SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle

by S. M. Butler

  “Or something,” he agreed. Christ, she was pretty.

  “What’ll it be? We’ve got all the usual frozen things—piña coladas, margaritas—but Mimi has some excellent single-malt whiskeys. I’m guessing that’s more your kind of thing.”

  It had been, right after he’d landed stateside after his last tour. Hanging out with the guys, knocking back a few beers, had become a few Jack and Cokes, a little whiskey to put him out at night because the nightmares sucked. He’d come home, but his head had stayed behind in Afghanistan. A few had become more, and the more had changed into many.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Bad night last night?” She nodded sagely. “Mimi has some awesome hangover cures.”

  “I don’t drink anymore. Ever. I did too much of that after my last tour of duty, and it needed to stop.”

  “So you stopped.”

  He had no idea how to interpret the look on her face, but thank Jesus, it didn’t look like pity. He’d had more pity tossed his way than he cared to remember.

  Sobering up had been harder than he liked to admit.

  “Do you do meetings?” The question was one hundred percent genuine curiosity. She’d probably met every kind of alcoholic working here. No judgment though, which he appreciated. He’d made plenty of mistakes, but he should have known better than to pickle himself in whiskey. He’d done high school health class—and he’d seen his fellow SEALs make the same mistake of drinking too much in too many bars.

  “Sometimes,” he said, and she nodded.

  “We have soda,” she said after a pause.

  “That works.”

  She brought him the soda—with a pink-and-white umbrella and four bonus neon-red cherries—but then she got back to work. He watched her for the next hour, making plans. At some point, she’d take a break, and then he’d be ready. He had no idea for what, but he’d be ready. Having a good plan was essential.

  Eventually, she hollered something about taking her break over to Mimi, who was working the bar. The redhead nodded, and then Deelie laid in a course for him. Of course, she didn’t sit down in his booth. Nope. She planted herself right on his lap.

  “Hi,” she said, grinning at him. She clearly didn’t have an inhibited bone in her body, and he loved that about her. “Can I convince you to take me out to my car tomorrow?”

  He had a bad feeling about her car, but if nothing else, he could get her to the spot and help her get the insurance going. “Sure. I’m off tomorrow. Are you free?”

  She patted his chest. “I can be for you.”

  Damned if he could tell if she meant her playful words, if flirting was simply a habit, or if it was part of the armor she wore for the world. He’d heard plenty of stories about Deelie when they’d been in high school, but it had been hard to make that talk jive with his memory of their night by the waterfall and skinny-dipping. That was a good memory, one of his best right up until the moment when she’d walked away from him. When he was around Deelie, he liked how he felt. She made him feel… right.

  And it was probably wrong to go after her. He was a former SEAL and no prize. His head wasn’t screwed on straight and liked to take unpleasant detours down some real ugly memory lanes. He’d never been a Boy Scout, Captain America, or any kind of hero. Deelie deserved the best, and he knew that even as he wrapped an arm around her. If she wanted to get close again, he’d take whatever she offered and push for more.

  *

  Luke Dawson made one hot firefighter. The years had been kind to him. Where she’d gotten softer on the outside—and harder on the inside, a small voice said—he’d just gotten tougher in the sexiest possible way. Faint lines from squinting into the sun or laughing fanned out from the corner of his eyes, and from there it was a short delicious drop to the rough stubble on his jaw. The hands on her waist were banged up, nicked, and scarred. He’d left Strong, been places, and done important stuff, and he wore those memories on his body.

  Funny how she liked everything about him.

  Of course, the man was only here at Ma’s because he needed his car keys back. As long as she had those, he was all hers, and she wasn’t in any rush to let him go. He was like a bag of chips that she’d regret in the morning but that she absolutely, positively needed to devour now.

  “You want to dance?” She really should get off his lap, because she was tempted to scoot closer, park her butt right over his crotch, and find out if he was as turned on by their proximity as she was. On the other hand, on the off chance that he wasn’t, she really didn’t want to know. She’d enjoy her hot firefighter SEAL fantasy without a dose of reality, thank you very much.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” he said, his voice a low, rough growl. She could probably come if he recited the alphabet in bed. Or maybe he’d be up for reading aloud from some of her favorite books. She could definitely go for that.

  “Deelie?” He sounded amused. Right. She was stuck in fantasyland.

  “Come on.” She jumped off his lap and grabbed his hand. His palms were callused, probably from all that digging he did on the fire lines, brushing against her skin with an intensity that was unexpectedly erotic. Plus, bonus, he held on, didn’t pull away or leave his fingers loose in hers. Great. That was commitment enough.

  “I promise you’ll have a good time,” she said and towed him toward the crowded dance floor. She loved dancing, always had. She’d cheered in high school and had been on the dance team. On a good day, if she inhaled and held her breath, she could even still squeeze into the uniform.

  His mouth brushed his ear. “I’m not worried about me, but I’d hate to put you off by my lack of dance skills.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair if you were perfect.” She grinned up at him.

  A new line was already forming, and she maneuvered him into the middle. There was no point in dancing on the edge, not when they could be front and center. As soon as the music started, she lost herself to the beat and the rhythm. She loved this, loved feeling like part of the group, the way the line took off, everyone moving together. Luke danced beside her, following her lead, and she’d bet this dance floor it was the first and last time he’d let her be in charge.

  Not that he was actually much of a dancer. Ma’s offered line dancing, which wasn’t all that hard, provided a person could move in a relatively straight line and copycat the other dancers. Luke did so methodically, his movements holding strength and confidence, but not an ounce of rhythm. If the apocalypse started while they were at Ma’s, he’d be able to singlehandedly decimate a flood of zombies while she hightailed it to safety, but he definitely would be the first guy eliminated on Dancing with the Stars.

  She only had twenty minutes, so she’d make the most of it. Not that her boss, Mimi, would mind if she took twenty-two minutes or even an entire hour, but the place was packed and there was only one other server working that night. The girls would be run off their feet if Deelie didn’t pull her weight. Plus if she didn’t work, she didn’t earn tips, and her checking account was on its last gasp.

  She could afford five more minutes. Luke’s hand rested on her waist as the song came to an end, the heavy weight almost possessive. His fingertips stroked back and forth, working their way beneath the hem of her T-shirt.

  His mouth brushed her ear. “Happy?”

  Especially if you do that again. She shivered, wondering if she really wanted to go for the sexual repeat with Luke. Yeah, she decided. She did. It got old being alone, and she didn’t think he’d mind either. It wasn’t like she could take him back to her place—since she didn’t have one at the moment. She was couch surfing until she could get back to her car. Plus without her car, her Etsy business was going to be in the toilet. She needed to be able to get to the post office to mail her handmade wallpapers.

  “You bet.” She pulled him outside and headed across the parking lot. “Your truck’s parked right over there. Follow me, soldier, and I’ll give you what you came for.”

  *

  “Sai
lor,” he muttered, wondering how he’d lost control of the conversation so fast. “US Navy SEALs belong to the Navy. That makes us sailors, not soldiers.”

  “Uh-huh.” She bounced along by his side, her shoulder bumping his with each step she took. Since she’d been walking for a few years, he figured the touch wasn’t accidental. He could feel the warmth of her, smell the strawberry of her shampoo. Too bad the parking lot was only about a hundred yards long, because he’d have been happy to walk to China and back with Deelie.

  “Safe and sound.” She patted the side of the truck and then opened the driver-side door (having apparently skipped his lock-the-truck-up instructions), hopped up, and stared down assessingly at him. She looked good in his truck. He caught a flash of something in her eyes, but then she patted the wide seat. “I’ve got an excellent imagination, fifteen minutes left of my break, and a spot with your name on it.”

  Except… that wasn’t the seat she was pointing to. He closed his mouth. Deelie just wanted to rile him up, and she was doing an outstanding job, because the way she rubbed a finger down her front, over her stomach, and the top of her pussy got him hotter than any forest fire ever had.

  He didn’t retreat, because he had a feeling he’d do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. He looked at her, and something inside him rolled over and surrendered.

  “You want to have sex in my truck?”

  He was pretty sure he was reading through her obvious lines correctly, but confirmation would be good. Deelie had moved fast twelve years ago. Apparently, she moved even faster now.

  Instead of answering, she shrugged.

  “I’d like to see you,” he said, feeling his way through the conversational land mines.

  “Here I am.” She spread her arms wide. “If you ask nicely, I’ll take off some clothes so you can see even better.”

  “Shhh,” he said, pressing a finger against her bottom lip. She nipped him, sliding her tongue over the tiny sting. Hello, unwanted erection. “I’m keeping my clothes on.”

  For the moment.

  “Your loss.” She shrugged. “You married?”

  “Jesus. No. If I was, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Because you’d have better things to do.”

  And again… Jesus. “Because I keep my promises.”

  The look in her face said she didn’t believe him.

  He should let it go. He should let her go, the same way she’d cut him loose all those years ago. Trying for something with Deelie was crazy. She was difficult and stubborn and so damned perfect that not trying wasn’t an option.

  Man up. Be clearer.

  “I want to date you.”

  Not fancy words, but he was a former SEAL and a firefighter. If she wanted poetry and Hallmark sentiments, she’d need to find another man. She looked at him, her eyes widening. Yeah. She hadn’t seen that coming, and that made him mad. Apparently, no one in Strong could see what she was worth. His gain. Their loss.

  And then she laughed. Deelie laughing was a pretty sight to see. Her eyes lit up, looking happy for the first time all night, and she didn’t hold back. Her laugh filled up the cab, filled up an empty spot he hadn’t known he had.

  There was no good reason he could think of that she would want to date a man like him, but he also didn’t think she was mean. So he leaned against the truck, arms folded over his chest, and waited for her to explain her thinking.

  Eventually she stopped. Frowned. “You’re serious.”

  Dead serious. “I am.”

  “Why would a guy like you want to date a woman like me?” She sounded genuinely curious. The anger was a slow burn in his gut, another bad habit he was trying to kick, but anger management had taken a backseat to not pickling his liver and drinking himself stupid.

  He tried again. “What makes me such a prize?”

  “You’re a veteran and a firefighter. You’re gainfully employed.” She ticked her reasons off on her fingers. “You rescue damsels in distress and pass out your car keys without requiring collateral. I’ll bet you vote in every election and call your parents every week.” She reached out and ran a finger down his forearm. He probably wasn’t supposed to imagine her stroking his dick that way.

  “I’m not a white knight.”

  “You’re pretty hot for Medieval Dude. Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”

  “All sorts of reasons, but I’m not going to list them for you. You might want to try that approach.”

  She shrugged. “I’m easy. You don’t have to go to all this trouble. At the end of the night, I’m a sure thing.”

  He gave her a long once-over. “And then what happens tomorrow?”

  She really didn’t want to have to answer that question. “What is it with you and plans?”

  “Plans are good. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Experience says we go our separate ways.”

  Something tightened inside him. He’d let her go once, or more accurately, she’d thrown him back into the dating pool like an undersized fish. He was older now, which made him more banged-up and busted, but it also made him smarter. He’d learned a thing or two on the streets of Afghanistan, and one of those was when to stand his ground.

  “You have a one-night rule?”

  She looked at him, a wicked smile curling her mouth. “Honey, I don’t have any rules.”

  *

  If Luke hadn’t figured that out by now, then he hadn’t been paying attention that night by the waterfall. And Deelie was fairly certain he had been, or more accurately, nine inches of him had been. Luke had a gorgeous penis, one of the best she’d ever seen. And she’d seen plenty.

  “And you’re not easy,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re a challenge.”

  No one had ever called Deelie Jacks a challenge, unless it was her Sunday school teacher. Or her grade school teacher, her high school guidance counselor, or the unemployment counselor at the EDD. She’d prided herself on proving them right too. She’d put them through their paces, showing them all the reasons why she was positively unredeemable.

  “I’m thirty-one. I work part-time at Ma’s, and I sell wallpaper on Etsy. I can’t remember the last time I had a four-figure month.”

  He shrugged like none of that mattered to him. That made sense, except that he didn’t seem to be looking for easy sex either. “You want to see my checkbook?”

  “What?” He asked the strangest questions.

  “If I’m dating you for your money, you should do the same thing.” He grinned at her. “Although you might want to trade up. I can keep the lights on and buy you beer, but I don’t have oceanfront property in Maui.”

  “You want to date me?”

  “Wrong question. Do you want to date me?”

  Oh, yes. Her girl parts had definitely cast their vote. The hope that sprang up in her was stupid. Luke was a nice guy, and he was only asking her out on a date because that was what nice guys did when they met a girl they wanted to sleep with.

  “Is date a euphemism for have wild sex with?” Because she totally rocked the sex thing.

  He snorted. “You’ve got a one-track mind.”

  Well, yes, but no one had ever complained about that before. “Guys don’t come knocking on my door because they like the way I think.”

  And again, that was true. She was easy, and Strong’s guys got lonely too or wanted a quick hookup.

  “Give me two weeks.” He looked at her, and she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. The man had a poker face that didn’t quit, but his body language screamed all sorts of things. Like interested and in her space. So what did he want? Two weeks of exclusivity? Two weeks of marathon sex? Two weeks before they started any of the above? That last option would probably kill her, so it was definitely time to seek clarification.

  “To do what exactly?”

  “To convince you to be mine.”

  Wow. He didn’t pull any punches. “I’m not into the whole possessive caveman thing.”

>   He shrugged. “I’m not going to drag you off by the hair, but I think we belong together and I want a shot at convincing you.”

  Definitely time to establish some ground rules. “No kinky stuff. No ropes, no bondage, no demanding I call you Sir or Master. You don’t get to ask where I’ve been or what I’m doing.”

  Although she preferred to break rules rather than follow them herself, he was a guy, and guys, like pets, did best with some guidelines. Sometimes, when she got too lonely, she’d treat herself to a guy. Have a little sex, have a little fun. If her loaner guys tended to think less of her because she wasn’t a virgin princess who’d been saving herself for the one perfect man, that was their problem. In all truth, the female population of Northern California should be thanking her because she was like quality control for the dating pool. She’d probably found every single loser out there.

  Then Luke said the magic words. “I dare you.”

  “Really? Are we ten?” Never mind that glee warred with excitement somewhere near the pit of her stomach—or lower. God, who knew Luke Dawson could be so much fun out of bed?

  His answering grin was slow, wicked, and downright panty melting. “Does that mean you’re not going to do it?”

  He had her number. He also had the most gorgeous brown eyes. It simply wasn’t fair for a guy to have such long lashes—or to know how to use them. Because she was almost certain that Luke was working her. For some reason, he really, really wanted to date her. She’d tried to tell him that she didn’t require euphemisms. If he wanted sex, she was on board with that plan. It would be nice to have someone to spend the nights with, a little less lonely making, although it was going to get awkward fast since she was currently between places.

  “Stop thinking so hard,” he said.

  Funny how most guys believed she didn’t think at all but Luke was convinced her head worked overtime. That was kind of nice too, being appreciated for her more than her boobs.

  She made one more attempt to explain. “I don’t date. I just have sex. Most guys don’t have a problem with that.”