by Seton, Cora
Drained, she set the picture down and slid off the bed to go into the bathroom and wash her face. When she stood, something dropped to the floor. With a frown, she bent over and picked it up.
In awe, she stared at the turtledoves ornament. Faded with time, a tiny scratch on the wings from being packed so many times. Warmth spread through her, replacing her grief with hope. With a watery smile she said, “Thanks, Mom.”
She knew exactly what she had to do.
Feeling better than she had in a long time, she grabbed the recipes and hurried out to her computer.
Hours later, she parked in front of Demarco’s. Her stomach churned with butterflies at the possibility of seeing Donovan. They hadn’t seen each other in almost a week. He might not even be working today.
Before she lost her nerve, she grabbed the folder from the passenger seat and went inside. The restaurant was crowded like always.
“Cloe.”
She turned to see Angela smiling at her. Marcello stood behind the bar. Donovan’s parents in the kitchen. But no Donovan.
Disappointed, she returned Angela’s smile. “I’m not here to eat. I just need to drop this off for your mom.”
“Why don’t you give it to her yourself? Have a bite to eat while you’re here.”
“No. I have to run.” She thrust the folder at Angela, waved, and retreated. Being so close to Donovan’s family was harder than she’d thought. Made her miss him all the more.
She was almost to her car when someone called her name. She turned to see Donovan’s mother waving at her, the menu in her hand.
“Hi, Maureen,” she said as the petite woman approached.
Maureen tapped her hand on the menu and Cloe waited with bated breath to see what she had to say.
“You created this?” Maureen asked.
“I did. If you don’t like it—”
“Like it? We love it. It’s beautiful.”
Relief washed over her. She’d taken a chance with the old-world design mixed with a modern flair.
“Even Roman?”
Maureen smiled. “My husband thought it was very inventive. He said it was a nice upgrade. That’s a huge compliment, my dear.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you liked it.”
“You’ve solved years’ worth of arguing between my boys. You’re a miracle worker, Cloe Carter. And I want to make it up to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Maureen patted her arm. “It is to me. Come in to the restaurant anytime. Your meals are on the house.”
A knife cut through her chest. See Donovan without being with him? No way could she bear that.
“Thank you. That’s very gracious,” she said.
“Well, I better get back inside before the place falls apart,” Maureen teased. “Will we see you at Darci’s Christmas Eve party tonight?”
She’d forgotten about that. Donovan had asked her to go, but that had been while under his protection. And he hadn’t called about it, so she assumed he didn’t plan on still taking her.
“I don’t think so. But have a wonderful holiday.”
Before Maureen saw the tears shining in her eyes she climbed in her car, waved and drove off. Like last year, she would spend Christmas alone.
*
Donovan rapped his knuckles on Cloe’s door. He hadn’t planned on taking her to Darci’s party, but after seeing the menus Cloe had created with such love and care, he knew he couldn’t let her go.
The door opened and she stood there, surprise on her beautiful face.
“You’re not dressed,” he said. “Party starts in half-hour.”
Her brows drew down. “You’re not protecting me anymore. There’s no need for me to go.”
God love her stubborn hide. She was going to make him say it. He stepped closer. “I want you to go. With me.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his as he crowded her inside.
“Like a date?” she asked.
Damn. She smelled good. He’d rather stay in and make love to her all night, but he’d promised his best friend he’d be at the party. “Yes.”
“What makes you think I still want to go with you?”
He grinned. Sassy. He liked that. He kicked the door closed and heat flared in her eyes. “You’d stand me up?” he challenged.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
Her gaze grew bold. The ghosts that once haunted those gorgeous green eyes were gone.
“On why you want to take me.”
They were toe-to-toe now. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. She didn’t put up any fight and his heart soared.
“God, I love your spirit,” he murmured, cupping her cheek.
“Is that all?”
He couldn’t help but smile. She wanted the words. She’d get them. “I love you, Cloe Carter. I’m sorry about what happened to you in the past. I know I can’t replace what you lost, but I’d like to start fresh. I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”
A smile lit her face. Her arms went around his neck. “I don’t want you to replace what I lost. But, I would love to spend the rest of my days with you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. And, as scary as it is to take this leap of faith, I’m willing to do it for you. I love you, Donovan. More than I ever thought I could.”
“Looks like Santa brought us both something special this Christmas,” he said before claiming her lips.
*
Cloe opened her eyes slowly to warm sunshine coming through her bedroom window. A smile spread across her face as last night’s events filled her head. Donovan’s vow of love, her ability to return it. Opening that box of keepsakes had helped her grieve and move on. Forgiving herself helped too. She would always feel the pain of all she’d lost, but with Donovan at her side it didn’t hurt so much.
They had gone to the party, even though she’d wanted to go to bed and stay there making love all night. She’d met the rest of Donovan’s SEAL team, and Darci. And even though it brought back memories of her mother’s Christmas Eve parties, she’d been able to enjoy herself. Maybe because she was surrounded by family and people she was happy to call friends. Or maybe because she’d finally let herself mourn.
Everything felt right. And, she’d swear she felt her parents smiling down on her. Even Lance. He’d been a good man and he’d want her to be happy. She’d never been happier.
A hand slid down her thigh and her smile broadened. She hadn’t spent the holiday alone after all.
“Good morning,” Donovan said, kissing her shoulder.
She rolled into his arms, cupping his scruffy cheeks. There had been a Santa at the party last night. He’d looked just like the Santa she’d seen after her accident. The one that told her Santa was bringing her something special this Christmas as long as she opened her heart and accepted the gift. He’d simply winked at her and disappeared. When she asked about him, no one knew where he’d gone. Darci said she hadn’t hired a Santa. Cloe wrote it off as too much eggnog. But Santa had brought her something special. He’d brought her a new beginning.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
The End
Jennifer Lowery
NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Lowery grew up reading romance novels in the back of her math book and on the bus to school, and never wanted to be anything but a writer. Her summers were spent sitting at the kitchen table with her sisters spinning tales of romance and intrigue and always with a tall glass of ice tea at their side.
Today, Jennifer is living that dream and she couldn’t be happier to share her passion with her readers. She loves everything there is about romance. Her stories feature alpha heroes who meet their match with strong, independent heroines. She believes that happily ever after is only the beginning of her stories. And the road to that happy ending is paved with action, adventure, and romance. As her characters find out when they face danger, overcome fears, and are forced to look deep within th
emselves to discover love.
Jennifer lives in Michigan with her husband and two children. When she isn’t writing she enjoys reading and spending time with her family.
Jennifer’s Website:
www.jenniferloweryauthor.com
Jennifer’s Newsletter:
http://eepurl.com/L4mev
Jennifer’s Reader Email:
[email protected]
Other Books by Jennifer Lowery
Maximum Risk (Book #1, Wolff Securities)
The Maze (ATCOM, Book #1)
A SEAL’s Song (Book #1, SEAL Team Alpha)
Hard To Handle (Book #1, Sawyer Sisters Trilogy)
Hard Core (Book #1, Onyx Group)
Murphy’s Law
Taking Chances (short story)
SEAL’S Proposal
Elle James
Website | Newsletter
From the Author
To all the romantics who wanted to give or get that perfect proposal.
Escape with…
Elle James
aka Myla Jackson
Take No Prisoners Series
SEAL’s Honor (#1)
SEAL’s Desire (#2)
SEAL’s Embrace (#3)
SEAL’s Obsession (#4)
SEAL’s Proposal (#5)
Chapter One
‡
“Gator. Check it out. Bogey at ten o’clock, two hundred yards. You take him while I take the one on top of the east building.”
Irish’s voice filled Special Operations Chief Remy “Gator” LaDue’s ear. He’d already spotted the man as he’d studied the mud-and-stick walls of the Afghan village. Through Remy’s night vision goggles, a bright green heat signature glowed where the sentry stood guard near the main entrance of the walled village. “Got ’im.” He took a breath of the cool, crisp air and held it as he stared through his night scope and zeroed in on the Taliban fighter, pinning him with an optical red dot.
The fighter’s head dipped, and then rose to stare out at the night to see where the laser light originated. Before the man could react, Remy gently squeezed the trigger, sending a round through the fourteen-inch barrel of his suppressed H&K 416, at the same time as Irish fired on his target.
Thankfully, the Taliban fighter didn’t yell an alert before his body slumped to the ground.
Remy shifted his sight immediately to the top of the east building in time to see the heat signature of a man drop to the dirt. He should have felt some regret over taking a life, but these men, the Taliban who’d taken over this village, had raped and killed a female U.S. soldier, and dumped her body in the desert with no regard for life, human rights or decency. They were ruthless terrorists whose leader was their main target that night.
Their mission was to annihilate the Taliban leader with minimal collateral damage.
“You two are making this look too easy.” Fish moved up next to Remy’s position next to a large boulder, his weapon at the ready.
His jaw tight, Remy nodded. “In and out. That’s my aim for the night.”
Irish chuckled softly. “Sounds like you’re hooking up with your girl, not running a mission in the sandbox.”
“Gator’s gettin’ hitched.”
Fish’s announcement came through the headset in Remy’s helmet. His chest tightened and a niggle of fear swept through him. He hadn’t let fear control him during BUD/S training as a Navy SEAL, or any of the thirty operations of which he’d been a part. But now… The one mission that meant more to him than any other in his life had him shaking in his combat boots. “Mitchell hasn’t said ‘yes,’ yet.”
“Have you asked?”
“No.” He knew Mitchell loved him. The big question was, did she want to marry him? They’d been living together for ten months, ever since he’d come back on Valentine’s Day to claim his pity date.
“What are you waiting on? Ask her already.” Fish nudged him with his elbow.
“Unlike you bunch of dumb fucks, I want to do it right.” While he spoke, he kept a close watch on the compound, searching for other guards while waiting for their team leader to make the call to breach the wall and take out the Taliban leaders who had entered the structure earlier that day. “I want to make it special.”
“Do you have the ring?” Big Bird’s deep voice sounded over the headset speakers.
“Big Bird’s right,” Irish said. “You know it’s all about the ring.”
Caesar Sanchez laughed softly. “Like you know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I read books,” Irish insisted.
“Fuckin’ romance novels?” Caesar asked with a snicker.
“No.” Irish paused, and then admitted, “Well, yes. It’s like sneaking into enemy strongholds, collecting intel about what women like and don’t like. A man can’t be too well-armed.”
Remy snorted. If anyone could be overly armed, it would be Irish. He liked his weapons, and he didn’t mind carrying the extra weight into battle.
“Anyone know what the fuck ‘radio silence’ means?” Lieutenant Reed Tucker, Tuck, their team leader spoke quietly, but with authority, into the headset. “Irish and Gator, you’re coming with me. Dustman, Nacho, and Big Bird, cover until we get to the wall.”
Remy climbed to his feet, and then, hunkering low, he crept across the dry earth toward their target.
“Do you have the ring?” Caesar asked as Remy crossed the open space between the hills they’d been hiding behind and the village walls.
He didn’t respond until he’d reached the wall without incident. “Really? You ask me if I got the ring when I’m in the fuckin’ open?”
Irish low-crawled across the front wall to the opposite side of the entrance.
“What do you see?” Tuck asked, not responding to the chatter.
“Got one headed our way,” Irish spoke in a clipped tone.
Remy peered around the corner of the gateway. A man in the traditional dress of the Afghan people walked toward him, carrying a not-so-traditional M4A1, probably pilfered from the body of an American soldier he’d killed.
Anger surged in Remy, but he held it in check, pulled his knife from the scabbard strapped to his thigh and waited for the man to cross the threshold of the gate. As soon as he spotted the armed man step through, Remy had him in a headlock and dispatched him, blood staining the sand around his feet.
Dragging him to the side, Remy dropped the dead man and joined Irish against the wall. “Gate’s clear,” he said.
The rest of the men moved in while Irish and Remy covered, keeping a close watch on the road leading from inside the compound to the gate, should another guard or sleepwalking Taliban bastard decide tonight was his lucky night.
As he sat with one hand on the trigger, the butt of his weapon nestled against his shoulder, Remy lowered his other hand to pat the buttoned pocket on his pants leg where he’d tucked the ring box. Yeah, call him a stupid, sentimental fool, but, as added incentive to return to the States alive and well, he’d brought along the ring he planned on giving to Mitchell.
A movement in the village caught his attention, a door opened and a light flared in the lenses of his NVGs. A group of men exited one building and strode toward a truck. “We have movement,” Remy warned the team.
“We’re all here. Let’s get this party started,” Tuck replied.
The men standing in the narrow road paused to talk, some of them climbing into a truck.
Remy slipped around the side of the gate. Clinging to the dark sides of the buildings, staying out of the moonlight as much as he could, he crept forward, confident that Irish had his six.
“Let’s light this place up,” Tuck said.
Four more members of the team infiltrated the compound, sliding through the streets like snakes, clinging to the darkness, blending into the blackest shadows. Big Bird and Dustman remained outside the walls as backup, and to cover any incoming threats.
“Want me to take them?” Irish had a fully functional M79 launcher.
One round would take out the truck and the people standing around. Any weapon they wanted, the Naval Special Warfare Group, DEVGRU, got it for them. One of the perks of being a SEAL.
“Let the truck go,” Tuck said.
Firing a grenade into the mix would wake the entire village. They still needed to locate the Taliban leader and take him out. If they started the fireworks now, the leader would have the opportunity to slip out the back door, or sneak over the wall and escape. They couldn’t let him go. The young female supply clerk he and his suck-ass subordinates had sexually molested and beheaded deserved justice. Shooting the bastard wouldn’t be enough. Remy wanted to dismember him one limb at a time, starting with his dick. He was an animal to treat a woman like that.
Every time Remy thought of that young soldier, he couldn’t help thinking about Mitchell. As an agent with the NCIS, she’d been in some tight undercover operations that could have gotten her killed or badly injured. A definite hazard of her position.
One that bugged the shit out of him. He didn’t like that he couldn’t protect her. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. She prided herself in her ability to fight and defend herself. On numerous occasions, she’d told him she never wanted to rely on someone else to get her out of a tight spot. She had to escape on her own.
Remy understood her desire to be strong, but there was strong, and then there was team-strong. He’d learned through BUD/S training that no man was an island. You looked out for your buddy, and he looked out for you.
With Mitchell so damned determined to look out for herself, she’d never mentioned the “M” word. Marriage had never been part of their conversation. As much as he loved Mitchell, and he knew she loved him, Remy was afraid she’d turn down his proposal, refusing to marry him, viewing the arrangement as a sign of weakness. He had some convincing to do to persuade her that marrying him showed considerable strength. With the two of them dedicated to their jobs and no immediate desire to give them up, the decision would be a show of self-confidence and faith in each other to get married.