Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  Crash locked the door behind her. “Yeah,” he said. "Too bad."

  Out in the barn, the band was finally packing up. But as Crash watched from the shadows beyond the doorway, Jake and Daisy still danced to music only they could hear.

  Admiral and Mrs. Jacob Robinson.

  The evening had been one of laughter and celebration. Jake had accepted the congratulations of friends and col­leagues. He'd smiled through the toasts that wished the two of them long life and decades more of happiness. He'd laughed as friends had joked, trying to guess exactly how he'd finally convinced his long-time lover to willingly ac­cept the chains of matrimony.

  Jake had finally gotten what he'd always wanted, but Crash knew he would trade it all for a miracle cure.

  As Crash watched them dance, Jake wiped his eyes, care­ful to keep Daisy from seeing that he was crying.

  Jake was crying.

  All evening long, Crash had fought to keep the constant awareness of Daisy's mortality at bay.

  But now death's shadow was back.

  Crash waited until the band had left, until Jake and Daisy slowly made their way out to the house.

  He turned down the heat and locked the barn door, then went to his room.

  Nell's door was closed, and as he passed it, it stayed tightly shut.

  He was glad for that. Glad she was asleep, glad she hadn't been waiting for him. He didn't think he would have had the strength to turn her down again.

  He hesitated outside his own bedroom door, looking back down the hall toward Nell's room.

  Yes, he was glad. But he was also achingly disappointed.

  Chapter 7

  Nell sat numbly on her bed, next to her suitcase. She was aware that she was going to have to stand up and walk over to her dresser if she wanted to transfer her socks and un­derwear from the drawer into that suitcase.

  It couldn't have happened so quickly, it didn't seem pos­sible. But yet it had.

  Two days after the wedding, Daisy had had another of her fainting spells. It had taken even longer for her to be roused, and when she was conscious, she'd found that she could no longer walk unassisted.

  The doctor had come out to the house, leaving behind a final, chilling prognosis—the end was near.

  Yet Daisy and Jake had continued to celebrate their new-lywed status. They'd sipped champagne while watching the sunset from Daisy's studio. Jake had carried Daisy wher­ever she wished to go, and when he grieved, he did it out of her sight.

  And then, three days after Christmas, Daisy and Jake went to sleep in their master-bedroom suite, and only Jake had awakened.

  Just like that, in the blink of an eye, in the beat of a heart, Daisy was gone.

  The evening before, they'd all been together in the kitchen. Nell had been making a cup of tea, and Jake, with Daisy in his arms, had stopped in to say good-night. Crash had come in from outside, wearing running clothes and a reflective vest. Even though Nell had offered to make him some tea as well, he'd gone upstairs shortly after Daisy and Jake. Ever since the night of the wedding, he'd been careful not to spend any time alone with her.

  But he'd come into her room the next morning, to wake her up and tell her that Daisy had died, peacefully, pain­lessly, in her sleep.

  That day and the next had passed in a blur.

  Jake grieved openly, as did Nell. But if Crash had cried at all, he'd done it in the privacy of his own room.

  The wake had been filled with many of the same people who'd come to the wedding barely a week before. Senators. Congressmen. Naval Officers.

  Washington's elite.

  Four different people had given Nell their card, knowing that she had not only lost a friend but was suddenly out of work. It was a gesture of kindness and goodwill, Nell tried to tell herself. But still, she couldn't shake the image of herself in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Good personal assistants were hard to find, and here she was, suddenly available.

  Senator Mark Garvin had talked for ten minutes about how his fiancee was seeking a personal assistant. With their wedding only a few months away, she was hard-pressed to keep her social schedule organized. Nell had stood there uncomfortably until Dex Lancaster had come to her rescue and pulled her away.

  Still, despite that, the wake had been lovely. As at the wedding, laughter resounded as everyone told of their own special memories of Daisy Owen Robinson.

  The funeral, too, had been a joyous celebration of a life well lived. Daisy definitely would have approved.

  But through it all, Crash had been silent. He'd listened, but he hadn't responded. He didn't tell a story of his own, he didn't laugh, he didn't cry.

  Several times, Nell had been tempted to approach him and take his pulse, just to verify that he was, indeed, alive.

  He'd distanced himself so completely from all of the grief and turmoil around him. She didn't doubt for a minute that he'd distanced himself from everything he was feeling inside as well.

  That was bad. That was really bad. Did he honestly ex­pect to keep everything he was feeling locked within him forever?

  Nell stood up, took her socks from the drawer and tossed them into her suitcase. Just as quickly as Daisy had died, other changes were happening, too. She was leaving in the morning. Her job here was finished.

  As much as she wanted to stay, she couldn't help but hope that once he was alone with Jake, Crash would be able to come to terms with his grief.

  Her favorite pair of socks had rolled out of the suitcase, and as Nell picked them up off the floor, she noticed the heels were starting to wear through. The sight made her cry. For someone who never, ever used to cry, nearly ev­erything made her burst into tears these days.

  She lay back on her bed, holding the rolled-up ball of socks to her chest, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceil­ing, letting her tears run down into her ears.

  She'd loved it here at the farm. She'd loved working here, and she'd loved living here. She'd loved Daisy and Jake, and she loved...

  Nell sat up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. No. She definitely didn't love Crash Hawken. Even she wouldn't do something as foolish as fall in love with a man like him.

  She put the socks in her suitcase and went back to the dresser for her underwear.

  Sure, she loved Crash, but only in a non-romantic way— only the way she'd loved Daisy, the way she loved Jake. They were friends.

  Yeah, right. She sat down on her bed again. Who was she trying to kid? She wanted to be friends with Crash about as much as she wanted to sign on to be personal assistant to oily California Senator Mark Garvin's pam­pered debutante fiancee. In a single word—not.

  What she wanted was to be Crash Hawken's lover. She wanted him to kiss her again, the way he'd kissed her on the night of the wedding. She wanted to feel his hands against her back, pulling her close.

  She wanted to tear off her clothes and share with him the hottest, most powerful sexual experience of her entire life.

  But those feelings weren't necessarily based on love. They were the result of attraction. Lust. Desire.

  There was a knock on her door, and Nell nearly fell off her bed. Heart pounding, she went to open it.

  But it was Jake, not Crash. He looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be sleeping downstairs again tonight."

  Nell had to clear her disappointment out of her throat before she could speak. "Okay." Had she honestly thought that it might be Crash knocking on her door? What was she thinking? In the entire month that they'd slept under the same roof, with the sole exception of the night of Jake and Daisy's wedding, Crash had never made a move on her. He'd never done anything at all that even remotely suggested that he was interested in anything but her friend­ship. So why on earth had she thought he would knock on her door now?

  "What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Jake asked.

  She was going home to Ohio for a week or two. "First thing in the morning. Before seven. I want to try to miss the rush-
hour traffic."

  He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out an en­velope. "I better give this to you now, then. I want to sleep as long as I can in the morning." His mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Like, until April." He handed her the envelope. "Severance pay. Or a bonus. Call it whatever you like. Just take it."

  Nell tried to give it back. "I don't want this, Jake. It's bad enough that Daisy left me all that money in her will."

  Somehow Jake managed a more natural smile. "Yeah, well, she really wanted to give you Crash. She was sorry that didn't work out."

  Nell felt herself blush. "It didn't not work out," she said. "It just... There was nothing there. No spark."

  Jake snorted. "You really don't think Daisy and I didn't notice the two of you staring when you didn't think the other was looking? Yeah, right, there were no sparks-there were nuclear-powered fireworks."

  She shook her head. "I don't know what you think you saw." She lowered her voice. "I did everything but throw myself at him. I'm telling you, he's not interested in me that way."

  "What he is is scared to death of you." Jake pulled her in close for a quick hug. "You know I'll never be able to thank you enough for all you did, but right now I have to go lie down and become unconscious. Or least attempt it."

  "Admiral, are you sure you want to be alone? I could get Billy, and we could all have something to eat and—"

  "I've got to get used to it, you know? Being alone."

  "Maybe tonight's not the night to start."

  "I just want to sleep. The doctor gave me something mild to help me relax. I'm not proud—if I need to, I'll take it." Jake gave her a gentle noogie on the top of her head. "Just give me a call when you get to your mom and dad's so that I know you made it to Ohio safely."

  "I will," Nell promised. "Good night, sir." She was still holding the envelope he'd given her. "And thank you."

  Jake was already gone.

  She turned and looked at Crash's door.

  It was tightly shut, the way it always was when he was inside his bedroom.

  What he is is scared to death of you.

  What if Jake was right? What if the attraction Nell felt for Crash really was mutual?

  If she didn't do something now, if she didn't walk over to that tightly shut door and knock on it, if she didn't get up the courage to look Crash in the eye and tell him exactly how she felt, she could very well lose the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to start a very real relationship with a man who excited her on every level. Emotionally, physi­cally, intellectually, spiritually—there was no doubt about it, William Hawken turned her on.

  When she woke up in the morning, he'd probably already be downstairs, coming back inside from his morning run. She would load up her car, then shake his hand and that would be it. She would drive away, and probably never see him again.

  She stood a chance at making a royal fool of herself, but if she wasn't going to see him ever again, what did that matter?

  As she stood there, gazing at Crash's closed door, she could almost hear Daisy whispering in her ear, "Go for it."

  Nell tossed the envelope Jake had given her into her suitcase and, straightening her shoulders, she went back into the hall, heading for Crash's room.

  Crash sat in the dark, fighting his anger.

  He'd sat through the funeral as if he were watching it from a distance. It didn't seem possible that Daisy was dead. Part of him kept looking around for her, waiting for her to show up, listening for her familiar laughter, watching for her brilliant smile.

  He didn't know how Jake could possibly stand it. But for the past two days, Jake had accepted condolences with a graciousness and quiet dignity that Crash couldn't imag­ine pulling off.

  The anger Crash felt was something he could manage. He was good at controlling his anger. He was practiced in distancing himself from it. But the grief and the pain he was feeling—they were threatening to overpower him.

  He'd found he could stomp down the grief, controlling it with his stronger feelings of anger. But after two solid days, the anger was getting harder and harder to control.

  And so he sat in the dark with his hands shaking and his teeth clenched, and he silently let himself rage.

  Nell was leaving in the morning. The thought made him even angrier, the feeling washing over him in great, thick waves.

  He heard a sound in the hallway. It was Jake, knocking on Nell's door. He heard the door open, heard the two of them talking. He could hear the murmur of voices, but he couldn't make out the words. Still, he managed to get the gist. Jake and Nell were saying their goodbyes. Then he heard Jake walk away.

  Crash closed his eyes, listening even harder, but he didn't hear Nell's door close. A board creaked in the hall, and his eyes opened. She was standing right outside of his room.

  Dear, sweet Mary, how was he supposed to fight the temptation that Nell brought as well as all his grief and pain?

  He closed his eyes, again, willing her to walk away. Walk away.

  She didn't. She knocked on his door.

  Crash didn't move. Maybe if he didn't answer, she would just go away. Maybe...

  She knocked again.

  And then she opened the door a crack, peering in, look­ing in the direction of his bed. "Billy? Are you asleep?"

  He didn't answer, and she stepped further into the room. "Hawken...?" The light from the hallway fell onto the bed, and he saw when she realized it was empty. "Crash, are you even in here?"

  He spoke then. "Yes."

  Nell jumped, startled by his voice coming from the other side of the room.

  "It's dark in here," she said, searching for him in the shadows. "May I turn on the light?"

  "No."

  She flinched at the flatness of his reply. "I'm sorry. Are you... Are you all right?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why are you sitting in the dark?"

  He didn't answer.

  "This all must seem like some terrible kind of deja vu to you," she said quietly.

  "Have you come to psychoanalyze me, or did you have something else in mind?"

  It was too dark to see her clearly, even with the light from the hall, but he could picture the slight flush rising in her cheeks.

  "I came because I'm leaving in the morning and I wanted to... say goodbye."

  "Goodbye."

  She flinched again, but instead of turning and walking out of the room the way he hoped she would, she moved toward him.

  He was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, and she sat down right next to him. "You're not alone in what you're feeling," she said. "There was nothing any of us could do to keep her from dying."

  "So you are here to psychoanalyze. Do me a favor and keep it to yourself."

  He couldn't see her eyes, but he could tell from the sil­houette of her profile that she was not unaffected by the harshness of his words.

  "Actually," she started. Her voice wobbled and she stopped and cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was very, very small. "Actually, I'm here because / didn't want to be alone tonight."

  Something clenched in Crash's chest. It was the same something that tightened his throat and made tears heat his eyes. It made his bitter anger start to fade, leaving behind a hurt and anguish that was too powerful to keep inside. There was no way he could detach and move far enough away from the pain he was feeling. It was too strong.

  "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "What I said was rude and uncalled for."

  Crash tried to get mad at himself. He'd been a son of a bitch from the moment she walked in, a jerk, a complete ass, a total bastard. He tried to get good and angry—be­cause that anger was the only thing that was going to keep him from breaking down and crying like a baby.

  Nell moved in the darkness beside him, and he knew she was wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. "That's okay," she said. "I'd rather have you mad at me than have to watch you do your zombie impression."

  "Maybe you should go," Crash
said desperately. "Be­cause I'm not feeling very steady here, and—"

  She interrupted, turning in the darkness to face him. "I came to your room because I wanted to tell you something before I left." She reached out, touching him on the arm. "I wanted to—"

  "Nell, I'm not sure I can—"

  "Make sure that you knew that—"

  "—handle sitting here like this with you." He'd meant to shake her hand off, but somehow he'd reached for her instead, gripping her tightly by the elbow.

  "I've wanted to be your lover since the first time we met," she whispered.

  Oh, Lord.

  All of the intense feelings—the wanting, the guilt, the desire, the relentless pain—of the past few days, the past few weeks, spun together inside of him, in a great, huge tornado of emotion.

  "I just wanted you to know that before I left," she said again, "in case you maybe felt something similar and, even though we've only got one night—"

  Crash kissed her. He had to kiss her, or everything inside of him, this churning maelstrom of despair and heartache and guilt and grief would erupt from him, tearing him apart, leaving him open and exposed.

  He kissed her—and he didn't have to cry. He pulled her close—and he didn't need to break things, he didn't lash out in anger, he didn't fall apart with grief.

  She nearly exploded in his arms, clinging to him as des­perately as he clung to her, matching the fury of his kisses, the ferociousness of his embrace.

  He pulled her onto his lap so that her legs straddled him, her heat pressed tightly against him.

  Sweet God, he'd wanted her for so long.

  This was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but he no longer cared. He needed this. He needed her—just as she needed him tonight.

  And Lord, how she needed him.

  Her fingers were running through his hair, her hands skimming down his back as if she couldn't get enough of touching him. She kissed him as if she wanted to inhale him. She pressed herself against him as if she would die if he didn't fill her.

  Nothing else existed. For right now, for this time, there was no past, no future—only this moment. Only the two of them.

  As still they kissed, he touched her just as greedily, slip­ping one hand between them to cup the sweet fullness of her breast. She made a low, unbearably sexy noise deep in the back of her throat, then pulled her lips away from his, just long enough to grab the hem of her shirt and pull it quickly over her head.