Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  The edge on PJ.'s anger instantly softened. This man sure could talk a good game. And the look in his eyes was enough to convince her he wasn't just slinging around slick, empty words. He was confused by having a real friendship with a woman, and honest enough to admit it.

  "Friends don't own friends," she told him gently. "In fact, I thought the entire issue of people owning other people was taken care of a few hundred years ago."

  Harvard smiled. "I don't want to own you."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  Harvard was silent for a moment, gazing into her eyes. "I want to be your lover," he told her. "And maybe your ex­periences with other men have led you to believe that means I want to dominate and control—as you so aptly put it the other day. And while I'd truly love to make you beg, chances are if we ever get into that kind of...position, you're going to be hearing me do some begging, too."

  He was moving closer, an inch at a time, but P.J. was frozen in place, pinned by the look in his eyes and the heat of his soft words. He touched the side of her face, gently skimming the tips of his fingers across her cheek.

  "We've played it your way, and we're friends, P.J.," he said softly. "I like being your friend, but there's more that I want to share with you. Much more.

  "We can go into this with our eyes open," he continued. "We can go upstairs to your room, and you can lend yourself to me tonight—and I'll lend myself to you. No ownership, no problems." Harvard ran his thumb across her lips. "We can lock your door and we don't have to come out for two whole days."

  He lowered his head to kiss her softly, gently. PJ. felt herself sway toward him, felt herself weakening. Two whole days in this man's arms... Never in her life had she been so tempted.

  "Let's go upstairs," he whispered. He kissed her again, just as sweetly, as if he'd realized that gentle finesse would get him farther than soul-stealing passion.

  But then he stepped away from her, and PJ. realized that all around the pool, lights were going on. One went on di­rectly overhead, and they were no longer hidden by the shad­ows of the dusk. Harvard still held her hand, though, drawing languorous circles on her palm with his thumb.

  He was looking at her as if she were the smartest, sexiest, most desirable woman on the entire planet And she knew that she was looking at him with an equal amount of hunger in her eyes.

  She wanted him.

  Worst of all, despite her words, she knew she wanted to own him. Heart, body and soul, she wanted this incredible man for herself and herself alone, and that scared her damn near witless.

  She turned away, pulling from his grasp, pressing the palms of her hands against the rough wood of the railing, trying to rid herself of the lingering ghost of his touch.

  "This is a really bad idea." She had to work hard, and even then her voice sounded thin and fluttery.

  He stepped closer, close enough so she could feel his body heat but not quite close enough to touch her. "Logically, yes," he murmured. "Logically, it's insane. But sometimes you've got to go with your gut—and I'm telling you, PJ, every instinct I've got is screaming that this is the best idea I've had in my entire life."

  All her instincts were screaming, too. But they were screaming the opposite. This may well be the right man, but was so the wrong time.

  Those treacherous, treasonous feelings she was having— the crazy need to possess this man—had to be stomped down, hidden away. She had to push these thoughts far from her, and even though she was by no means an expert when it came to intimate relationships, she knew that getting naked with Harvard Becker would only make things worse.

  She had to be able to look at him, to work with him over the next few weeks and be cool and rational.

  She wasn't sure she could spend two days making love to him and then pretend there was nothing between them. She wasn't that good an actor.

  "Daryl, I can't," she whispered.

  He'd been holding his breath, she realized, and he let it out in a rush that was half laughter. "I would say, give me one good reason, except I'm pretty sure you've got a half a dozen all ready and waiting, reasons I haven't even thought of."

  She did have half a dozen reasons, but they were all reasons she couldn't share with him. How could she tell him she couldn't risk becoming intimate because she was afraid of falling in love with him?

  But she did have one reason she knew he would under­stand. She took a deep breath. "I've never been with... anyone."

  Harvard didn't understand what P.J. meant. He knew she was telling him something important—he could see that in her eyes. But he couldn't make sense of her words. Never been where?

  "You know, I've always hated the word virgin," P.J. told him, and suddenly what she'd said clicked. "I came from a neighborhood where eleven-year-old girls were taunted by classmates for still being virgins."

  Harvard couldn't help laughing in disbelief. "No way. Are you telling me you're—" Damn, he couldn't even say the word.

  "A virgin."

  That was the word. Turning her to face him and searching her eyes, he stopped laughing. "My God, you're serious, aren't you?"

  "I used to lie about it," she told him, pulling away to look out over the swimming pool. "Even when I went to college where, you know, you'd expect people to be cool about what ever personal choices other people make in their lives, I had to lie. For some reason, it was okay to be celibate for—well, you name the reason—taking time off from the dating scene, or concentrating on grades for a while, or finding your own space—but it was only okay if you'd been sexually active in the past But as soon as people found out you were a virgin, God, it was as if you had some disease you had to be cured of as soon as possible. Forget about personal choice. I watched other girls get talked into doing things they didn't really want to do with boys they didn't really like, and so I just kept on lying."

  She turned to face him then. "But I didn't want to lie to you."

  Harvard cleared his throat. He cleared it again. "I'm, um..."

  She smiled. "Look at you. I've managed to shock Alpha Squad's mighty Senior Chief."

  Harvard found his voice. "Yes," he said. "Shocked is a good word for it."

  She was standing there in front of him, waiting. For what? He wasn't quite sure of the protocol when the woman he'd been ferociously trying to seduce all evening admitted she'd never been with a man before.

  Some men might take her words as a challenge. Here was a big chance to boldly go where no man had gone before. The prospect could be dizzyingly exciting—until the looming responsibility of such an endeavor came lumbering into view.

  This woman had probably turned down dozens, maybe even hundreds of men. The fact that she clearly saw him as a major temptation was outrageously flattering, but it was frightening, too.

  What if he could apply the right amount of sweet talk and pressure to make her give in? What if he did go up to her room with her tonight? This would not be just another casual romantic interlude. This would be an important event. Was he ready for that? Was he ready for this woman to get caught up in the whirlwind of physical sensations and mistake a solid sexual encounter for something deeper, like love?

  Harvard looked into PJ.'s eyes. "What I want to know is what drives a person to keep one very significant part of her life locked up tight for so many years," he said. "An in­credible, vibrant, passionate woman like you. It's not like you couldn't have your pick of men."

  "When I was a little girl, no more than five or six years old," she told him quietly, "I decided I was going to wait to find a man who would love me enough to marry me first, you know? I didn't really know too much about sex at the time, but I knew that both my grandmother and my mother hadn't waited—whatever that meant. I saw all these girls in the neighborhood with their big expanding bellies—girls who hadn't waited. It was always whispered. Priscilla Simons hadn't waited. Cheri Richards hadn't waited. I decided I was going to wait.

  "And then when I did start to understand, I was all caught up in the books I read. I
was hooked on that fairy-tale myth— you know, waiting on Prince Charming. That carried me through quite a few years."

  Harvard stayed quiet, waiting for her to go on.

  P.J. sighed. "I still sometimes wish life could be that sim­ple, though I'm well aware it's not. I may never have been with a man, but I'm no innocent. I know that no man in his right mind is going to be foolish enough to marry a woman without taking her for a test drive, so to speak. And no woman should do that, either. Sexual compatibility is impor­tant in a relationship. I do believe that. But deep inside, I've got this little girl who's just sitting there, quietly waiting." She laughed, shaking her head. "I see that nervous look in your eyes. Don't worry. I'm not hinting for a marriage pro­posal or anything. Being tied down is the last thing I want or need. See, as I got older, I saw more and more of the pitiful samples of men my mother collected, and I started to think maybe marriage wasn't what I wanted. I mean, who in her right mind would want to be permanently tied to one of these losers? Not me."

  Harvard found his voice. "But not all men are losers."

  "I know that. As I got older, my scope of experience wid­ened, and I met men who weren't drug dealers or thieves. I made friends with some of them. But only friends. I guess old habits die hard. Or maybe I never really trusted any of them. Or maybe I just never met anyone I've wanted to get with." Until now. P.J. didn't say the words aloud, but they hung between them as clear as the words in a cartoon bubble.

  "I'm not telling you this to create some kind of challenge for you," she added, as if she'd been able to read his mind. "I'm just trying to explain where I'm coming from and why now probably isn't the best time for me and you."

  Probably isn't wasn't the same as just plain isn't. Harvard knew that if he was going to talk her into inviting him up­stairs, now was the time. He should move closer, touch the side of her face, let her see the heat in his eyes. He should talk his way into her room. He should tell her there was so much more for them to say.

  But he couldn't do it. Not without really thinking it through. Instead of reaching for her, he rested his elbows on the railing. "It's okay," he said softly. "I can see how this complicates things—for me as well as for you."

  The look in her eyes nearly killed him. She managed to look both relieved and disappointed.

  They stood together in silence for several long moments. Then P.J. finally sighed.

  Harvard had to hold tightly to the railing to keep from following her as she backed away.

  "I'm, uh, I guess I'm going to go back up. To my room. Now."

  Harvard nodded. "Good night."

  She turned and walked away. He stared at the reflected lights dancing on the surface of the swimming pool, thinking about the life P.J. had had as a child, thinking about all she'd had to overcome, thinking about how strong she must've been even as a tiny little girl, thinking about her up there in that tree, getting the job done despite her fears, thinking about the sweet taste of her kisses....

  And thinking that having a woman like that fall in love with him might not be the worst thing in the world.

  Chapter 10

  The first ring jarred her out of a deep sleep.

  The second ring made P.J. roll over and squint at the clock.

  She picked up the phone on the third ring. "It's five forty-five, I've got my first morning off in more than four weeks. This better be notification from the lottery commission that I've just won megabucks."

  "What if I told you I was calling with an offer that was better than winning megabucks?"

  Harvard. It was Harvard.

  PJ. sat up, instantly awake. She had been so certain her blunt-edged honesty had scared him to death. She'd been con­vinced her words had sent him running far away from her as fast as his legs could carry him. She'd spent most of last night wondering and worrying if the little news bomb she'd dropped on him had blown up their entire friendship.

  She'd spent most of last night realizing how much she'd come to value him as a friend.

  "I was positive you'd be awake," he said cheerfully, as if nothing even the slightest bit heavy had transpired between them. "I pictured you already finishing up your first seven mile run of the day. Instead, what do I find? You're still studying the insides of your eyelids! You're absolutely un­aware that the sun is up and shining and that it is a perfect day for a trip to Phoenix, Arizona."

  "I can't believe you woke me up at five forty-five on one of only two days I have to sleep late for the next four weeks," P.J. complained, trying to play it cool. She was afraid to ac­knowledge how glad she was he'd called even to herself, let alone to him..

  But she hadn't scared him away. They were still friends. And she was very, very glad.

  "Yeah, I know it's early," he said, "but I thought the idea of heading into the heart of the desert during the hottest part of the summer would be something you'd find irresistible."

  "Better than winning megabucks, huh?"

  "Not to mention the additional bonus—the chance to see my parents' new house."

  "You are such a chicken," PJ. said. "This doesn't have anything to do with me wanting to see the desert. This is all about you having to deal with seeing your parents' new house for the first time. Poor baby needs someone to come along and hold his hand."

  "You're right," he said, suddenly serious. "I'm terrified. I figure I could either do this the hard way and just suck it up and go, or I could make it a whole hell of a lot easier and ask you to come along."

  PJ. didn't know what to say. She grasped at the first thing that came to mind. "Your parents have barely moved in. They couldn't possibly be ready for extra houseguests."

  "I don't know how big their house is," Harvard admitted. "I figured you and I would probably just stay in a hotel. In separate rooms," he added.

  PJ. was silent.

  "I know what you're thinking," he said "Oh, yeah, what's that?"

  "You're thinking, the man is dogging me because he wants some."

  "The thought has crossed my mind—"

  "Well, you're both wrong and right," Harvard told her.

  "You're right about the fact that I want you." He laughed softly. "Yeah, you're real right about that. But I'm not going to chase or pressure you, PJ. I figure, when you're ready, if you're ever ready, you'll let me know. And until then, we'll play it your way. I'm asking you to come to Phoenix with me as friends."

  PJ. took a deep breath. "What time is the flight?" "Would you believe in forty-five minutes?" PJ. laughed. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I'd believe that." "Meet me out front in ten minutes," he told her. "Carry-on bag only, okay?"

  "Daryl!" "Yeah?"

  "Thanks," PJ. said. "Just...thanks." "I'm the one who should be thanking you for coming with me," he said, just as quietly. He took a deep breath. "Okay," he added much more loudly. "We all done with this heartfelt mushy stuff? Good. Let's go, Richards! Clock's ticking. Downstairs. Nine minutes! Move!"

  "I always think about wind shear."

  Harvard looked over to find PJ.'s eyes tightly shut as the huge commercial jet lumbered down the runway. She had her usual death grip on the armrests. "Well, don't," he said. "Hold my hand."

  She opened one eye and looked at him. "Or I think about the improbability of something this big actually making it off the ground."

  He held out his hand, palm up, inviting her to take it. "You want to talk physics, I can give you the 411, as you call it, complete with numbers and equations, on why this sucker flies," he said.

  "And then," she said, as if she hadn't heard him at all, "when I hear the wheels retract, I think about how awful it would be to fall."

  Harvard pried her fingers from the armrest and placed her hand in his. "I won't let you fall."

  She smiled ruefully, pulling her hand free. "When you say it like that, I can almost believe you."

  He held her gaze. "It's okay if you hold my hand."

  "No, it's not."

  "Friends can hold hands."

  P.J. snorted. "Yeah, I'm sur
e you and Joe Cat do it all the time."

  Harvard had to smile at that image. "If he needed me to, I'd hold his hand."

  "He'd never need you to."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Look, I'm really okay with flying," P.J. told him. "It's just takeoff that gets me a little tense."

  "Yeah," Harvard said, looking at her hands gripping the armrests. "Now that we're in the air, you're really relaxed."

  She had small hands with short, neat, efficient-looking nails. Her fingers were slender but strong. They were good hands, capable hands. She may not have been able to palm a basketball, but neither could most of the rest of the world. He liked the way his hand had engulfed hers. He knew he'd like the sensation of their fingers laced together.

  "I am relaxed," she protested. "You know, all I'd have to do is close my eyes, and I'd be asleep in five minutes. Less."

  "That's not relaxed," he scoffed. "That's defensive un­consciousness. You know you're stuck in this plane until we land in Phoenix. There's no way out, so your body just shuts down. Little kids do it all the time when they get really mad or upset. I've seen Frankie Catalanotto do it—he's getting into that terrible-two thing early. One second he's screaming the walls down because he can't have another cookie, and the next he's sound asleep on the living room rug. It's like some­one threw a switch. It's a defense mechanism."

  "I love it when you compare me to a child going through the terrible twos."

  "You want me to buy you a beer, little girl?"

  She gave him something resembling a genuine smile. "On a six-thirty-in-the-morning flight...?"

  "Whatever works."

  "I usually bring my Walkman and a book on tape," P.J.

  told him. "And I listen to that while I catch up on paperwork. Can't do too many things and maintain a high level of terror all at the same time."

  Harvard nodded. "You cope. You do what you have to do when you have no choice. But every now and then you can let yourself get away with holding onto someone's hand."

  PJ. shook her head. "I've never felt I could afford that luxury." She looked away, as if she knew she might have said too much.