Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  But how was Lucy supposed to tell him that she finally knew what she wanted—that she wanted to make love to him?

  Another seduction attempt? The thought made her squirm.

  Make me an offer, he'd said. That kind of offer seemed so unromantic, so calculated and cold.

  Maybe instead of an offer, she could issue an invitation.

  Lucy stood. "I'm going to head upstairs," she said. "Unless you want me to help clean up?"

  Blue glanced at her over his shoulder and then at his watch. It was still early, and he was clearly disappointed that she was leaving. "No, that's all right," he said. "I'm al­most done down here."

  "Good night, then," she said, and started out of the room.

  "Lucy."

  Lock your door. He didn't have to say it aloud. "I know," she said. Heading up the stairs, she smiled.

  Blue tried calling California from the telephone in the kitchen as he finished up the dishes. Yes, Lieutenant Joe Catalanotto was still out on a training mission. Yes, Ad­miral Mac Forrest was still not available.

  He hung up the phone, fighting a feeling of dread.

  Lucy was no longer in charge of Gerry's murder investi­gation. Travis Southeby was. Blue figured it was only a matter of days, maybe even hours, before Southeby found what he felt was enough evidence to lock Blue up. Tomor­row Blue very well might be in jail.

  And today Blue had had heaven in his hands, and like a damn fool, he'd let it slip away.

  It was still early—before midnight, anyway—and he was feeling way too restless to sleep. His leg hurt too badly to go for a run, but a walk might do him good.

  He headed upstairs to get his gun and...

  The door to Lucy's room was unlocked and open a crack.

  Her room was dark inside, but the door had definitely been left open.

  Dammit, he wasn't strong enough for this. He'd turned her down once tonight, but there was no way he could han­dle twice. He knocked loudly on her door. "Hey," he said crossly. "Yankee. You forgot to lock up."

  "No, I didn't." Her voice was soft, but very certain.

  The meaning of her words crashed down around him, and Blue had to hold on to the door frame for a moment to keep his balance. She'd left the door open. Intentionally.

  "May I... come in?" he asked.

  He heard her husky laugh. "How many invitations do you want, McCoy?"

  Blue pushed open the door. The dim light from the hall­way spilled all the way across Lucy's room, falling onto her bed. She was sitting there, wearing an old extra large T-shirt and a pair of panties and quite probably nothing else.

  Her hair was down around her shoulders and she had no makeup on her face. She looked clean and fresh, and as she smiled hesitantly at him, he couldn't believe how utterly beautiful she was.

  She held out her arms, shrugging slightly, her smile turn­ing, almost apologetic. "This is me," she said, laughing self­consciously. "What you see right now is really me. No neg­ligee. No borrowed little black dress or spike heels. No fancy hairdo. No hot-tub seduction. Just an old University of South Carolina T-shirt and a pair of cotton underpants. White. No frills. Just like me. If you decide to...accept my... invitation, this is what you get."

  Blue knew instantly that this was what he'd been waiting for. She had no police badge to hide behind, no hesitation, no mote doubts. She'd worked their relationship down to the simplest equation: she wanted him and he wanted her.

  And oh, how he wanted her. He'd had his share of women wearing fancy negligees and seductive clothing, but none of them looked even half as sexy as Lucy Tait did in an old university T-shirt with her hair tumbling down her back, her face clean of makeup. No frills, she'd said. Maybe not. Maybe just one hundred percent pure woman.

  Blue sat down on the bed next to Lucy and gave her his answer in a kiss. Despite all the fire surging through his veins it was a sweet kiss—the sweetest he'd ever known. He felt her fingers on his chest, unfastening the buttons of his shirt and he put his hand over hers, stopping her, slowing her down.

  "We've got all night," he whispered, pulling back to look at her.

  He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. It felt sinfully, deliciously, good.

  "Then you won't mind if I just sit here and do this for about an hour," Lucy said.

  "Not as long as I can kiss you, Yankee," Blue mur­mured, pressing his lips to hers.

  He pulled her back with him onto the bed, and their legs intertwined, and still he kissed her. He gave her long, slow, deep kiss after long, slow, deep kiss, until her breath grew short, her hands gripped him tighter and her body strained against his.

  Deftly, he removed her T-shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one quick motion. And then all of her smooth, sleek skin was his to touch, to caress, to kiss.

  Lucy was delirious. She'd known that making love with Blue was going to be an extraordinary experience, but she'd never imagined that his hands could be so gentle. She'd never dreamed that he could kiss her so slowly, so com­pletely.

  She'd imagined a frantic, urgent joining, not this lan­guorous, sensuous worship of her body. She clung to him as he brought his lips down first to one breast and then the other, laving her tender nipples with his tongue, drawing them slowly into his mouth.

  She tugged at his shirt and he slipped it off, tossing it onto the floor along with his shoulder holster. As she ran her fingers across the satiny skin of his back, careful of the bandage on his arm, his mouth journeyed downward, to her stomach, stopping to explore the softness of her belly but­ton.

  Heat pooled through her, sending liquid fire through her veins. Her love for this man seemed such a tangible thing that Lucy was almost certain he could see it.

  "You're so beautiful," he whispered, meeting her gaze and smiling as he slid her panties down her legs. The heat in his eyes was more than lust. It was more powerful, more pure—almost transcendental, making the blue of his eyes seem luminous and soft.

  For the first time in her life, Lucy felt cherished.

  She knew it couldn't possibly be so. In reality, Blue didn't love her. He would never love her. But she fought that re­ality, allowing herself the complete illusion tonight. To­night, she would be cherished.

  He kissed the inside of her knee, parting her legs as he slowly moved his mouth down toward the sensitive skin of her thigh. And farther. Lucy gripped the bed as he touched her, kissed her, first gently, then harder, deeper.

  The sensation was beyond pleasure, beyond ecstasy, be­yond anything she had ever felt or known before. And that, in tandem with her love for this man, catapulted her up and over the edge.

  She heard herself cry out as he held her tighter, as a sud­den and unexpected release cannonballed through her, seeming to rip her apart with wave upon wave upon unend­ing wave of sheer, excruciatingly wild pleasure.

  Finally, finally, it came to an end. She reached for Blue, pulling him up and across her. He was laughing, real delight in his eyes.

  "Hoo-yah,"hesaid.

  "Oh, man," Lucy gasped.

  "Do you do that all the time, Yankee?" he asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.

  "No," she breathed. "Never. Not like that."

  His smile grew broader, satisfied. "Good."

  He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, but that wasn't what she wanted. She deepened their kiss and reached for his belt, unbuckling it.

  "Mercy." Blue pulled back, laughing again. "You want more?"

  "Yes." Lucy unzipped his pants, tracing his length with her fingers. There was so much of him. She ached to feel him inside her. "Please." She reached down into his shorts, touching him, encircling him with her hand as she kissed him fiercely.

  She heard him groan, felt him pull away as he pushed and kicked his pants from his legs. She tried to help, but she suspected she only made the process more difficult. Still, she wanted to touch him, to run her hands along the lengths of his long, muscular legs—

  Oh, shoot, she'd forgotten all about his inj
ured leg. She pulled back. "Oh, Blue, have I hurt you?"

  He just laughed at that, catching her mouth with his and kissing her, hard. She felt herself melt against him, open­ing herself to him in every possible way. She reached down to touch him again and found he'd already ensheathed himself with a condom he must have taken from his pocket.

  He kissed her again, a kiss of fire and passion, and she felt something shift, as if the powerful kick of their rocket fuel-powered attraction was ready now to ignite. She knew in­stantly that this phase of their lovemaking would be neither slow nor languorous.

  Blue felt Lucy arch her hips up toward him, seeking him, and he felt the first tier of his ragged control start to crack. He needed to feel her surrounding him. Now.

  He plunged into her, hard and fast...and mercy! He had to slow down, take care. He didn't want to hurt her.

  Yet she was anything but hurt. "Yes," she was murmur­ing into his ear, "yes," pulling him closer, meeting each of his thrusts with a dizzying passion.

  This was too good. No one should ever be allowed to feel this good. The thought made him laugh aloud and he kissed Lucy again, spinning with the joy and exhilaration of knowing he was exactly, precisely, where he wanted to be.

  He rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him so she sat straddling him. She flicked her hair back out of her eyes, moving hard and fast, the way he liked it. She grinned down at him, her eyes sparkling and dancing with sheer pleasure, and more of his precious control crumbled.

  He reached for her, his hands covering her breasts, and she arched her body, pressing herself more fully into his palms. She threw her head back, her smile fading, and Blue felt her body tense and tighten. She cried out his name, her voiced ecstasy music to his ears. Her release was as power­ful as before, only this time she took him with her.

  Never before had his pleasure been so perfect. Never be­fore had the rush of his passionate explosion sent him soar­ing quite so high, quite so far. Never before had he wanted to take a moment in time and freeze it for all eternity.

  But it wasn't the moment of mind-blowing, raw sexual pleasure that he'd freeze. It was this moment afterward, as he held Lucy tightly against him, his face buried in her hair, their two hearts still beating wildly as they drifted slowly back to earth. This was the moment he wanted to save and keep forever. Because never before had he felt such peace, such completeness.

  His chest ached and his eyes burned, and he wanted to speak, wanted to tell her something, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what words he could use that could possibly describe this feeling. So he kissed her, in­stead, sweetly, gently, hoping she'd understand.

  Chapter 11

  Blue woke up several hours after dawn. He stretched and yawned, feeling oddly rested. He hadn't slept this well in a long time and...

  He opened his eyes.

  He was in Lucy's bed. She was lying next to him, still sleeping peacefully, the sheets tangled around her.

  Memories of last night came roaring back to him in a rush, and for a moment he could barely breathe, barely think. The things they'd done, the things he'd felt...

  Mercy.

  But the sun had crept up above the tree line, and it was shining in Lucy's windows. The night had ended and it was morning.

  Morning. The time of regrets and recriminations. The time of awkward silences and uncomfortable conversa­tions. Like some broken spell, the magic of the night be­fore always shriveled and died in the morning light.

  A night of sex was understood by all to be nothing more than a good time. But when breakfast was added to the equation, that night of sex became something else entirely. It became a relationship. It became a possibility, an expec tation, a future commitment. Blue had long since learned to clear out of a lady's bedroom well before dawn.

  This time he hadn't. This time the spell he'd been under had held him in its power and he'd slept the dreamless sleep of the enchanted. But now he eased himself up and off the bed. There was still time to make his escape.

  Lucy remained asleep. But as he looked at her lying there, his eyes followed the exposed curve of her derriere, the gen­tle swell of her breast as she lay on her stomach, her arms tucked up underneath the pillow. He felt an unexpected surge of desire.

  The few times he'd stayed with a woman until the morn­ing, he'd awoken with his lust abated, his sexual attraction fading fast. Aided by the harsh morning light, his lover's slept-in and smudged makeup, disheveled hair and usually bloodshot eyes left him wanting nothing more than to leave, and leave quickly.

  But Lucy looked like some kind of angel in the early-morning light. Her skin seemed to glow, it was so smooth and perfect. He wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to feel her softness beneath his fingers again. Her hair was messed, but on her it looked sexy. And her face...

  She was impossibly beautiful. Her lashes were long and dark and they lay against cheeks that had been kissed by the sun. Her mouth was open very slightly, and her lips looked so moist—

  Lucy stirred slightly and Blue ran, noiselessly leaving her room before her eyes opened. He ran because he'd always run away before.

  '"Morning," Blue said, clearly ill at ease, not quite meeting Lucy's eyes as he opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of orange juice.

  Lucy had been down in the kitchen for nearly an hour before he'd appeared. As she watched, he helped himself to a glass from the cabinet and poured the juice, still not looking at her.

  The last of Lucy's hopes shattered into a million tiny pieces.

  She was a fool. She knew when she'd awakened to see Blue making his clandestine escape from her room that he was most likely regretting their lovemaking. Of course, he might have been leaving to replenish his supply of con­doms. But when he didn't return even after she'd stepped out of the shower, even after she'd taken her time getting dressed, even after she'd opened her door and stood staring down the stairs at the quite obviously closed door to his room, she knew.

  Still, she'd hoped that he wasn't having true regrets. Maybe he was having only mild doubts, second thoughts. But looking at him standing there in her kitchen, poised as if ready to turn and run, she knew for sure.

  For him, last night had been nothing but a big, fat, giant mistake. She was a fool for hoping he'd feel otherwise. She was a fool for hoping that somehow, someway, he'd fall in love with her. A very small, very foolish part of her had ac­tually dreamed that Blue McCoy would make love to her— to no-frills, white-cotton Lucy Tait—and the earth would shake and the skies would open and he would realize that she was his life, his future, his reason for living.

  Oh, yeah, she was a fool.

  But at least she was a sensible fool. Her fantasies crushed and useless, she swept them away, out of sight, at least for now. She'd have plenty of time to feel badly later.

  "Do you want breakfast?" she asked, her voice remark­ably even as she busied herself with washing up her own breakfast dishes.

  "I'll just fix myself some toast."

  "That's good," she said. "You can bring it with you."

  She could feel his surprise, even though her back was to him.

  "We going someplace?"

  Lucy wrung out the dish sponge and set it on the edge of the sink before she turned to face him. "I called Jenny Lee and asked if she would mind if we stopped by. She said yes, we should come around nine-thirty, and that that would also be a convenient time for us to take a look at Gerry's home off ice and—"

  "Wait a minute, you lost me somewhere back around bringing my toast along to Jenny Lee's. I don't understand. Why are we going to her place?"

  Lucy turned and stared at him. He truly didn't under­stand. For the first time since he'd come downstairs, he was looking at her, really looking at her, instead of through her or over her or under her or around her.

  "I thought you were taken off the investigation," Blue said. "You said you quit. You're not even on the police force anymore."

  Lucy nodded. "That's right."
<
br />   "You don't need to do this," he said.

  She nodded again. "Yeah, I know. But I want to do this. We're the only ones who want to find out who really killed Gerry. Travis Southeby is going to mess around until he finds enough circumstantial evidence to haul you in. If we don't try to discover who might've had a motive for want­ing Gerry dead, the real killer is going to run free while you go directly to jail." She shrugged. "I currently seem to be between jobs and I have some free time on my hands, so..."

  Blue was silent. He'd looked away from her again, and was studying the wide antique boards of the kitchen floor.

  "You don't intend to just roll over and die, do you?" Lucy asked.

  He glanced up. "No, but—"

  "Neither do I," she said, well aware that her words had a deeper, hidden meaning.

  "Why do you want to help me?" His question was point-blank, and it came with no warning. He was watching her again, his eyes almost piercing in intensity.

  Because I love you. But she couldn't tell him that. Not so long as a small portion of her pride was still intact. "Be­cause I know you didn't kill Gerry," she said, instead. "Be­cause right now you've got no one else. And because I'm your friend."

  He was silent again, still watching her, and she knew ex­actly what he was thinking. He was thinking about last night, about how their lovemaking had permanently al­tered their so-called friendship. What they were to each other wasn't as simple as being friends anymore. But it was clear that Blue didn't want them to continue on as lovers, so where, exactly, did that leave them?

  He so obviously wanted to pack his bag and walk away from her. But where would he go? What would he do?

  Blue needed her right now, whether he knew it or not. Lucy believed that. She had to believe that. It was all she had left.

  "I am your friend," she told him quietly. "Last night we were lovers, but today I'm your friend again, McCoy. I ex­pect nothing from you. I didn't last night, and I certainly don't this morning—nothing, that is, but friendship. So you can stop tiptoeing around me as if I'm going to act all hurt and upset because last night wasn't the start of happily ever after. I know nothing has changed, except that now I know exactly where to touch you to really turn you on."