever would be his lover. She focused on perfect turns, being responsive to his direction, not reacting when his hand slipped between her legs in a fluid movement before he released her.

  She curtsied to the audio tech, to the invisible bodies sitting in the rows of seats out in the auditorium, to anyone who might happen to be watching them. No one would be able to tell the loathing she felt for her partner, not even her partner himself.

  “Again,” he said to the side of her face, his hot breath on her neck, his need growing. The handler dutifully replayed the set. She was grateful the good workout would relieve some of the tension in her legs, smooth over the soreness of her sex as she traveled over the dance floor, deliciously recalling the way she’d wanted Mark deep inside her. The way he’d kissed down her neck, and numbingly kissed her beneath her skirt and licked her nub, which stiffened under his tongue. She drew energy from the simple, direct ministrations of the American hero she knew would always be there for her.

  The thought of him going off to war trigged a quick reaction, and for just a second her lapse created a tear that Roberto must have noticed. She felt his grip tighten on her fingers, squeezing them until it hurt. She tried to relax, willing the salty shimmer to dissipate without running down her cheek and giving away. Miraculously, the tear evaporated and she could see the room clearly again.

  This time, when the music ended, he dropped her hands like a hot poker, without the practice bow. She allowed her arms to float back to her sides and then braved a glance into his angry face.

  It is what it is, Roberto. Sophia returned his hard glare without apology. She didn’t back down. She didn’t cower. For the first time she stood close to him, her own chest heaving, but standing tall and unafraid, just as if Mark stood right behind her.

  Roberto broke off the eye contact first, which was new. He picked up his towel and blotted his sweaty face and the back of his neck. His nostrils were flaring, his lips pursed and his jaw muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth. She saw understanding sink into his face.

  He wouldn’t be able to get to her anymore. She had something Roberto would probably never have.

  Someone who loved her so much he’d do anything for her. And for the first time in her life she felt the same way.

  Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Eighteen

  Mark learned that Moshe’s request to have the Moroccans removed from the ship was denied. Moshe had been rather upset to discover that Maksym had negotiated with the office in Miami without consulting him first. Teseo explained to them over dinner that technically Maksym outranked Moshe.

  What Mark feared most was that this would bring additional pressure on Roberto, increasing the likelihood that he’d do something irrational. The more Mark watched him, the more convinced he was that Roberto made enemies wherever he went. Sophia told him that his close connection to Matheus’s wealthy family had served to protect the volatile Brazilian dancer so far.

  Mark had seen men filled with their own bravado become blind to danger. So, while Roberto was focused on competing for Sophia, he might underestimate the danger the Moroccans posed. He could find himself ill prepared, regardless of his extensive street training. Those kinds of fighters were good at the spur of the moment, but ill equipped to handle a well-coordinated and planned attack. It was always their undoing, and something the SEALs specialized in.

  “That’s fucked up, man,” Armando said. “You’d think they’d take the word of their security officer over a junior officer.

  Kyle and Cooper agreed. “Maybe the night in lockup has set the Moroccan straight,” Cooper offered.

  “Not likely,” Kyle replied.

  Christy, Devon and the rest of the SEAL wives wanted to watch the multi-country extravaganza after dinner, which meant the men had to accompany them. The Team settled in on an upper-level, unoccupied corner next to an exit. The sightl
ines were excellent, Mark thought.

  It was going to be a long night as the ship barreled down the east coast of Africa for its planned stop the next morning in Tenerife.

  Mark had arranged to meet Sophia in their cabin after the show. He hung back from the other SEALs and their wives, and already had his backpack equipped with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and some desserts he’d confiscated from the dining room earlier. Sanouk, Rory and Tyler left for the casino to see if they could improve Sanouk’s winning streak.

  Devon and Christy were looking through brochures for the island tour they had scheduled. Gina had her head on Armando’s shoulder, their fingers entwined. Mia sat next to them, with Fredo by her side. Libby claimed not to be feeling well after dinner, so she and Cooper went back to their cabin. Jasmine and Malcolm Jones had peeled off to listen to a singer at the jazz bar downstairs.

  A spotlight shone overhead and soon the undulating body of a Chinese contortionist unpeeled herself from a green fabric pod that hung from a trapeze. Her face was covered in bright blue and green peacock-like designs dotted with rhinestones. She did a controlled roll down a swath of red silk, joining the rest of the Chinese acrobatic team who erupted in bright circus animal costumes. Dancers from various countries followed them, including Roberto and Sophia, who danced a smooth, sensual tango that made Mark’s hands clench. He nearly tore the arm off the padded auditorium seat. Kyle and Nick were having trouble keeping a straight face. Mark noticed Sophia was careful not to look anywhere near their little group, but he sensed she knew exactly where he sat.

  The large samba number incorporated everyone, including the Moroccan dancers with their ancient, reedy musical instruments. Azziz was playing an odd-shaped, tiny, single-stringed base guitar with a small belly. Their rhythmic chanting was backdrop to colorful, rippling dancers showing lots of leg and midriff.

  While the production showcased the blending of music and dance from all around the world, and at the end of the grand finale Roberto and Sophia were at one end of the stage, while the Moroccans were all the way at the other.

  The audience loved it and demanded an encore. Mark was getting impatient to see Sophia, and get her away from Roberto. The effeminate entertainment director had his face heavily made up like a woman, but sported a tux. He bowed to the side as Roberto acted as the master of ceremonies at the end, introducing the other talent. In a well-aimed display of poor manners, he neglected to introduce the Moroccans. Kyle, Nick and Fredo swore under their breath.

  Here we go again. For someone supposedly trying to be on his best behavior, Roberto had pulled off one of the most obvious insults possible. He treated the Moroccans like they didn’t exist. Before the curtains could close Roberto looked up into the balcony and waved to the SEALs and their wives. Christy and Devon waved back.

  “I’m outta here,” Mark said as he hoisted his backpack and quietly ducked outside the exit door.

  He came out onto the gray painted surface of the lifeboat deck. He’d already made one trip earlier in the day to leave a couple of soft blankets, a thick bedspread from his own bed, and two pillows. If she wasn’t allowed to sleep in his cabin and he wasn’t allowed to sleep in hers, he was going to insist they spend the night together in the boat.

  He unsnapped the plastic door, carefully setting down the backpack. He heard the glasses clink, and carefully pulled out the French champagne, pushing aside the vinyl padding on the bench seat next to the bed he’d created, and setting the champagne bottle on the emptied framework. He set the two glasses next to it, and then took out two pieces of apple pie he’d pilfered from the kitchen, four chocolate-covered strawberries, and a couple of clean forks. He’d wanted to bring candles, but didn’t want to advertise the location of their love nest.

  He heard a metallic squeak and then quiet closing of a door that led from the meeting room to the chilly outside. He saw her beautiful face through the clear plastic doorway.

  Beads of sweat still clung to her upper lip. Her chest sparkled with glitter, the cleavage of her ample breasts shiny with moisture. Her dancing had released a wonderful womanly scent, her pheromones, which hit him right across the chest, making his breath hitch.

  He was going to show her the goodies he’d brought, but she ran to him and held him close.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “I’ve missed you. It’s been over twenty-four hours, Mark.”

  He smiled at her urgency, at her need of him. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else all day,” he whispered just before he covered her mouth with his.

  She was mewling into his lips, sucking his tongue as she slid her fingers under his shirt to palm his nipples and then pinch him.

  “Ouch.”

  She giggled, but didn’t stop her exploration.

  “I’ve brought champagne, Sophia.”

  She lazily leaned backward, allowing his arms to support her lower lumbar zone. Her dark eyes, lined in heavy kohl and shimmery green and blue shadow, explored his face while her pink tongue darted out as she licked her red lips. Best of all was the feeling of the warm, feminine triangle at the juncture of her legs, which she slid slowly up and down his upper thigh.

  “Wonderful. Feed me some champagne, then,” she whispered.

  He sat her down on one of the covered benches, sat beside her, propped the champagne bottle between his thighs and opened it. The cork’s pop echoed off the plastic and metal walls of the boat, and the champagne began to fizz out over the top. Instead of holding a glass underneath it, Mark drizzled the cool bubbles into his mouth, and then held the bottle over hers so she could enjoy the froth, too. Champagne bubbles spilled down her front, making the tops of her breasts glisten in the moonlight.

  He pulled her hair clip away, releasing her beautiful curls to tumble over her shoulders, and then he grasped her upper arms to pull her towards him. She smiled and he was filled with need. His hands roamed over her back until he found her zipper, and peeled the red dress from her delicate skin, leaving it pooled around her waist.

  He dipped his lips to the place beneath her chin, and kissed his way down, lapping and sucking the champagne tracks. His hands moved to the back of her red bra and he released her pillows of flesh to his waiting lips and tongue.

  Again she arched backward as he held her with one arm splayed at her shoulders, bracing her in place, as she separated her thighs and allowed his palm to rub and press against her pubic bone. He could feel the heat of her moisture gather underneath the satin.

  She inhaled as he hooked a finger in her panties, pulling them aside to expose her peach. Her nude lips were fondled and separated by his thumb and fingers as he made a slow, circular exploration of her nub, watching her eyes flutter, watching the way her pink tongue darted out between her red lips, calling to him to taste her. He coated his fingers in her milky moisture, feeling the smooth slickness of her ready channel. He removed her panties and slid his two fingers in and out of her opening slowly, rubbing and massaging the delicate petals of her sex.

  He liked that she wanted to speed it up, but he planned to take his time with her. He could do this all night, if it came to that. He’d make sure her fire was fully stoked before he plunged in.

  She begged him with her eyes, spreading her thighs further. He bent down and licked the length of her, nibbling on her lips, curling his tongue over her nub and sucking her to a stiff peak as she jolted with pleasure.

  Sophia was balanced precariously on the padded bench, so he gently slid her down to the floor, on top of the doubled-up bedspread, her head propped on the two pillows he’d brought from his own cabin. Her soft body sank into the light gray fabric, her head into the clean, white cotton of the pillows. Her hips rolling, she bit down on her lower lip, and reached up to spread her hair out to the sides. She held herself, inserting a finger into her own opening, while he undressed without taking his eyes off the way she pleasured herself. Her red dress was still draped across her waist. When he got naked, he lifted her legs by the ankles w
ith one hand and with the other smoothed the dress over her soft bottom and up off her thighs.

  He threw her dress behind him and covered her nude body with his own.

  She pointed to the champagne bottle and her eyes widened, the crinkly laugh lines expanding at the sides in devilish play.

  “You want some champagne? Like I wanted the water?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Are you going to be quiet tonight?” he whispered.

  She shook her head from side to side as he brought the bottle to his lips and drank. He leaned over her and allowed the bubbly to pass from his mouth to hers. He licked the trickles of delicious bubbles down her cheeks, into the hollow at the top of her shoulders at the juncture of her long, graceful neck.

  “Sophia, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” he said.

  “I like the way you make me feel, Mark. My Marko. My mysterious American lover. The man I dream about every night.”

  “Really? You dream about me?” he whispered to her ear as he nipped her earlobe.

  She nodded, one forefinger tracing the line from his lips, down his neck, down the middle of his chest down, down to his package. She reached for him, squeezing him, moving her hand gently up and down his shaft and fingering the moisture at his tip.

  Suddenly she sat up, pushing him back onto the spread. Taking the champagne bottle, she took a big sip, then bent down, her breasts touching his chest, her perfumed hair falling all around his face. Her red lips descended over his and she allowed him to drink from her mouth. She followed up what he had done, licking the errant ribbons of champagne down his cheek and neck.

  She sat on him, rubbing her mound slowly up and down against his shaft, coaxing him to stiffen and harden even more. He could feel the soft tissues of her sex as she rubbed herself lazily over his crown, teasing him.