Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  She shook her head, no.

  "They're deadly. Jagged. And the surf is always rough-not a good combination. But I saw these guys put their heads down and do it. They could've died—men have died doing that training exercise.

  "All around me, I could hear the tourists and the civilian onlookers making all this noise, wondering aloud why these men were risking their lives like that when they could be regular sailors, in the regular Navy, and not have to put themselves in that kind of danger."

  Frisco leaned closer to Mia, willing her to understand. "And I stood there—I was just a kid—but I knew. I knew why. If these guys made it through, they were going to be SEALs. They were going to get that pin, and they were go­ing to be able to walk into any military base in the world and get automatic respect. And even better than that, they would have self-respect. You know that old saying, 'Wherever you go, there you are'? Well, I knew that wherever they went, at least one man would respect them, and that man's respect was the most important of all."

  Mia gazed back at Frisco, unable to look away. She could picture him as that little boy, cheeks smooth, slight of frame and wire thin, but with these same intense blue eyes, im­possibly wise beyond his tender years. She could picture him escaping from an awful childhood and an abusive father, searching for a place to belong, a place to feel safe, a place where he could learn to like himself, a place where he'd be respected—by others and himself.

  He'd found his place with the SEALs.

  "That was when I knew I was going to be a SEAL," he told her quietly but no less intensely. "And from that day on, I respected myself even though no one else did. I stuck it out at home another six years. I made it all the way through high school because I knew I needed that diploma. But the day I graduated, I enlisted in the Navy. And I made it. I did it. I got through BUDS, and I landed my IBS on those rocks in Coronado.

  “And I got that pin."

  He looked away from her, staring sightlessly down at his injured knee, at the bruises and the swelling and the count­less crisscrossing of scars. Mia's heart was in her throat as she watched him. He'd told her all this to make her under­stand, and she did understand. She knew what he was go­ing to say next, and even as yet unspoken, his words made her ache.

  "I always thought that by becoming a SEAL, I escaped from my life—you know, the way my life should have turned out. I should've been killed in a car accident like my brother Rob was. He was DUI, and he hit a pole. Or else I should've got my high school girlfriend pregnant like Danny did. I should have been married with a wife and child to support at age seventeen, working for the same fishing fleet that my father worked for, following in the old bastard's footsteps. I always sort of thought by joining the Navy and becoming a SEAL I cheated destiny.

  "But now look at me. I'm back in San Felipe. And for a couple nights there, I was doing a damned good imitation of my old man. Drink 'till you drop, 'til you feel no pain."

  Mia had tears in her eyes, and when Frisco glanced at her, she saw that his jaw was tight, and his eyes were damp, too. He turned his head away. It was a few moments before he spoke again, and when he finally did, his voice was steady but impossibly sad.

  "Ever since I was injured," he said softly, "I feel like I've slipped back into that nightmare that used to be my life. I'm not a SEAL anymore. I lost that, it's gone. I don't know who I am, Mia—I'm some guy who's less than whole, who's just kind of floating around." He shook his head. "All I know for sure is that my self-respect is gone, too."

  He turned to her, no longer caring if she saw that his eyes were filled with tears. "That's why I've got to get it all back.

  That's why I've got to be able to run and jump and dive and do all those things on that list." He wiped roughly at his eyes with the back of one hand, refusing to give in to the emo­tion that threatened to overpower him. "I want it back. I want to be whole again."

  Chapter 11

  Mia couldn't help herself. She reached for Frisco.

  How could she keep her distance while her heart was aching for this man?

  But he caught her hand before she could touch the side of his face. "You don't want this," he said quietly, his eyes searching as he gazed at her. "Remember?"

  "Maybe we both need each other a little bit more than I thought," she whispered.

  He forced his mouth up into one of his heartbreakingly poignant half smiles. "Mia, you don't need me."

  "Yes, I do," Mia said, and almost to her surprise, her words were true. She did need him. Desperately. She had tried. She had honestly tried not to care for this man, this soldier. She'd tried to remain distant, aloof, unfeeling, but somehow over the past few days, he had penetrated all of her defenses and gained possession of her heart.

  His eyes looked so sad, so soft and gentle. All of his an­ger was gone, and Mia knew that once again she was seeing the man that he had been—the man all of his pain and bit­terness had made him forget how to be.

  He could be that man again. He was still that man. He simply needed to stop basing his entire future happiness on attaining the unattainable. She couldn't do that for him. ftt'd have, to do it tot himself. But she could be with him now, tonight, and help him remember that he wasn't alone.

  "I can't give you what you want," he said huskily. "I know it matters to you."

  Love. He was talking about love.

  "That makes us even." Mia gently freed her hand from his, and touched the side of his face. He hadn't shaved in at least a day, and his cheeks and chin were rough, but she didn't care. She didn't care if he loved her, either. "Be­cause I can't give you what you want."

  She couldn't give him the power to become a SEAL again. But if she could have, she would.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a light kiss, just a gentle brushing of her lips against his.

  Frisco didn't move. He didn't respond. She leaned for­ward to kiss him again, and he stopped her with one hand against her shoulder.

  She was kneeling next to him on the couch, and he looked down at her legs, at the soft cotton of her nightgown re­vealed by her unzipped sweatshirt and finally into her eyes. "You're playing with fire," he said quietly. "There may be an awful lot of things that I can't do anymore, but making love to a beautiful woman isn't one of them."

  "Maybe we should start a new list. Things you can still do. You could put 'making love' right on the top."

  "Mia, you better go—"

  She kissed him again, and again he pulled back.

  "Dammit, you told me—"

  She kissed him harder this time, slipping her arms up around his neck and parting his lips with her tongue. He froze, and she knew that he hadn't expected her to be so bold—not in a million years.

  His hesitation lasted only the briefest of moments before he pulled her close, before he wrapped her in his arms and nearly crushed her against the hard muscles of his chest.

  And then he was kissing her, too.

  Wildly, fiercely, he was kissing her, his hot mouth gain­ing possession of hers, his tongue claiming hers with a breathtaking urgency.

  It didn't seem possible. She had only kissed him once be­fore, on the beach, yet his mouth tasted sweetly familiar and kissing him was like coming home.

  Mia felt his hands on her back, sweeping up underneath her sweatshirt and down to the curve of her bottom, pull­ing her closer, seeking the smooth bareness of her legs. He shifted her weight toward him, pulling her over and on top of him, so that she was straddling his lap as still they kissed.

  Her fingers were deep in his hair. It was incredibly, decadently soft. She would have liked to spend the entire rest of her life right there, kissing Alan Francisco and running her hands through his beautiful golden hair. It was all she needed, all she would ever need.

  And then he shifted his hips and she felt the hardness of his arousal pressing up against her and she knew she was wrong. She both needed and wanted more.

  He pulled at her sweatshirt, pushing it off her shoulders and down her arms. He tu
gged her nightgown free from the top of her shorts, and she heard herself moan as his work-roughened hands glided up and across the bare skin of her back. And then he pulled away from her, breathing hard.

  "Mia." His lean, handsome face was taut with frustra­tion. "I want to pick you up and take you to my bed." But he couldn't. He couldn't carry her. Not on crutches, not even with a cane.

  This was not the time for him to be thinking about things he couldn't do. Mia climbed off of him, slipping out of his grasp. "Why don't we synchronize watches and plan to rendezvous there in, say..." She pretended to look at an imaginary watch on her wrist. "Oh two minutes?"

  His face relaxed into a smile, but the tension didn't leave his eyes. "You don't need to say 'oh.' You could say 0430, but two minutes is just two minutes."

  "I know that," Mia said. "I just wanted to make you smile. If that hadn't worked, I would have tried this...." She slowly pulled her nightgown up and over her head, drop­ping it down into his lap.

  But Frisco's smile disappeared. He looked up at her, his gaze devouring her bare breasts, heat and hunger in his eyes.

  Mia was amazed. She was standing half-naked in front of this man that she had only known for a handful of days. He was a soldier, a fighter who had been trained to make war in more ways than she could probably imagine. He was the toughest, hardest man she'd ever met, yet in many ways he was also the most vulnerable. He'd trusted her enough to share some of his secrets with her, to let her see into his soul. In comparison, revealing her body to him seemed almost insignificant.

  And she could stand here like this, she realized, without a blush and with such certainty, because she was absolutely convinced that loving this man was the right thing to do. She'd never made love to a man before without a sense of unease, without being troubled by doubts. But she'd never met a man like Alan Francisco—a man who seemed so dif­ferent from her, yet who could look into her eyes, and with just a word or a touch, make her feel so totally connected to him, so instantly in tune.

  Mia had never considered herself an exhibitionist before, but then again, no one had ever looked at her the way Frisco did. She felt her body tighten with anticipation under the scalding heat of his gaze. It was seductive, the way he looked at her—and nearly as pleasurable as a caress.

  She reached up, slowly and deliberately, taking her time as she unfastened her ponytail, letting him watch her as she loosened her long hair around her shoulders, enjoying the sensation of his eyes on her body.

  "You're not smiling," she whispered.

  "Believe me, I'm smiling inside."

  And then he did smile. It was half crooked and half sad. It was filled with doubt and disbelief, laced with wonder and anticipation. As she gazed into his eyes, Mia could see the first glimmer of hope. And she felt herself falling. She knew in that single instant that she was falling hopelessly and to­tally in love with this man.

  Afraid he'd see her feelings in her eyes, she picked up her sweatshirt from the floor and turned, moving quickly down the hall to his bedroom. To his bed.

  Frisco wasn't far behind, but she heard him stop at Na­tasha's room and go inside to check on the little girl.

  "Is she all right?" she asked, as he came in a few mo­ments later. He closed the door behind him. And locked it.

  He stood there, a dark shape at the far end of the room. "She's much cooler now," he said.

  Mia crossed to the window and adjusted the blinds slightly, allowing them both privacy and some light. The dim light from the landing streamed up in a striped pattern across the ceiling, giving the ordinary room an exotic glow. She turned back to find Frisco watching her.

  "Do you have protection?" she asked.

  "Yes. It's been a while," he admitted, "but... yes."

  "It's been a while for me, too," she said softly.

  "It's not too late to change your mind." He moved away from the door, allowing her clear access to make an escape. He looked away, as if he knew that his gaze had the power to imprison her.

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  He gave her another of his sad smiles. "A sudden burst of sanity?" he suggested.

  "I want to make love to you," she said. "Is that really so insane?"

  He looked up at her. "You could have your choice of anyone. Anyone you want." There was no self-pity in his voice or on his face. He was merely stating a fact that he believed was true.

  "Good," she said. "Then I'll choose you."

  Frisco heard her soft words, but it wasn't until she smiled and moved toward him that they fully sank in.

  Mia wanted him. She wanted him.

  The light from the outside walkway gleamed on her bare skin. Her body was even more beautiful than he'd imag­ined. Her breasts were full and round—not too big, but not too small, either. He ached to touch her with his hands, with his mouth, and he smiled, knowing he was going to do just that, and soon.

  But she stopped just out of his reach.

  Holding his gaze, she unfastened her shorts and let them glide down her legs.

  He'd seen her in her bathing suit just that afternoon—he was well aware that her trim, athletic body was the closest thing to his idea of perfection he'd ever seen. She wasn't voluptuous by any definition of the word—in fact, some men might've found her too skinny. Her hips were slender, curving in to the softness of her waist. She was willowy and gracefully shaped, a wonderful combination of smooth muscles and soft, flowing lines.

  Frisco sat down on the edge of the bed and she turned to­ward him. He reached for her and she went willingly into his arms, once again straddling his lap.

  "I think this is where we were," she murmured and kissed him.

  Frisco spun, caught in a vortex of pleasure so intense, he couldn't keep from groaning aloud. Her skin was so smooth, so soft beneath his hands, and her kisses were near spiritual experiences, each one deeper and longer than the last, infusing him with her joyful vitality and sweet, limit­less passion.

  She tugged at his T-shirt, and he broke free from their embrace to yank it up and over his head. And then she was kissing him again, and the sensation of her bare skin against his took his breath away.

  He tumbled her back with him onto the bed, pulling her down on top of him, slipping his hand between than to touch the sweet fullness of her breasts. Her nipples were taut and erect with desire and he pulled her to his mouth, laving her with his tongue, suckling first gently then harder as she gasped her pleasure, as she arched her back.

  "I like that," she breathed. "That feels so good...."

  Her whispered words sent a searing flame of need through him and he pulled her even closer.

  His movement pressed her intimately, perfectly against his arousal and she held him there tightly for a moment. He could feel her heat, even through her panties and his shorts. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to fill her completely. He wanted her all. He wanted her now. He wanted her for­ever, for all time.

  Her hair surrounded them like a sensuous, sheer, black curtain as he kissed her again, as she began to move on top of him, slowly sliding against the hard length of him. Oh, man, if she kept this up, he was going to lose it before he even got inside of her.

  "Mia—" he groaned, his hands on her hips, stilling her movement.

  She pulled back to look down at him, her eyes heavy-lid­ded with pleasure and desire, a heart-stoppingly sexy smile curving her lips. Flipping her long hair back over one shoulder, she reached for the button at the waistband of his shorts. She undid it quickly, deftly, then slid back, kneeling over his thighs to unfasten the zipper.

  His arousal pressed up, released from his shorts, and she covered him with her delicate hands, gazing down into his eyes, touching him through his briefs.

  She looked like some kind of extremely erotic fantasy kneeling above him, wearing those barely-there panties, the white silk contrasting perfectly with the gleaming golden color of her smooth skin. Her long, thick hair feff around her shoulders, several strands curving around her beautiful br
easts.

  Frisco reached for her, wanting to touch all of her, run­ning his hands down her arms, caressing her breasts.

  She pulled his shorts and his briefs down, watching his eyes and smiling at the pleasure on his face as her hands fi­nally closed around him, closing her eyes in her own ec­stasy as his hand tightened on her breast.

  She leaned forward and met his lips in a hard, wild kiss, then pulled away, leaving a trail of kisses from his mouth, down his neck, to his chest, as with one hand she still held him possessively.

  Her hair swept across him in the lightest of caresses and Frisco bit back a cry as her mouth moved even lower, as he nearly suffocated in a wave of exquisite, mind-numbing pleasure.

  This was incredible. This was beyond incredible, but it wasn't what he wanted. He reached for her, roughly pulling her up and into his arms.

  "Didn't you like that?" She was laughing—she knew damn well that he'd liked it. She knew damn well that she'd come much too close to pushing him over the edge.

  He tried to speak, but his voice came out as only a growl. She laughed again, her voice musical, her amusement con­tagious. He covered her mouth in the fiercest of kisses, and he could feel laughter and sheer joy bubbling up from in­side of her and seeping into him, flowing through his veins, filling him with happiness.

  Happiness. Dear God, when was the last time he'd felt happy? It was odd, it was weird, it was beyond weird, be­cause even remembering back to when he had been happy, before his injury, he had never associated that particular emotion with making love. He'd felt desire, he'd felt sexual satisfaction, he'd felt interested, amused, in control or even out of control. He'd felt confident, self-assured and pow­erful.

  But he'd never felt so unconditionally, so inarguably happy. He had never felt anything remotely like this.

  He'd also never made love to a woman who was, without a doubt, his perfect sexual match.

  Mia was openly, unabashedly sexy and unembarrassed by her powerful sensuality. She was unafraid to take the lead in their lovemaking. She was confident and daringly fear­less and bold.