Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  He'd just made love with Colleen Skelly.

  No, he'd just had sex with Colleen Skelly. He'd just got it on with Wes's little sister. He'd put it to her. Nailed her. Scored. That was the way Wes was going to see it—not sweetly disguised with pretty words like making love.

  Last night he'd had phone sex with Colleen. Tonight he'd done the real deal.

  Just one night, she wanted. Just one time. Just to find out what it would be like.

  Would she stick to that? Give him breakfast in the morn­ing, shake his hand and thank him for the fun experience and send him on his way?

  Bobby wasn't sure whether to hope so or hope not. He already wanted too much. He wanted— No, he couldn't even think it.

  Maybe, if they only made love this once, Wes would understand that it was an attraction so powerful—more powerful than both of them—that couldn't be denied. Bobby tried that on for size, tried to picture Wes's calm acceptance and rational understanding and Nah.

  Wes was going to kill him. No doubt about that.

  Bobby smiled, though, as he ran his hand down Col leen's incredible body. She snuggled against him, turning so that they were spooned together, her back to his front. He tucked his good arm around her, filling his hand with the weight of her breasts.

  Oh, man.

  Yeah, Wes was going to kill him.

  But before he did, Bobby would ask them to put four words on his tombstone: It Was Worth It.

  12

  Colleen woke up alone in her bed.

  It was barely even dawn, and her first thought was that she'd dreamed it. All of it. Everything that had happened yesterday and last night—it was all one giant combination nightmare and raging hot fantasy.

  But Bobby's T-shirt and briefs were still on her floor, Unless he'd left her apartment wearing only his shorts, he hadn't gone far.

  She could smell coffee brewing, and she climbed out of bed.

  Muscles she didn't even know existed protested—further proof that last night hadn't been a dream. It was a good ache, combined with a warmth that seemed to spread through her as she remembered Bobby's whispered words as he'd... As they'd...

  Who knew that such a taciturn man would be able to express himself so eloquently?

  But even more eloquent than his words was the expres siveness of his face, the depth of emotion and expressions of sheer pleasure he didn't try to hide from her as they made love.

  They'd made love.

  The thought didn't fill her with laughter and song as she'd imagined it would.

  Yes, it had been great. Making love to Bobby had been more wonderful than she'd ever dared to dream. More spe­cial and soul shattering than she'd imagined. But it didn't begin to make up for the deaths of all those children. Noth­ing could do that.

  She found her robe and pulled it on, sitting back on the edge of the bed, gathering her strength.

  She didn't want to leave her room. She wanted to hide here for the rest of the week.

  But life went on, and there were things that needed to be done for the children who'd survived. And in order to get them done, there were truths that had to be faced.

  There were going to be tears shed when she went into the Relief Aid office. She was also going to have to break the news to the church youth group that had helped raise money for the trip. Those kids had exchanged letters and pictures with the children in Tulgeria. Telling them of the tragedy wasn't going to be easy.

  And then there was Bobby.

  He had to be faced, too. She'd lied to him. Telling him that she'd be content with only one night. Well, maybe it hadn't been a lie. At the time, she'd talked herself into believing it was possible.

  But right now all she felt was foolish. Deceitful. Pathetic.

  Desperate.

  She wanted to make love to him again. And again. And again, and again.

  Maybe he wanted her again, too. She'd read—exten sively—that men liked sex. Morning, noon and night, ac­cording to some sources.

  Well, it was morning, and she would never discover whether he was inclined to run away or to stay a little longer unless she stood up and walked out of this room.

  She squared her shoulders and did just that. And after a quick pit stop in the bathroom—where she also made sure her hair wasn't making her look too much like the bride of Frankenstein—she went into the kitchen.

  Bobby greeted her with a smile and an already-poured cup of coffee. "I hope I didn't wake you," he said, turning back to the stove where both oatmeal and eggs were cook­ing, "but I didn't have dinner last night, and I woke up pretty hungry."

  As if on cue, her stomach growled.

  He shot her another smile. "You, too, I guess."

  God, he was gorgeous. He'd showered, and he was wear­ing only his cargo shorts, low on his hips. With his chest bare and his hair down loose around his shoulders, he looked as if he should be adorning the front of one of those romance novels where the kidnapped white girl finds pow­erful and lasting love with the exotically handsome Indian warrior.

  The timer buzzed, and as Colleen watched, the Indian warrior look-alike in her kitchen used her pink-flowered oven mitts to pull something that looked remarkably like a coffee cake out of her oven.

  It was. He'd baked a coffee cake. From scratch. He smiled at her again as he put it carefully on a cooling rack, He'd set her kitchen table, too, poured her a glass of cranberry juice. She sat down as he served them both a generous helping of eggs and bowls of oatmeal.

  It was delicious. All of it. She wasn't normally a fan of oatmeal, but somehow he'd made it light and flavorful in­stead of thick and gluey.

  "What's on your schedule for today?" he asked, as if he normally sat across from her at breakfast and inquired about her day after a night of hot sex.

  She had to think about it. "I have to drop a tuition check at the law school before noon. There's probably going to be some kind of memorial service for—"

  She broke off abruptly.

  "You okay?" he asked softly, concern in his eyes.

  Colleen forced a smile. "Yeah," she told him. "Mostly. It's just...it'll take time." She took a deep breath. They'd been discussing her day. "I'll need to spend some time this afternoon spreading the word about the memorial service. And I should probably go into the Relief Aid office later, too. There's still a lot to do before we leave."

  He stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth. "You're still planning on going...?" He didn't let her speak. He laughed and answered for her. "Of course you're still planning on going. What was I thinking?" He put down his fork. "Colleen, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you not to go?"

  Before she could answer, he rubbed his forehead and swore. "I take that back," he continued. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm a little...off balance today."

  "Because...we made love last night?" she asked softly.

  He looked at her, taking in her makeup-free face, her hair, the thin cotton of her robe that met with a deep vee between her breasts. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm a little ner­vous about what happens next."

  She chose her words carefully. "What do you want to have happen next?"

  Bobby shook his head. "I don't think what I want should particularly factor in. I don't even know what I want." He picked up his fork again. "So I'm just going to save my guilt for later and enjoy having breakfast with you—enjoy how beautiful you look in the morning."

  He did just that, eating his eggs and oatmeal as he gazed at her. What he really liked was looking at her breasts— she knew that after last night. But he never just ogled her. Somehow, he managed to look at her inoffensively, re­spectfully, looking into her eyes as well, looking at her as a whole person, instead of just a female body.

  She looked back at him, trying to see him the same way. He was darkly handsome, with bold features that told of his Native American heritage. He was handsome and smart and reliable. He was honest and sincere and funny and kind. And impossibly buff with a body that was
at least a two thousand on a scale from one to ten.

  "Why aren't you married?" she asked him. He was also ten years older than she was. It seemed impossible that some smart woman hadn't grabbed him up. Yet, here he was. Eating breakfast in her kitchen after spending the night in her bed. "Both you and Wes," she added, to make the question seem a little less as if she were wondering how to sign up for the role of wife.

  He paused only slightly as he ate his oatmeal. “Marriage has never been part of my short-term plan. Wes's either. The responsibility of a wife and a family... It's pretty in­tense. We've both seen some of the guys really struggle with it." He smiled. "It's also hard to get married when the women you fall in love with don't fall in love with you." He laughed softly. "Harder still when they're mar­ried to someone else."

  Colleen's heart was in her throat. "You're in love with someone who's married...?"

  He glanced up at her, a flash of dark eyes. “No, I was thinking of...a friend." He made his voice lighter, teasing. "Hey, what kind of man do you think I am, anyway? If I could be in love with someone else while I messed around with you...?"

  Relief made her giddy. "Well, I'm in love with Mel Gibson and I messed around with you last night."

  He laughed, pushing his plate away from the edge of the table. He'd eaten both the pile of eggs and the mound of oatmeal and now he glanced over at the coffee cake, taking a sip of his cooling coffee.

  "Is that really what we did last night?" Colleen asked him. "Messed around?" She leaned forward and felt her robe gap farther open. Bobby's gaze flickered down, and the sudden heat in his eyes made her breathless. He may claim not to know what was going to happen next, but she did. And it didn't have anything to do with the coffee cake.

  "Yeah," he said. "I guess so. Isn't it?"

  "I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't have a lot of experience to compare it to. Can I ask you something?"

  Bobby laughed again. "Why do I get the feeling I should brace myself?"

  "Maybe you better," she said. "It's kind of a weird question, but it's something I need to know."

  "Oh, man. Okay." He put down his mug, held on to the table with both hands.

  "Okay." Colleen cleared her throat. "What I want to know is, are you really good in bed?"

  Bobby laughed in genuine surprise. "Wow, I guess not," he said. "I mean, if you have to ask..."

  "No," she said. "Don't be dumb. Last night was in­credible. We both know that. But what I want to know is if you're some kind of amazing superlover, capable of heat­ing up even the most frigid of women—"

  "Whoa," he said. "Colleen, you are so completely the farthest thing from frigid that—"

  "Yes," she said, "that's what I thought, too, but..."

  "But someone told you that you were," he guessed cor­rectly. "Damn!"

  "My college boyfriend," she admitted. "Dan. The jerk."

  "I feel this overpowering urge to kill him. What did he tell you?"

  "It wasn't so much what he said, but more what he im­plied. He was my first lover," she admitted. "I was crazy about him, but when we—I never managed to— You know. And he quit after the third try. He told me he thought we should just be friends."

  "Oh, God." Bobby winced.

  "I thought it had to be my fault—that there was some­thing wrong with me." Colleen had never told all of this to anyone. Not even Ashley, who had heard a decidedly watered-down version of the story. "I spent a few years doing the nun thing. And then, about a year and a half ago..." She couldn't believe she was actually telling him this, her very deepest secrets. But she wanted to. She needed him to understand. "I bought this book, a kind of a self-help guide for sexually challenged women—I guess that's a PC term for frigid these days. And I discovered fairly early on that the problem probably wasn't entirely mine."

  "So, you haven't—" Bobby was looking at her as if he were trying to see inside her head. "I mean, between last night and the jerk, you haven't...?"

  "There's been no one else. Just me and the book," she told him, wishing she could read his mind, too. Was this freaking him out, or did he like the fact that he'd essentially been her first real lover? "Trying desperately to learn how to be normal."

  "Yeah, I don't know," Bobby shook his head. "It's probably hopeless. Because I am somewhat legendary. And it's a real shame, but if you want to have any kind of satisfying sex life, you're just going to have to spend the rest of your life making love to me."

  Colleen stared at him.

  "That was a joke," he said quickly. "I'm kidding. Col­leen, last night I didn't do anything special. I mean, it was all special, but you were right there with me, the entire time. Except..."

  "What?" She searched his face.

  "Well, without having been there, it's hard to know for sure, but...my guess is that you were—I don't know—tense at the thought of getting naked, and the jerk was a little quick on the trigger. He probably didn't give you time to relax before it was all over. And in my book, that's more his fault than yours."

  "He was always telling me he thought I should lose weight," Colleen remembered. "Not in so many words. More like, 'Gee, if you lost ten pounds you'd look great in that shirt.' And, 'Why don't you find out what kind of diet Cindy Crawford is on and try that? Maybe that'll work.' That kind of thing. And you're right, I hated taking off my clothes in front of him."

  Bobby just shook his head as he looked at her. God, when he looked at her like that, he made her feel like the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the world.

  "I liked taking off my clothes for you," she told him softly, and the heat in his eyes got even more intense.

  "I'm glad," he whispered. "Because I liked it, too."

  Time hung as she gazed into his eyes, as she lost herself in the warmth of his soul. He still wanted her. He wanted more, too.

  But then he looked away, as if he were afraid of where that look was taking them.

  Guilt, he'd said before, and she knew if she didn't act quickly, he was going to walk out of her apartment and never come back. At least not without a chaperone.

  "Don't move," she told him. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "Stay right there."

  She was down the hall and in the bedroom in a flash, grabbing what she needed.

  Bobby turned to look at her as she came back into the kitchen, still sitting where she'd commanded him to stay. He quickly looked away from her, and she realized that her robe had slipped open even farther—the deep vee now ex­tending all the way down to her waist.

  She didn't adjust it, didn't pull it closed. She just moved closer, so that she was standing beside him. Close enough that she was invading his personal space.

  But she didn't touch him. Didn't even speak. She just waited for him to turn his head and look up at her.

  He did just that. Looked at her. Looked away again. Swallowed hard. "Colleen, I think—"

  Now was definitely not the time for thinking. She sat on his lap, straddling him, forcing him to look at her. Her robe was completely open now, the belt having slipped its loose knot.

  He was breathing hard—and trying not to. "I thought we decided this was going to be a one-night thing. Just to get it out of our systems."

  "Am I out of your system?" she asked, knowing full well that she wasn't.

  "No, and if I'm not careful, you're going to get under my skin," he admitted. "Colleen, please don't do this to me. I spent the night convincing myself that as long as we didn't make love again, I'd be okay. And I know it's a long shot, but even your brother might understand that some­thing like this could happen between us—once."

  His words would have swayed her—if he hadn't touched her, his hands on her thighs, just lightly, as if he couldn't stop himself, couldn't resist.

  She shrugged her robe off her shoulders, and it fell to the floor behind her, and then there she was. Naked, in the middle of her kitchen, with daylight streaming in the win­dows, warming her skin, bathing her in golden sunshine.

  Bob
by's breath caught in his throat, and as he looked at her, she felt beautiful. She saw herself as if through his eyes, and she was beautiful.

  It felt unbelievably good.

  She shifted forward, pressing herself against him, feeling him, large and hard beneath his shorts. No doubt about it. He still desired her. He made a sound, low in his throat. And then he kissed her.

  His passion took her breath away. It was as if he'd sud­denly exploded, as if he needed to kiss her to stay alive, to touch as much of her as he possibly could or else he'd die. His hands were everywhere, his mouth everywhere else.

  It was intoxicating, addicting—to be wanted so desper­ately. It was almost as good as being loved.

  She reached between them and unfastened his shorts as she kissed him, taking him into her hand, pressing him against her, letting him know that she wanted him desper­ately, too.

  She still held the condom she'd taken from her bedroom, although the little paper wrapper was tightly scrunched in her hand. She tore it open, and Bobby took it from her, covering himself and then—oh, yes!—he was inside of her.

  He tried, but he couldn't keep from groaning aloud, from holding her close and burying his face in her breasts. She moved slowly, stroking him with her body, filling herself completely with him.

  Making love to Bobby Taylor was just as amazing in the daylight as it had been last night.

  She pulled back slightly to watch him as she moved on top of him, and he held her gaze, his eyes sparking with heat beneath heavy eyelids.

  She couldn't get enough of him. She pressed against him, wanting more, wanting forever, wanting him never to leave, wanting this moment never to end.

  Wanting him to fall in love with her as completely as she'd fallen in love with him.

  Oh, no, what had she done? She didn't love him. She couldn't love him.

  She must've made some kind of noise of frustration and despair, because he stood up. He just lifted himself from the chair, with her in his arms, with his body still buried deeply inside her. Even deeper now that he was standing.

  Colleen gasped, and then had to laugh as he carried her—effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing—across the room, her arms around his neck, her legs now locked around his waist. He didn't stop until he'd pressed her up against the wall by the refrigerator. The muscles in his chest and arms stood out, making him seem twice as big. Making her seem almost small.