A SEAL's Fantasy

by Tawny Weber

Her bills were heavy, but she didn’t figure this was gonna do more than offer up a few paper cuts.

  “Look, buddy—”

  Before she could finish, before she could even figure out if she was going to threaten or plead, he grabbed her arm.

  Unlike when Castillo had made that very same move the night before, she didn’t feel irritated with a disturbing undercurrent of turned on.

  She was straight-up terrified and the only undercurrents were the kind that made her want to cry.

  “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to go.” Leaning back with all her weight—which wasn’t insubstantial considering her height—she dug her heels into the carpet, the nappy fibers catching on her spiked boots. “I don’t know what you want, I don’t care who you are. Let go of me and get out of here or you’re gonna be sorry.”

  Not even rolling his eyes or bothering to laugh at her empty threat, he started dragging her toward the door.

  Lara didn’t make it easy.

  She struggled, kicking at his legs, trying to get close enough to scratch his face. She briefly considered biting, but didn’t figure he’d had his rabies shot.

  Nothing worked.

  She screamed. So loud and hard it felt as if the scream scoured her throat raw.

  When nobody appeared, she screamed again.

  And kicked him, driving the pointy toe of her boot into the fleshy part of his calf.

  He didn’t even slow.

  Holy shit.

  Terror grabbed tight, her heart racing so fast the blood almost burst out of her ears, Lara tried to catch her breath. Tried to restart her brain.

  Nothing.

  He was a foot from the door.

  No.

  No way in hell this ugly guy was hauling her off.

  Fueled by the hideous images of what he might do, Lara launched herself at the guy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his side so her heels dug into his arm. Clinging to him like a sideways burr, she ignored the disease potential and chomped her teeth into his shoulder with a vicious growl.

  He grunted.

  And let go of her arm.

  Lara had just enough forethought to know if she let go, he would win. Instead, she hitched herself onto his back, beating his ear with one hand and yanking his greasy hair with the other.

  “You’re gonna want to release her now.”

  Lara heard the warning over the goon’s cussing and her own pants. She quit struggling, her body sagging on the goon’s back as her gaze flew to the doorway.

  Castillo.

  Her hero.

  Tears filled her eyes, her breath coming in gasps as she tried to take it in.

  She was safe.

  No matter what happened now, she was safe.

  Castillo would take care of her.

  “Lara.” That’s all he said. Her name, in that unemotional I’m-a-military-machine voice.

  She’d never heard anything so wonderful.

  Knowing what he wanted as if he were holding up cue cards, she let go, then jumped rather than slid off the goon’s back. And promptly landed on her ass at the rapid descent. She winced, both at the jarring impact and at the humiliatingly lame move.

  “I’m here for the woman. You can go.”

  “Yeah?” Castillo’s military mask cracked enough for his grin to escape. Then he shook his head. “And if I don’t want to go?”

  Lara didn’t want to hear the guy’s response. At least, not while she was flat on her ass on the floor. She shifted, trying to stay out of the goon’s line of sight as she got to her feet.

  Apparently he had eyes in the back of his head, because he didn’t even look around as he swung his hand.

  She moved fast, so instead of sending her back to the floor the blow only grazed her face.

  “Lara!” Castillo snapped.

  She ran toward him at the same time he launched himself into the air, bending at the waist so his feet slammed into the guy’s chest.

  Lara gaped.

  Sprawled on the floor, the goon glared as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. Before he could bring his hand out, Castillo rolled from the floor into a crouch and waved his fingers in a bring-it-on motion.

  The guy slowly lowered his hand.

  “I told you you’d be sorry,” she taunted, wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her wrist.

  It was a lot easier to sound cocky here, standing behind her very own SEAL.

  Castillo shook his head at her, then jerked his head to indicate she should move to the door.

  Lara bent down to grab her duffel. Before she could straighten, the goon gave a roar. He surged to his feet, grabbing a chair—the only intact piece of furniture in the room—and swung it at Castillo’s head.

  Castillo didn’t even flinch as the wood splintered over the arm he’d raised to protect his skull. Instead, he reached out and grabbed the guy by the neck, then lifted him off his feet.

  In a blink the guy had a knife in his hand.

  Screaming, Lara swung her duffel at the guy at the same time Castillo grabbed the guy’s hand. He might have planned a few other moves, but Lara kept swinging her duffel and getting in the way. She didn’t care. Fury filled her like nothing she’d ever felt in her life.

  Castillo had saved her and this creepy guy wanted to cut him? No way. No way in hell.

  “Lara.” Castillo growled her name a third time.

  Panting, her hair poking her in the eyes and her lip throbbing, Lara clutched the duffel in her arms for a second, then ran to the door.

  Her back was only turned to the men for maybe two seconds. But when she reached the door and looked back, the goon was lying on the floor.

  “Is he dead?” she gasped.

  He looked dead.

  “Move.”

  Lara nodded, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the crumpled body on the floor.

  “Now.”

  Lara blinked, swallowing hard against the nasty taste in her mouth. She wet her lips, looked at the man, then at Castillo.

  He wasn’t even winded.

  If he’d had more than a half an inch of hair, she didn’t think it’d be out of place. Nope, he looked totally—what was that term he liked?

  Copacetic.

  He didn’t even hurry out the door. He just sort of sauntered, grabbing her around the waist as he went and hauling her along.

  Lara wanted to run, but Castillo kept their pace mellow. Through the hall, down the stairs, out of the building. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the street.

  Lara followed his gaze, her body feeling like a rubber band stretched too tight. She knew she’d snap at any second and hoped like hell the goon didn’t have friends out here. She wasn’t sure she could take more.

  The coast must have been clear, though, because Castillo headed for the Harley parked in front of the building.

  He didn’t let go of her until they reached it, then after giving her a look that warned against trying to run, he unlocked the saddlebag and pulled out a helmet. Without a word, he handed it to her.

  He grabbed another one off the handlebar. How it hadn’t been stolen was a mystery to Lara. Maybe he had some kind of badass force field around the motorcycle.

  “I’m sorry,” Lara murmured, looking at the bruises on his face. She twined her fingers around the helmet strap to keep them from reaching up to touch, soothe the skin over his cheekbone. That was her fault. She wasn’t the one who’d broken the chair over his face, but it was still her fault.

  From the chilly look in his blue eyes, Castillo would agree. Not wanting to hear that look put into words, Lara awkwardly tucked her duffel under her arm, then bent to pull the helmet on. It didn’t have a visor, so the view of Castillo’s stare was clear and bright.

  Lovely.

  “How am I supposed to hold on to my stuff?” She held out the duffel she’d clung to like a teddy bear, showing him the broken straps.

  His eyes narrowed and for a second she thought he�
��d tell her where she could put her stuff. Then he lifted her duffel by the edge, both straps dangling loose. With one hand, he flipped open the leather saddlebag again. He glanced at the duffel, then at the size of his bag. It wasn’t going to fit.

  She chewed on her thumbnail, waiting to see what he was going to do.

  His sigh was a work of art. The kind of sound that said a million long-suffering things meant to inspire all sorts of guilt. It worked. She was ready to tell him she didn’t need all of it, just her laptop, when he snapped the duffel open with a tug of his hands.

  She cringed.

  He dumped the contents into the saddlebag, reaching over the bike to stuff her laptop into the one on the other side with his clothes. Then he tossed the ripped bag into a nearby trash can. Not once did he meet her eyes.

  She was glad. She remembered the cold fury in his gaze when they’d left the apartment. She’d rather not see it aimed her way.

  Still, furious or not, he’d saved her.

  And he’d saved her stuff.

  She wanted to ask if that guy was dead. She wanted to apologize for running. For putting herself in danger and him in the position of having to play hero.

  “Thank you,” she whispered instead.

  He gave a jerk of his shoulder, handed her a pair of sunglasses, then nodded to the Harley.

  “Climb on.”

  It was probably a bad time to joke that the last time he’d said that to her, they’d both been naked.

  She had a feeling this round wasn’t going to feel nearly as good, nor have nearly as fun an ending.

  * * *

  DOMINIC RODE AUTOMATICALLY, his eyes on the road and his mind focused on their destination. A part of his brain acknowledged the woman whose arms were wrapped around his waist, whose thighs were pressed against the backs of his. But he told himself he was only aware enough to know she was still on the bike.

  She’d walked out on him.

  So it wasn’t hard to believe she’d leap off the back of a moving Harley. At least, his ego didn’t think so.

  He gripped the handlebars tight to force himself not to speed up. To race the bike as fast as he could away from one simple, horrifying truth.

  Lara had had sex with him.

  Incredible, body-shaking, multiorgasmic sex.

  Twice.

  And she’d walked out.

  No, given that she was still wearing the sleep shirt she’d stripped off her body and left behind not so much as an eyelash, she hadn’t walked out.

  She’d run out.

  On him.

  He simply couldn’t comprehend it.

  Destination, he told himself, flexing his fingers on the grips again.

  Just focus on where we’re going. Deal with the rest later.

  Donner Lake caught his eye, the brilliant blue sparkling as the sun hit high overhead. An hour down, three to go.

  Then he could shake Lara off his back, get a little distance, check in with the team. And beat the hell out of some useless, inanimate object. Just for fun.

  She’d freaking run out on him.

  Him.

  He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that kind of thing happened. Just not to him.

  He was there to protect her. She had seen firsthand the danger she was in. Yet she’d run—not walked—away. She’d stupidly risked her life and endangered the mission.

  Fine.

  From this second forward, she wasn’t female, she wasn’t sexy, she wasn’t his every fantasy come true.

  She was a mission.

  Duty.

  Nothing else.

  Dammit.

  * * *

  LARA WONDERED HOW long a person could clench their teeth before their jaw exploded. She didn’t need to see Castillo’s face to know he was still clenching. Even his shoulder blades were tight. She could almost hear his molars grinding through their helmets.

  Okay, so she shouldn’t have blown off his warnings. She should have waited, let him play bodyguard. She shouldn’t have run from the hotel like a hooker with his wallet buried in her bra. She shouldn’t have given in to lust and had sex with him. Not the first or second time.

  Hell, she shouldn’t have gotten out of bed that morning.

  It was all her fault.

  Her fault he was hurt.

  Her fault he’d had to, maybe, kill that guy.

  Her fault for all the trouble he was going to be in.

  Did SEALs get in trouble for things like that?

  He hadn’t acted as if he was worried.

  Nope.

  He’d been an unemotional military machine.

  Except for the flash of fury she’d seen in his eyes before he’d turned away.

  No wonder.

  She’d used him.

  Sure, she could excuse her morning swan dive onto his body as a sleep-induced mistake. But she’d known what she was doing when he’d gone down on her. She’d been totally aware of what she had in her body when she came.

  She’d used the poor man for her own selfish pleasures.

  Over and over again.

  He’d made it clear she was a duty. His mission.

  And she’d sneaked up and seduced him.

  No wonder he was so pissed.

  Even knowing she was pushing her luck, Lara couldn’t help but give in to the emotional exhaustion beating down on her and leaned her head against Castillo’s leather-clad back. Her body automatically followed, pressing tight against his warmth.

  She owed him. She didn’t know how or with what she’d pay him back. Since all the ideas that came to mind involved his body being naked, she figured she’d better keep thinking on it.

  * * *

  SERIOUSLY?

  How the hell was he supposed to pretend she was nothing more than an assignment when she pressed those luxuriously delicious breasts against his chest?

  He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. That the only things between his bare back and her rosy nipples were a couple layers of fabric.

  He should have stopped and bought her a leather jacket. Except that’d require talking, and he wasn’t ready to talk to the woman who’d run out, almost getting herself cut to ribbons and made into some goon’s plaything.

  If she’d compromised the mission, Dominic would have failed. If Valdero’s creep had grabbed her, the team’s shot at getting Banks out would be a helluva lot harder.

  By taking the guy down, Castillo had alerted the drug lord that the team had made him. He’d take steps to counter them.

  Before leaving Reno, Castillo had sent Brody a coded text.

  So now the team knew that Castillo had let a woman slip through his fingers. He’d say Banks would have a heyday with that, but the guy wasn’t friendly enough to give anyone a bad time. He was, though, as Dominic’s superior, in a position to make his life hell for not keeping Lara safe.

  Now, instead of lying low and playing chill in Reno, he was taking his mission—that’s all she was now, dammit—to the base, where he could access resources to counter Valdero’s next move.

  That’d mean explanations.

  Of why he was there instead of on leave.

  Of why he had Banks’s sister in tow.

  And why he knew about a top-secret mission that was still in play.

  Dominic growled into the wind, then realized he’d been squeezing the grips so hard they were flying twenty miles an hour over the posted limit.

  He reluctantly throttled back.

  Yeah. No question about it. Lara had put the mission in jeopardy.

  And she’d walked out on him.

  7

  LARA WASN’T STUPID enough to fall asleep on the back of a motorcycle. But she’d definitely been in a daze for the past hour. Until the bike slowed, pulling off the freeway.

  Her head still lying against Castillo’s back, she opened her eyes, the dark glasses shielding the sun as it reflected off rows and rows of grapevines.

  Wine country?

  Good.

  She could use a good drink. />
  So, other than Northern California, where were they?

  And why?

  Her stomach growled, hunger overpowering the fluttering nerves that’d taken up residence there.

  What was he going to do with her?

  She wasn’t afraid he’d hurt her. But he might dump her on someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be as good at keeping her safe. Lara wasn’t proud of the fact, but she knew if it came down to that, she just might beg.

  No.

  She was his assignment. He’d said so.

  Which meant he’d keep her safe until he was unassigned.

  Trying to believe, hoping like crazy it was true, she flexed her fingers on the leather around Castillo’s waist and tried to relax.

  She almost found her daze again as the bike meandered along back roads between forests, fields and vineyards. Did he think someone was following them? Or was wherever he was going really in the middle of nowhere?

  She still wasn’t sure when he turned onto a dirt path marked by two huge redwoods, throttling the Harley back to a dull roar.

  He wove down a path so narrow a car wouldn’t fit. Sun winked between tall trees, the tires kicking up pine needles and the exhaust ruffling the bushes.

  It’d be a great place to bury a body.

  Lara seriously hoped she hadn’t pissed him off that much.

  Then he came to a clearing.

  Her nerves dissipated.

  Her mouth dropped.

  It was like being suffused with a hefty shot of mellow. Every muscle relaxed and Lara smiled.

  There, at the far end of the clearing, was the cutest cabin. So darling she expected a little girl in a red cape to come skipping through the trees.

  Castillo stopped, turned off the motor. He gave a jerk of his shoulders. She let go of his waist and leaned back far enough that plenty of air fit between their bodies. He didn’t have to shake her off twice, she sniffed.

  He pulled his phone out, angling it so she couldn’t see what he was doing. As if she was so nosy she’d try and read over his shoulder? Lara rolled her eyes, wondering if he’d gotten any medals for his paranoia.

  Then she wrinkled her nose, remembering that he’d been spot-on with his last paranoid warning. She looked toward the trees so she wouldn’t catch sight of what he was doing. Just in case.

  Eventually—one, two, twenty minutes or so later—he tucked the phone into his pocket. He kicked the stand down, then swung his leg over the seat to dismount the bike. Big, sturdy thing that it was, it only shifted a little with Lara still perched on the back.