Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  She was more than good.

  She was...

  Jake took several steps backward to watch her. Her hips swayed a little as she walked away. Just enough to advertise that the body inside those androgynous jeans was pure fe­male.

  They'd taken another late shower last night. Dear, dear God. Sex with Zoe was indescribable. It was...

  Sex. It was purely physical. Two people having a damn good time with their bodies.

  Zoe was so direct, so honest. She didn't play games, didn't try to make him guess what she wanted. She liked having sex the way he did—with her eyes wide open and the lights brightly lit.

  He loved watching her eyes as he drove himself into her. He loved the way she seemed to look directly into his soul, the way the connection between them seemed an almost mystical thing. He loved the hunger of her kisses, the sheer intensity of her release. He loved the way she curled against him at night, touching as much of him as possible, as if despite all that they'd done, she still couldn't get enough of him. He loved the way, with just one look and smile this morning, she'd let him know she was anticipating making love to him again tonight.

  He loved the way just watching her walk down the hall made him aware of the blood rushing through his veins, aware of his heart's steady rhythm.

  Oh, yes, he was feeling very much alive.

  Zoe turned to glance back at him, and he didn't look away. He let her know he was watching her. He let her see exactly what he was thinking.

  She laughed, and an incredible surge of warmth seemed to detonate within him, radiating out, filling him with hap­piness.

  She waved before she disappeared around the corner, and Jake stood there for several moments longer, struck by the realization that he was going to miss her today. For four days, they'd been together constantly. And as much as the

  waiting had frustrated him, he'd loved sitting with Zoe and talking for hours and hours and hours.

  He'd loved learning about her, loved discovering the in­tricate ways her mind worked, loved her thoughtfulness and her quick sense of humor.

  She'd filled more than the void in his life caused by his lack of a sexual partner. Far more.

  And that realization shook him.

  He'd been so certain of his feelings yesterday, as he'd sat by the waterfall in the early morning light. He'd been convinced that his relationship with Zoe felt so right be­cause it didn't go beyond the physical. And yet his missing her today wasn't just about sex.

  And then there was that annoying question he hadn't quite found a way to ask her. "So, babe. When you go undercover, playing husband and wife like this, does, uh, this sort of thing—you know, this intense physical attrac­tion and mind-biowingly great sex—happen all the time?"

  He shouldn't care about that, about who she'd been with in the past and why she'd been with them. He shouldn't care about the casualness that she assigned to sexual rela­tionships. Why should he care about anything beyond these immediate moments and the fact that right now she wanted him?

  He had absolutely no right to be jealous. Jealousy im­plied love, and...

  Falling in love with Zoe Lange would be the mistake of his lifetime. What, did he honestly think she would ever agree to marry him? Yeah, right. Oh, she liked him, she desired him, and she probably wouldn't object to getting together and getting it on with him three or four or five times a year, whenever she rolled in to D.C. But marriage? Not a Twinkie's chance in a room full of eight-year-olds.

  Get a grip, pal. Jake headed toward Christopher Vin­cent's office. You're not looking to marry the woman. It's just the sex messing with your brain.

  Indescribable sex. With a woman whose smile and laugh­ter made him feel truly happy for the first time in years.

  Of course he was feeling happy—there was no big mys­tery to it. Sure, he liked her, sure she was smart and sharp and funny, but the bottom line was that in his mind, Zoe equaled sex. And sex equaled happy. After living like a monk for three very long years, sex definitely equaled very, very happy.

  All of his warm, fuzzy feelings could be traced to the fact that Jake no longer had to imagine Zoe naked. He could pull her into the shower and see her naked anytime he wanted. See her and touch her and...

  And that had nothing, nothing to do with love.

  Love was what he'd had with Daisy. Slow and easy at times, hot and furious at others, ebbing and flowing like the tides. Love was years of understanding, the ability to communicate volumes with a single look or touch or smile. It was trust, it was faith, it was never to be doubted. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best thing he'd ever had.

  There was no way a man could hope to find something so rare twice in one lifetime. And the thought of settling for something that didn't live up to what he'd once had...

  No, he didn't love Zoe Lange.

  But even if he did, he didn't have to worry. It would never work out.

  Zoe would never expect anything long term, Mitch had told him. Because she leaves, too. And she'll probably leave first.

  And Jake tried to convince himself that that thought made him feel so damned bad only because he would miss the indescribable sex.

  'Tour position on the high council of the CRO can be secured immediately," Christopher Vincent said, eating a sticky bun as he sat behind his fancy oak desk in his private office, "through your willingness to share your personal wealth."

  The room wasn't large. It didn't have one single window. But it did have three doors, all tightly shut, leading off the wall behind Vincent's desk. Jake was willing to bet that behind one of those doors was the CRO surveillance control room—and possibly the missing Triple X.

  Jake held out his hands in a shrug. "Chris, you know as well as I do that all my funds are frozen. I've got over four million dollars in liquid assets—that I can't touch."

  Christopher stood up and opened the door on the far left. It was only a bathroom. One down, two to go.

  He turned on the light and rinsed his hands, raising his voice to be heard over the running water .""Personal wealth isn't limited to finances." He came out, drying his hands on a towel.

  "Information," Jake said. "After thirty-five years in the U.S. Navy, I'm in possession of a great deal of information that might be useful to you." He sat forward. "Look, Chris, I've heard people talk about this birthday celebration you're planning. Let me sit in on the meetings, see if there's any­thing I can contribute—"

  "Letting you sit in," Christopher interrupted, "would prove our trust in you. What are you going to give me that proves you're worthy of that trust? Something that proves your acceptance of me as leader of the CRO." He smiled tightly. "Let's be honest, Jake. I know you're a very am­bitious man. You wouldn't have gotten where you did in the Navy if you weren't. But if you've got any intentions of coming in here and taking over my show—"

  "Whoa," Jake said. "Christopher. You are the CRO." He laughed. "Okay, I am ambitious, but my goal here is to sit at your right hand at the council table. Be your chief adviser. Your second in command. I'd never try to take you down or undermine your authority in any way." He lied smoothly. "Never."

  Chris sat behind his desk. "Then prove it."

  "I will," Jake said. "Like I said—through information. I can give you computer passwords. Back door entrances

  to highly sensitive files. Information on security procedures in government buildings—"'

  "You have more to give than information," Chris said, "although I'll accept that as a sign of your loyalty—in part."

  Jake shook his head. "Chris, I came to you empty-handed. As far as wealth goes, I don't have much. Even these clothes I'm wearing are yours and—"

  "Zoe."

  Jake sat back in his chair. "Excuse me?"

  "You've got Zoe." Christopher smiled. "I'd say that makes you a very wealthy man."

  Jake laughed, but then stopped when he realized that Christopher wasn't laughing, too. Holy God, the son of a bitch was serious.

  Share his personal wealth. Share.
..Zoe. The CRO be­lieved that a wife was a man's possession, but God...

  "Why don't the two of you join me in my private dining room for dinner tonight?" Christopher said, standing up. "Seven o'clock. There's a high council meeting scheduled for noon on Friday, here in my inner chamber." He ges­tured to the door on the far right. "It would be nice—for all of us—if you could join us." He moved to the door that led out of his office, opening it for Jake, dismissing him.

  Jake rose to his feet despite the fact that this conversation wasn't over. He had more to say, to protest, to explain, but the phone on Christopher's desk rang. And the guard out­side the door gestured for Jake to follow him.

  Jake didn't move. "Look, Chris—"

  "I'll see you at dinner tonight." Christopher nodded to the guard, who stepped forward and took Jake's arm.

  There was nothing he could do short of creating a scene. Christopher's door shut behind him as the guard ushered him into the corridor, closing that door behind him, as well.

  And Jake stood in the hallway, certain of what had just been implied and sickened by it.

  If Zoe slept with Christopher Vincent, Jake would be in.

  If Zoe slept with Chris...

  Jake laughed aloud, a sharp burst of disbelieving air, as he headed briskly down the hallway toward his room. No way! He wasn't going to let Zoe anywhere near Christo­pher the scumball Vincent. She was his, dammit, and he wasn't about to share.

  Except she wasn't really his. Their marriage wasn't re­ally a marriage. It wasn't legal. And even if it were, Zoe wasn't the kind of woman any man could ever completely possess.

  He took the stairs down two at a time, moving faster, almost running.

  But there was no way he could outrun the truth.

  Jake had found a way to get the information they needed. If Zoe slept with Chris, he'd find out on noon, Friday, ex­actly what the CRO intended to do with the stolen Triple X. And he'd probably even locate the missing canisters.

  If Zoe slept with Chris.

  He stopped short, gripping the handrail tightly, sitting down right there in the stairwell between the second and third floor, directly in the blind spot between two surveil­lance cameras.

  Oh, God. She would want to do it. Sex just wasn't that big a deal to Zoe. She'd made that more than clear to him many times over. She'd as much as told him she was will­ing to do anything for this mission. Anything.

  Except it wasn't knowing that that made his stomach hurt so badly he had to sit down. It was the knowledge that it mattered so much to him. Here he'd been pretending that what he shared with Zoe was only sex.

  But it wasn't.

  The thought of her with Christopher Vincent—the thought of her with anyone else—made him completely crazy. He didn't want to share her, not her body, not her smile, not her laughter, not any of her. He wanted her for his own.

  Because he was completely in love with her.

  God, no, how could he be? He still loved Daisy.

  None of this made any sense.

  Maybe he just wouldn't tell Zoe. Maybe he wouldn't even give her the option.

  Jake pushed himself to his feet.

  And maybe the canisters of Triple X would be waiting for him back in their room. Maybe this mission would just take care of itself.

  But even if it did, even if Christopher Vincent surren­dered the missing nerve gas to them this afternoon, Jake was going to lose because—mission accomplished—Zoe would be off to Saudi Arabia. Or Amsterdam. Or Somalia. Only God would know when she would be back again. Or even if she would be back.

  The irony was intense. For all those years he'd been a SEAL, he had been the one who'd always left.

  And Jake had to laugh—it was either that or cry—be­cause only now, by falling in love with Dr. Zoe Lange, did he fully understand just how much Daisy had loved him.

  Chapter 16

  "I need to see my wife."

  Zoe looked up from what seemed like the four hundredth toilet bowl she'd cleaned in the span of three hours.

  "I don't care if lunchtime is in thirty minutes." It was Jake's voice. "I need her right now. Zoe!"

  "In here." She pushed herself to her feet as Jake steam-rolled over poor pale Edith and came right into the ladies' room.

  "Hey." His smile was unnaturally tight and the look in his eyes completely wild. Something was really wrong. "Nice rubber gloves. Yellow looks good on you, babe."

  "You all right?" she asked quietly.

  He shook his head infinitesimally. No. "Yeah, sure. I'm just breaking you out of here a little early, that's all." He looked behind him. "Do you have a problem with that, Edith?"

  Zoe peeled off the gloves and quickly washed up in the sink.

  "Well," Edith said. "Technically, we're not—"

  "Sorry for any inconvenience," Jake said, grabbing Zoe's hand and pulling her with him into the hallway.

  He had her jacket in his other hand and was already wearing his.

  Her first thought was that something had gone very wrong and they were evacuating—getting out of there fast. But as Jake punched open the door to the stairwell, he went up instead of down toward the main floor.

  Up. Toward the recreation deck.

  She had to run to keep up with him, he was moving so fast.

  But finally they were there. Jake burst into the open air as if he'd been holding his breath all that time.

  She followed. "Jake, what's going—"

  He kissed her. He dropped her jacket on the deck, dragged her into his arms and covered her mouth with his in a kiss of pure possession, pure need.

  It was electrifying, mesmerizing—his mouth so demand­ing, his hands slightly rough and very proprietary. The sheer power of his desire sent her instantly aflame.

  Was this why he'd come searching for her? Because he needed her? Because he finally realized just how very much he needed and—please God—even loved her?

  He fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, growling in frustration, finally pulling, buttons flying everywhere. The front clasp of her bra gave just as easily, and the shockingly cold morning air hit her naked breasts. But Jake's hands were warm and his mouth was hot as he touched her, kissed her, the rasp of his chin delicious against her skin as he buried his face against her.

  "Oh, Zoe," he breathed. "I need—"

  He kissed her again, his fingers at the waistband of her jeans, unfastening the button, releasing the zipper.

  "Yes," she said. She needed, too.

  He stopped kissing her only long enough to shake his jacket off his arms, to throw it onto the deck with hers. Then he pulled her down with him onto the soft cushion

  those jackets made. His muscular body was so wonderfully solid, so deliciously heavy on top of her, cradled between her legs. She could feel his hardness and she reached for his belt buckle, wishing the layers of thick denim that kept him from her would just instantly be gone.

  He pulled back onto his knees, easily ridding her of her jeans as she kicked off her sneakers. He lowered his pants, covered himself and then, God, he drove himself hard in­side of her.

  She cried out, she couldn't help it—and he swallowed her cry of pleasure with the fiercest of kisses as he filled her again and again with hard, deep, demanding thrusts.

  He didn't try to pretend that his need for her didn't com­pletely control him. He didn't hold back, his kisses fever­ish, his hands and body deliciously possessive.

  And Zoe abandoned all pretense, too. She let herself love him—wildly, furiously, passionately—body, heart and soul. He was everything she'd ever wanted and everything she hadn't known it was possible to want. The hero was just a shadow compared to the humanness, compassion and hon­est reality of the man.

  This incredible man who burned for her with the same urgent fire that consumed her very soul.

  She felt his body tighten and tense, felt him shake, heard him rasp her name, and the sheer power of his release made her explode. Pleasure pulsed through her, so intense, so scorchingly w
ild. She opened her eyes, and the brilliant blue of the sky seemed close enough to touch. Her senses were almost painfully heightened as she smelled the subtle scent of Jake's cologne and felt the warmth of his breath against her neck, the slick heat of his body against hers, the sharply cold air against her legs, the indescribable sen­sation of him, still hard inside of her as he thrust just one more time, as the fierce waves of her release finally slowed, finally subsided.

  Zoe closed her eyes, holding tightly to him, afraid that she might cry from the exquisite wonder of it all. But then

  she had to laugh. She would never have believed that she could have had the absolute best sex of her entire life in the so-very-submissive missionary position.

  "Jeez," Jake breathed without moving, his mouth against her neck. "What a gentleman. I didn't even wait for you."

  "You didn't have to," she told him. "I was right there, with you." Her voice shook. "God, Jake..."

  He was still breathing hard as he lifted his head to look at her, acknowledgment in his eyes. What they'd just shared had been as powerful and as intense for him, too.

  "When you came looking for me like that, I thought we were in some kind of trouble." She made her voice even lighter. "I had no idea the trouble was physiological."

  "Zoe, I..."

  She held her breath. This was it. He was going to tell her that he loved her. Please, God, let him love her, too....

  But the expression in his eyes was completely unread­able. His ready smile was nowhere to be found. "I've found out how I can gain access to Vincent's high council."

  Not the words she wanted to hear. Still, she managed to hide her disappointment. "But that's great!" She searched his eyes. Wasn't it? "How?"

  "I need to prove my loyalty to the CRO and to Chris­topher Vincent," Jake said. "He's got this little share-the-wealth program. I think it's some kind of power trip for him. Whatever his followers have got, he wants a share of. Money. Information." He briefly closed his eyes. "Wives."

  Wife sharing. Oh, God.

  "Of course the bastard probably wouldn't be as inter­ested in a guy's wife if she didn't happen to look like you, and..." Jake broke off, looking at her more closely, in-credulousness in his eyes. "You know about this, don't you?"