Ruckus (SEAL Team Alpha Book 1)

by Zoe Dawson

  He set her down, and she went to get her pants and underwear, wobbling a bit. He steadied her immediately, then said, “Allow me.” He bent at the waist, the quick view of his thick torso, those lean abs and groin much too brief. She’d never wanted to see a man naked as much as she wanted to see him. Completely buck ass naked for hours so she could explore every inch of his hard, muscled body.

  He held her delicate panties in those big hands. “Step in, cupcake. We don’t have all friggin’ day,” he growled. She set her hand on his shoulder. God, she loved his grumpiness. She stepped into the panties as he kissed her stomach his lips soft, his breath warm against her skin. He pressed his face harder, breathing her in, his face scratchy, sending tingling waves out in surges. His tongue licked her ribs, then bit her gently before pulling them up. He released the waistband with a snap and she laughed.

  His face was hard, aroused. “If we weren’t out in this jungle with all these bastards after us, a package to pick up and a mission to complete, I’d have you holed up somewhere for a freaking week.”

  “Pants,” she said with a grin. “We don’t have all friggin’ day.” She mimicked his deep voice, poking fun at him.

  He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her against him. “Do me up, first, will ya? If I go back down for those pants, I might just go down on you, my dick will get harder than I already am, and we’ll get ourselves shot to death because I’m doing you instead of watching our backs.”

  The laughter faded from her face at his intense look. Reaching down, her breath trapped in her throat, her eyes never leaving his, she reached for the edge of his underwear and not meaning to, fondled him as she pulled it up over his hot erection.

  “Fuck,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers, his breathing uneven. “Love those damn hands.”

  Unable to resist it, she leaned forward and kissed him. Rubbing her lips over his mouth as she found and zipped him up, careful over that tantalizing bulge. Then she did up the button.

  Her hands lingered around his lean waist, enjoying his warm skin. “How was that? Did I handle your…uh…hardware satisfactorily?”

  He made a purely male sound in the back of his throat and crowded her against the tree. God, the man could kiss, putting his whole self into it, leaning in harder, making her mindless with the taste of him, never giving her a chance to catch her breath.

  It was like running full out.

  He slowed, then broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers. Taking a deep breath, he crouched and helped her with her pants, this time keeping his mouth and face away from her torso.

  He had something that weakened her. Not so much his looks; she’d been around hundreds of handsome dangerous men. The way he kissed was a good contender, melting at the lingering feel of his lips against hers as they shouldered their packs and started out again. He could touch her in places she didn’t want any man to. The vulnerability warned her that connections to him would compromise her. She completely understood why she’d taken up with Jeff. He was no threat. He was easy going, sweet, and kind. All this time she was just marking time with him because he’d been safe.

  Not the same kind of safe that Ruckus was, the SEAL was a challenge, arrogant, pushy, bossy, and amazing. Jeff was no effort. All she could do was feel relief.

  That weakness attacked her again, the need to share, to not be so alone. But she couldn’t. She had a mission, too and it wasn’t to get lost in Ruckus. She’d promised her mom to do something important and she couldn’t let her down.

  Not like she’d done six months ago. She’d failed so utterly in her pledge that guilt, the kind that twisted someone into something unrecognizable seized her and wouldn’t let go. How could she deserve to find any kind of happiness when there was so much suffering in the world? Her mom had given up everything for it.

  How could Dana do any less?

  7

  They didn’t walk far. Ruckus stopped and looked around. “This is a good place to make camp. We need rest, food and sleep.”

  She nodded. “Do you think this is far enough away?”

  “Yeah. We can’t even hear gunfire and those groups are probably more interested in fighting each other. The CLP has their hands full for now.”

  He pulled out the MREs and with that cooking thing he heated them up in, focusing on the packets.

  “Do you think what happened back there warrants your name? At least your first name.”

  He looked up and shrugged, “I guess so.” It was a few more moments before he caught her with his blue eyes and said, “It’s…Bowie.”

  She absorbed the power of it, the lethal quality to it. “As in the knife?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “My old man had a sense of humor.”

  “Why is that? I think it’s sexy, strong and it suits you.”

  “He named me after a knife as a joke. He thought I was a weak little bastard.”

  The anger suffused his face, and his voice held something more than rage, there was bitterness and pain.

  “Well you showed him.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

  It did matter. She could see that. It mattered immensely. Someone who had that much anger cared a whole hell of a lot. “What about your mom?”

  “She’s still alive.”

  That was all he said as if that was all there was. Not the woman who would have nurtured him, kissed his boo boos and been there for him when he was sick, made his lunches, helped him with his homework.

  He finished the meal and dished out the contents of the packets. She wanted to ask more questions, but she could see that he was at the end of the conversation.

  “I need to mention something to you. It probably doesn’t matter, but I sorta have a boyfriend.”

  His head jerked up and there was a quality to his eyes that made her shiver. “Kind a, sort a…what the hell, Dana?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “The hell it is. You should have mentioned him before this.”

  “Exactly. I should have. But I didn’t. At times, I forgot. Your fault.”

  “My fault? What—”

  “You make me forget about any other man. Sue me. I couldn’t help it.”

  His mouth tightened, and he looked away, satisfaction mixing with the annoyance. “We just had a thing, right? I saved your life, and you’re a beautiful, dynamic woman. We lost our heads. No biggie.”

  She shrugged. “Right. Lost ourselves.” She looked off towards the mountains, then back at him. Toying with the meal, she said, “Do you think we can do that again?”

  He released a puff of air on a short laugh. “Does this guy know how you feel about him?”

  “I think he’s going to ask me to marry him.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s pretty deep, Dana.”

  “I know. I should have been smarter, stronger and broken it off. But he was comfortable.”

  “I’m not comfortable, Dana. Far from it.”

  “I know.”

  “Just so you’re aware. I don’t do fluffy and sunny.”

  “Nope. Got that, Mr. Grumpy.”

  They finished their meal in silence. He rose and said, “I’m going to find some water and refill our supply, clean the dishes, and bury this stuff.” He crouched and pulled the sidearm at his hip out of the holster. “You know how to use this?”

  “No. I’ve never shot a gun.”

  “Fired, cupcake. It’s fired a gun.”

  “Excuse me. Fired a gun.”

  He ruffled her hair like she was a five-year-old boy, but it was with obvious affection, so she let it pass. “It’s easy. It’s ready to fire. Just point at center mass and pull the trigger. There’s fifteen rounds in there.”

  “Rounds are bullets. I know that.”

  He smiled and said, “Yeah, they’re bullets.”

  He rose and grabbed the M4 and walked away. She set the gun down, uneasy with something that could kill people in her hand. Sh
e pulled out her cell, smart enough to get one that was waterproof, so the dunk in the river was nothing. Of course, there was no signal way out here and reception outside of Turbo had been non-existent. She couldn’t call him even if she wanted to and delivering her information to him over the phone didn’t sit right with her. She’d have to wait.

  Tucking the phone back in her pocket, she set up the tent and slipped inside. It looked like it was going to start raining again.

  A few short minutes later, Ruckus…Bowie came into camp and her stomach jumped at the sight of him. His father might have named him that for a joke, but he was like that knife, keen-edged, made for combat and dangerously beautiful. He walked with confidence, his vigilance on him like a mantle. When he crawled into the tent, he seemed to take up all the available space. “Boots and socks,” he said, his hand open, fingers waggling in a gimme gesture.

  She unlaced them and pulled them off along with her socks. He did the same, and he set them off to the side. “Give them time to dry. We don’t want wet feet. Worse possible scenario for blisters that will slow us down.”

  He looked tired and that wasn’t a stretch. He hadn’t slept much the night before and even before daybreak had been forging rivers, tangling with the wildlife and shooting people. It seemed as if she’d been running forever.

  “I’ll take the first watch.”

  “No,” she said, adamantly. “I’ll take it.”

  “Everything is a damn argument,” he muttered under his breath.

  She caught his face between her hands, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones. He looked startled for a minute at both the move and probably the fierce look on her face. “This time, I’m winning. You need rest. You’ve been through hell and back, mostly because of me. I’m sure you could have evaded, survived….

  “Survive, evade—

  “Whatever! SERE’d much more easily without me. You’ve saved my life several times over, and we shared body fluids. So it gives me the right to argue here.”

  “I think you were born to argue.”

  “Maybe. My dad said I have a healthy attitude.”

  “His nice way of saying you are a little brat.”

  She smiled. “Probably. I got high marks in high school and college for debate.”

  “I bet you did. You probably exhausted everyone to death.”

  “For a stoic, monosyllabic man you sure do have a lot to complain about.”

  “I only have one damn thing to complain about, and that’s you.”

  She raised her chin. “Tough. You’re stuck with me and my exhaustive personality. So freaking give me that gun and let me guard you for a few hours. I promise I won’t tell the SEAL police the big, bad warrior went to sleep on the job.”

  “Oh, for the love of God, here. Take the pistol. Do you want the M4? You can strap extra mags to your chest, and go at it Rambo style.”

  She did take the handgun like it was a snake. “No, I would probably kill us both using your semi-automatic juggernaut of a weapon, and I would never want to take any Rambo credit away from you.” He glared at her, then promptly stretched out and laid his head in her lap. She caught a smirk as he closed his eyes. “Even if you told the SEAL police, I would deny it.”

  Her amusement tinged her words. “I’m a well-respected reporter. I protect my sources.”

  “And your bodyguards?”

  She couldn’t help it. She reached down and ran her hands through his hair, massaging the back of his neck. “Most definitely and most importantly my bodyguards. I’m not stupid, but I’m greedy. I want to keep all the blood I have inside my body.”

  “Copy that.”

  For a few minutes all she heard were the sounds of the jungle. He sighed heavily and said into the silence, “My last name is Cooper.” Then he promptly fell asleep.

  Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper. Her throat suddenly tight, she took a steadying breath, searching the jungle from one side to the other, she had to be realistic. This was a temporary situation. It wasn’t forever. They were worlds and jobs apart. The best thing that ever happened to her in her life she found while being held hostage in the stronghold of a psychopathic, egomaniac in the form of a lot of stacked muscles, the most beautiful blue eyes ever and a very grumpy disposition.

  Who knew he also had a heart of gold.

  Ruckus opened his eyes, instantly awake and aware of his surroundings. Jungle. The Darién freaking Gap. Soft, beautiful woman-pillow.

  Dana.

  She certainly wasn’t one of his SEALs to command. Amen to that. Her arm rested across his chest. He turned his head and saw that her chin was lying on her chest, but her hand was wrapped around the 9mm. Sleeping, but ready for action. He grinned. Damn, she was something. He rose and smoothly slipped the gun out of her slack hold and holstered it. Careful not to wake her, he grasped the nape of her neck and supporting her shoulder, laid her down. A sigh fell from her lips as her body relaxed against his hands. His gaze lingered on the curve of her face, the long, creamy expanse of her throat, the wild tousle of dark tresses brushing his wrist and spreading out on his pack as he eased her onto it. She had a hold on him that half fascinated and half scared the hell out of him. He wanted out of this jungle and the whole Hector Salazar mission behind him. Looking at her stirred his sexual restlessness, something that had been there since he’d seen her in that terry cloth, watching her adeptly and modestly get dressed, the memory of her toned, smooth back haunting his fitful, frustrating dreams.

  His thoughts wandered back to their tree hugging sex, wanting to turn her into his arms, wanting to feel her come awake, wanting to slip hard and hot inside her.

  He forced himself to move away from her, his breathing suddenly uneven. Ruckus ducked out of the tent knowing he couldn’t stay there beside her and not touch her.

  R&R and them—one-on-one for days—on his mind. Maybe by then he could figure out what was happening between the two of them. He nixed that idea. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t relationship material. Sex was what was happening between the two of them and definitely a friendship, albeit a contrary one. How could it ever be anything else with this cupcake?

  He was welded to the team, their leader. Someone had to keep those knuckleheads in line. He would give his all to them with nothing left over for anyone else. He already knew he wasn’t husband material. Mary Jo had reminded him of that every day they were married and well after the divorce had been final. He couldn’t give her what she wanted. Her request went beyond who he thought he could be and it scared the hell out of him. He wasn’t proud of it, but his resistance was engraved on the scars he kept hidden.

  Just like he hadn’t been son material with his old man reminding him with his punishing words and fists, but the icing on that shit cake had been his mom. He’d only wanted to protect her, but the minute he’d knocked his bastard of a father out cold, she’d forced him to leave. Kicked him out of the house and told him never to come back.

  And, he hadn’t. No matter how hard those first few weeks were, trying to survive and finish high school, then all the SEAL tests, both the physical and mental before he could even go on to basic training at Great Lakes. Then onto Coronado, California and the massive Naval Air Base where he’d really started the work of becoming a SEAL—the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training or BUD/S, a grueling twenty-four-week course that was often called Hell Week for a reason.

  But Ruckus had taken it on like a ravenous wolf, excelled, graduated. During his twenty years, he’d taken college courses, gotten his college degree, recommended by his CO to OCS, Officer Candidate School and earned his bars. The one thing he was sure of in his life was that he was SEAL material.

  His mom had tried to reach out to him once he’d received news that his mean drunk of a father had died in a bar brawl, but he’d ignored her, never even went to the funeral, nursing his bitterness like his own child. He did some calisthenics to warm up and wake up his muscles. He’d been tired, but his conditioned muscles hadn’t even twinged. Str
ipping to the waist, he poured some water into one of the dishes and dipped in a cloth. Once again using Dana’s soap, he washed his body.

  He swallowed that bitterness, a bit testy that Dana had reminded him of his failures by asking about his family and background. It wasn’t her fault. Whether it was her interviewing skills, his weakness for her, or her mesmerizing personality, he felt his barriers slipping and that wasn’t good. Not for her and not for him. Letting that rage surface after he’d worked so hard to keep it in check wasn’t healthy for him. It was mid-day, about three hours since he’d closed his eyes. It actually looked like it was going to clear up.

  He was a country boy at heart and had spent most of his adult life in San Diego where it rarely rained. But rain didn’t bother him. He was at home in water as he was on land and in the sky.

  Rinsing, he looked at the tent again, his affection filling up his chest. She was a tough cupcake, even with all those tantalizing sprinkles. She’d kept up with him, hadn’t lost her cool, not once, even during those firefights. The determination on her face when she’d picked up that stick was mixed in with a healthy dose of fear. Gators were intimidating, but Dana had every intention of coming back into the water to help him. He smiled broadly at that, chuckled and shook his head.

  The sounds of clicking came from the tent. “Are you laughing because I’m the worse guard you’ve ever seen?”

  He turned to find her on her knees, tucking her phone behind her, peeking out of the tent flaps. She looked so delectable, sleep flushed and drowsy, he crouched down. “No, I was thinking about you armed with that stick and all that courage against a “creepy” reptile with very pointed teeth that probably outweighed you.”

  “Hey, I could have taken him, her, it.” She giggled.

  It was impossible not to kiss her. He went to his knees, grabbed her by the back of the neck and pressed his mouth over hers. She made a surprised sound, then her mouth softened against his and she kissed him back, her hand clenched around his wrist.