Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  She looked from the doctor to Cowboy and back. "The... what?"

  "Contractions." The doctor spoke slowly and clearly. "How far apart are they?"

  "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside," the nurse murmured to him.

  "And, ma'am, I'm going to have to decline that request. I'm staying right here until I know for sure Melody's all right."

  Melody was shaking her head. "But I'm not—"

  "Mel, what happened?" Another nurse came bursting through the door. She didn't wait for an answer before turning to the doctor. "It's nearly two months too soon. Have you given her something to stop the contractions? How far is she dilated?"

  "I'm not having—"

  "I've given her nothing," the doctor reported calmly. "If she's having contractions, they're very far apart. I haven't even done a pelvic exam."

  "Sir, her sister's here now. Please wait outside," the older nurse murmured, trying to push him gently toward the door.

  Cowboy didn't budge. So this was Mel's sister. Of course. Mel had told him she was a nurse.

  "I don't need a pelvic exam," Melody protested loudly. "I'm not having contractions at all. I was running after Andy Marshall and I got a little dizzy, that's all."

  Her sister nearly jumped down her throat. "You were run­ning!"

  Melody sat up again, turning toward Cowboy. "You caught Andy for me. I saw you. Is he here?"

  "No. I'm sorry. He ran away while I was getting you into my car."

  "Shoot! Shoot!" Melody turned toward her sister. "Brittany, you've got to call the Romanellas for me. Andy's going to run away because he thinks Vince is going to take his belt to him for getting into another fight!"

  But Brittany was looking at Cowboy, noticing him for the first time. Her eyes were a different shade of blue than Mel's. Her face was sharper, more angular, too, but it was clear the two women were closely related. "Who the hell are you?"

  "That depends on the baby's due date," he answered.

  "What?"

  "He brought Melody in," the other nurse told her. "I've been trying to tell him—"

  "Can we focus on Melody for a minute?" the doctor asked, gently trying to push Melody back down onto the bed. "I'd like to do that pelvic anyway—make sure that fall didn't do anything it shouldn't have."

  The gray-haired nurse was persistent. "Sir, now you really must wait outside."

  Brittany was still looking at him, her eyes narrowed in specu­lation. "Her due date, huh?"

  Melody sat up again. "If we don't hurry, Andy Marshall will be gone!"

  "December 1st," Brittany told Cowboy. She looked him over more carefully, from the tips of his boots to the end of his po-nytail. "My God, you're what's-his-name, the SEAL, aren't you?"

  December 1st. That made more sense. Melody wasn't due now—she wasn't about to have the baby. With her slender frame and petite build she only looked as if she were going to pop any minute.

  December... Cowboy quickly counted back nine months to... March. He'd been in the Middle East in March performing that hostage rescue. And after that, he'd spent six solid days in heaven.

  He met Melody's eyes. She knew without a doubt that he'd done the easy math and put two and two together—or, more ac­curately, one and one. And in this case, one and one had very definitely made three.

  "I'm Lt. Harlan Jones," he said, holding Melody's gaze, dar­ing her to deny what he was about to say. "I'm the baby's fa­ther."

  Jones was waiting for her in the hospital lounge.

  Melody took a deep breath when she saw him, afraid that she might pass out again. She'd more than half expected him to be long gone.

  Brittany tightened her grip on her arm. "Are you okay?" her sister whispered.

  "I'm scared," Melody whispered back.

  Britt nodded. "This isn't going to be easy for either of you. Are you sure you don't want me to stick around?"

  Jones was standing by the windows, leaning against the frame, looking out over the new housing development going up on Syc­amore Street. He looked so tall, so imposing, so stern.

  So impossibly handsome.

  Melody could see the muscles in the side of his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth. She saw the muscles in his forearms tighten and flex as he slipped his hands into the back pockets of his pants. She knew firsthand the strength and power of those arms. She knew how incredibly gentle he could be, as well.

  Jones looked so odd in civilian clothes—particularly these pants and this shirt that had such a blandly yuppie style. But she realized that she'd never seen him out of uniform. He'd worn black BDUs under his robe during the rescue. And after that, she'd only seen him in—or out of—his dress uniform.

  These oddly conservative clothes might be the way he dressed all the time when he was off duty. Or they might have been something he'd specially chosen to wear for this surprise visit.

  Talking about surprises...

  As she watched, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with one hand, as if he had a headache and a half. And why shouldn't he? He'd come here obviously hoping to sweet-talk his way back into her bed. He'd gotten far more than he'd bargained for—that was for sure.

  She could see the lines of stress clearly etched on his face.

  He'd smiled and laughed his way through the six days they'd spent together. But then his pager had gone off, and he'd told her he needed to return to California. He'd smiled as he kissed her hi the airport, making promises she knew he wouldn't keep. He'd smiled—right up until the point where she told him she didn't want to see him again. And as he struggled to understand her many reasons for making a clean break, he looked so grim and imposing—rather like the way he looked right now.

  It was as if no time had passed at all. It was as if they were right back where they'd left off.

  Except for the obvious differences. His hair was longer. Hers was, too. And instead of being three days pregnant and ignorant of the fact, she was now seven months along.

  Melody rubbed her extended belly nervously, afraid of what he was going to say, afraid of the tension she could see in his face and in the tightness of his shoulders.

  The early-afternoon sunshine lit his face, giving his hair an even more sun-streaked look.

  She remembered how soft his hair had felt beneath her fingers. It had grown down past his shoulders now—rich and gleamingly golden brown. Freed from its restraint, it would hang wavy and thick around his face, making him look like one of those exotic men who graced the covers of the historical romances she liked to read so much.

  He straightened up as he saw her coming. A flick of his green eyes took in Brittany, too, and Melody knew he was wondering if they were going to have this conversation with an audience. She saw him straighten his shoulders and clench his teeth a little more tightly, and she knew he intended to say what he had to say whether or not her sister was listening.

  But, "I've got to get back to work," Britt announced. She narrowed her eyes at Jones. "Will you see that she gets home safely?"

  Jones nodded, managing only a ghost of his usual five-thousand-watt smile. "That's my specialty."

  "Okay," Brittany said, backing away. "Then I'm out of here. It was nice finally meeting you, Lieutenant Jones."

  "Likewise, ma'am."

  Melody had forgotten how polite Cowboy Jones could be. She'd forgotten how green his eyes were, how good he smelled, how sweet his lips had tasted... No, she hadn't forgotten that. She had simply tried to forget.

  "Are you really all right?" Jones asked. His smile was gone again, and he gazed searchingly into her eyes, looking for what, she didn't know. "They don't want to keep you here overnight or anything? Do more tests...?"

  She shook her head, suddenly shy, suddenly wishing that Brit­tany hadn't walked away. "I didn't have much breakfast, and being hungry combined with chasing Andy across the common made me light-headed. It hasn't been an easy pregnancy—I’ve had trouble keeping food down almost right from the start."

  “I’m sorry."


  Melody glanced up at him. I'II bet you are. She forced a smile. "Brittany wouldn't let me leave until I had lunch. Did you have something to eat?"

  "Yeah. I grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria." He was un­comfortable, too. "Do you want to sit down?"

  "No, I want to... I want to go home. If you don't mind."

  He shook his head. "I don't mind. It might be easier to talk someplace less public." He led the way toward the double doors. "My car's out this way."

  "Are you still with SEAL Team Ten?" she asked, realizing as they stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine that she had about a million questions to ask him.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  God, they'd regressed all the way back to "ma'am." "How's Harvard?"

  "He's fine. He's good. The entire squad's in Virginia—for the next few months, at least."

  "Say hello for me next time you see him."

  "I will." He gestured with his head. "Car's over here."

  "Have you heard from Crash?" Melody waited as he unlocked and opened her door for her.

  Cowboy's swim buddy, Crash, was as dark and mysterious as his odd nickname implied. They'd met him by chance at the hotel in Paris. Crash wasn't a member of Alpha Squad, or even SEAL Team Ten. In fact, Cowboy hadn't been absolutely certain where the SEAL he'd called his best friend back in BUD/S training was assigned. Except for the accidental meeting, it had been years since they'd even seen each other, but the ongoing mutual trust and respect between the two men had been obvious.

  "I got some E-mail from him just last week. Nothing much— just a hi, how are ya, I'm still alive. But when I wrote to him, the mail all bounced back, undeliverable. Need help getting in?" He watched her maneuver her unwieldy body into the bucket seat.

  She shook her head. "It looks more awkward than it really is. Although ask me again when we get to my house—I won't refuse a hand getting out."

  Jones leaned over so that he was at her eye level. "I can't believe you still have two more months to go." He quickly back-pedaled. "Not to imply that you're not telling the truth or..." He closed his eyes, swearing softly. When he opened them again, his eyes were a startling shade of green against the tan of his face. "What I was trying to say was that if that baby gets much bigger, it's going to be a real struggle for you to give birth." He paused. "I want you to know that from the moment I saw you, Mel, I didn't doubt for a minute that the baby was mine."

  "Jones, you don't have to—"

  "You haven't denied that I'm right."

  "I haven't said anything either way!"

  "You don't have to." Jones straightened up and closed the car door. As Melody watched, he crossed around the front and un­locked the driver's-side door. "I called your neighbor—Vince Romanella—about that kid. He said to relax—that he'd find him. Andy. That's the kid's name."

  The subject of whose baby she was carrying seemed to have been temporarily and quite intentionally dropped. "I know," Melody said as he climbed in and started the car. "Brittany told me you called Information to get Vince's number. Thank you for doing that."

  "It was no problem." He took a left as he pulled out of the driveway.

  "Don't you want me to give you directions?"

  Jones glanced at her. "I know where you live. I checked a map and went out there this morning, but you weren't home." He smiled slightly, politely, as if they were strangers. "Obviously."

  Melody couldn't stand it anymore. "Look, I think you should just drop me off and drive away." He was silent, so she took a deep breath and went on. "You can pretend you don't know. Pretend you never came to Appleton. Just...drive into Boston and catch the next flight to Virginia and don't look back. Don't say hi to Harvard for me. Don't say anything. You can tell the guys I wouldn't see you and..."

  She had to stop and clear her throat. He was holding on to the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white, but he still didn't speak.

  "I know you didn't ask for this, Jones. I know this was not what you were thinking when we spent that time together. It wasn't what I was thinking, either, but I've had a chance to deal with it. I've had time to fall in love with this little baby, and I'm okay about it now. I'm excited about it. It may not have been what I wanted seven months ago, but I do want it now. But your being here messes things up."

  He pulled into her driveway and, leaving the engine running, turned toward her. "It was on the flight to Paris, wasn't it? That's when it happened."

  The look in his eyes was so intense, Melody felt as if he had X-ray vision and could see deep inside of her. She prayed that he couldn't. She prayed that he wouldn't know how close she was to throwing up even as she desperately tried to send him away forever.

  "Drive away," she said again, steeling herself, purposely mak­ing her words as harsh as she possibly could. "And don't look back. I don't need you, Jones. And I don't want you."

  He looked away, but not before she saw a flare of hurt in his eyes. Her heart nearly broke, but she forced herself to go on. It was better this way. It had to be better this way.

  "I know for a fact that the last thing you need is this baby and me, tying you down in any way at all. All you can possibly do by sticking around is to complicate things. I have money. I have enough saved so that I can spend the next four years at home with the baby. My mother's already started a trust fund for him, for college. There's nothing you can give him that I haven't al­ready thought of and provided."

  He tried to cover his hurt with a cynical smile. "Well, hell, honey. Don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel."

  She felt like a total bitch. But she had to do this. She had to make him leave before he got some crazy idea of "doing right"

  by her. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think now was the time to play games."

  He exhaled in what might've been a laugh, but there wasn't much humor in it. "I'd say we pretty much covered the game-playing seven months ago."

  Melody flushed, knowing precisely to what he was referring. They'd left their hotel room only once each night—for dinner. They'd gone out onto the winding, romantic streets of both those foreign cities and had let their insatiable desire for one another drive them half-mad. They'd kissed and touched and gazed into each other's eyes in a silent contest of wills. Who would be the first to give in and beg the other to return to their room to make giddy, passionate love?

  Jones had had no shame, sliding his hand up her skirt, along the inside of her thigh to touch her intimately beneath the cur­tained privacy of a thick restaurant tablecloth. She had lost the battle that night but won the next when he did the same, only to discover she'd gone out without her panties on—without even the smallest scrap of lace to cover her. And when she smiled into his eyes right there in the restaurant and opened herself to his ex­ploring fingers...

  They'd taken a taxi back to the hotel that night, even though the restaurant had only been a short three-block walk away.

  It had happened similarly on that flight to France. What began as an innocent conversation about favorite books and movies with a four-star general also heading to Paris took on more meaningful undercurrents. Jones had thought it best to hide the nature of their relationship, and sitting side by side without touching soon had them both totally on edge.

  Jones had had to reach past her to shake the general's hand, and his arm brushed her breast. The sensation nearly sent her through the roof—a fact she knew that he had not missed.

  She'd countered by leaning across him to get a look out the window at the countryside below and letting her fingers brush his thigh.

  He'd stretched his legs and accidentally bumped into her.

  She'd excused herself and went into one of the tiny bathrooms.

  When she returned and sat back down, she looked through her handbag in the pretense of searching for some chewing gum. She opened her bag carefully, revealing its contents—including a white bit of satin and lace—only to Jones and not the general. While she'd been gone, she'd once again removed her panties, knowing full w
ell Jones would recognize the same article of clothing he'd taken such pains to remove earlier that morning, causing them to have to rush to get to the airport on time.

  Melody felt her blush deepen. Who would've thought she'd have done such things, such daring, provocative, sexually ag­gressive things like that?

  She'd liked it, though. She'd loved the way Jones had made her feel as if she was the sexiest woman in the world. She loved the way he'd needed her so desperately, the way he couldn't seem to get enough of her.

  On that flight to Paris, she'd lured him into the tiny bathroom. She hadn't realized he wasn't carrying any condoms. And he had thought she had some in her purse. But once they were together in that hot little closet of a room, the need to sate their searing desire had taken priority over the fact they had no protection.

  Jones had roughly pushed her skirt up her thighs and she had wrapped her legs around him as he thrust deeply inside her and took her to heaven. He'd pulled out in an attempt to keep her from getting pregnant, but Melody was well aware that as a form of birth control, the withdrawal method was far less than fool­proof.

  Still, she'd convinced herself that one time wouldn't matter. Surely they could cheat just once. Surely the odds were in their favor. And heck, luck had been on their side so far. Besides, she'd told herself, she wanted Jones badly enough to be willing to face the consequences.

  As she glanced at him now, she knew he was remembering that little airplane bathroom, too. He was remembering the taste of her, the scent of her, the slick heat that surrounded him, car­rying them both to ecstasy.

  God knows she'd never forget the incredible waves of pleasure that engulfed her as he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep himself from releasing all of his seed deep inside her.

  He cleared his throat not once but twice before he could speak. "At least the sex was the greatest I’ve ever had in my life. I mean, it would've been real anticlimactic—no pun intended—to find out that I got you pregnant after having only mediocre sex."

  Melody laughed. She couldn't stop herself. It was so like Jones to search for the positives in a no-win situation. But then her eyes filled up and she opened the car door, afraid she was going to burst into tears.