To Tempt a SEAL

by Sara Jane Stone

  “Yes.” She was close to begging now. “I want to work my way through your fantasies, too. Starting with your number four.”

  “Lucia, you found your man.”

  Chapter Five

  Lucia slipped the hotel key card out of her clutch, but before she swiped the card, she allowed herself this final chance to ask: Are you really ready for this? Because once they went inside, there would be no turning back.

  If she sent Cade back to his room, regret would find her as soon as the door closed, and it would follow her home. Instead of memories, what ifs would become her constant companions.

  He would go if she insisted. As aggressively as he’d pursued her, he’d also respected her consent at every turn. Even about the mask. He hadn’t said a word of protest about leaving it on after she’d spelled out her rules back at the club. Instinct told her to trust him, at least with her body.

  And tonight, wasn’t that all the trust she needed?

  She swiped the card and turned the handle, and he followed her into the suite.

  Beyond the mirrored closets in the foyer, the space opened up. A king-size bed stood on the left. A few steps farther was a sitting area with an L-shaped sofa and a desk facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a bird’s-eye view of the Strip.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked as she led the way to the sitting area. “I could order a bottle of champagne. Or something to eat?”

  “No.” He caught her hand and pulled her close. His lips brushed hers. “I have everything I want right here.”

  She tossed her clutch on the sofa, and then she went to work stripping off his clothes, beginning with his tuxedo jacket. Every time she set a button free, he kissed her as if he wished to possess every inch of her body. The third time it happened, she gave up on undressing him and lost herself in his kiss.

  But then he drew back, stepped out of her reach, and took over the task of unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. They hit the floor, followed by his shoes and pants, and he stood there in his boxer briefs.

  His muscles, oh, God, his muscles…every inch of this man’s body left her aching with the need to touch, taste, explore.

  He raised his eyebrows and gave her a wry smile. His message was clear.

  Your turn.

  She reached for her zipper, but then she hesitated.

  “I should dim the lights,” she said.

  “No.” His boxer briefs joined the pile, leaving him naked in the middle of her hotel suite.

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth, her body restless with desire. In the dark corners of a nightclub, her dress covering her waist, she’d been able to hide the still visible reminders that the last five pounds she’d tried to lose held tight to her hips. Her body was far from faultless. But his? Every muscle defined to perfection—

  “The lights stay on,” he said. “I want to see you. Naked and on your knees.” His hand wrapped around his long, hard length and stroked up and down, as though the very sight of her—clothed or unclothed—made him ravenous for her. “I need to see every inch of that gorgeous body when you take me in your mouth.”

  His words—the deep, rough sound of his voice—and his lingering gaze on her body made her own desire rise so high that it eclipsed her self-doubt.

  Screw it.

  Her hands moved to the back of her dress. Her clothes hit the floor piece by piece—dress, bra, panties—as her gaze remained fixed on his hand as he pleasured himself. His hips thrust into his touch, and she longed to take him into her own hands.

  Naked apart from her mask, she knelt at his feet. His movement slowed, and she felt his gaze on her. She placed her hands on his thighs and ran them up until her fingers met his. He guided her, showed her how to touch him as her free hand explored the hard lines of his body, mapping the contours.

  “I want to paint you,” she murmured.

  He let out a low laugh. “Not if it stops you from touching me. Right now, I’d rather give you my cock than a paintbrush.”

  He stopped guiding her, and his fingers moved to her hair. With his other hand, he cupped her jaw as her lips parted and her tongue touched the tip. Their eyes met, and his gaze echoed the desire pulsing through her.

  “The mask is working for me right now, gorgeous.” The low, raspy sound of his voice left her wanting more.

  She closed her eyes and took him in her mouth, then swirled her tongue around the head, tasting him. This man who’d walked out of her fantasies and into her life, he wanted her, right here, right now, in this moment. He accepted her curves, saw beauty where she saw a body she’d hidden for so long. And he liked the mask, which allowed her to cling to that description—gorgeous. She loved the way he said the word, and the look in his eyes that suggested he meant it.

  “Me too,” she murmured, her lips resting against the soft skin she wanted to feel inside of her before the night ended. But for now, she stroked him. “Me too.”

  Cade stared down at the masked beauty. When he’d walked into the opening party, he’d had a plan in mind—find Natalie’s little sister and keep her distracted. Instead, he’d broken his friend’s trust by allowing her sister to literally blow him away with that mouth.

  Right or wrong, he couldn’t walk away from the chance to be Lucia’s fantasy. He’d known that from the minute she’d raised the chocolate-covered berry to her lips.

  But Lucia was so much more than a beautiful woman who could drive a man wild eating chocolate. He’d seen glimpses of the insecurities that haunted her. Part of him wanted to hunt down the men who’d given her reason to be ashamed of her beauty. From where he stood, every inch of her was designed to drive him freaking insane with lust. And he wanted…oh, God…

  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back as she took him deep. He fought the need to thrust into her mouth as she took him in, running her lips up and down, again and again and again.

  “Lucia.” He opened his eyes and demanded her attention.

  She looked up at him but refused to release him from between her sweet lips. Her hand stroked him, harder, faster.

  “Lucia,” he tried again. “I’m going to come soon. I can’t hold on any longer. When I do, I want to come in your mouth, gorgeous. The next time, I’ll pull back. I swear.”

  She let out a low sound that he felt from head to freaking toe. It sounded a helluva lot like a yes. And she didn’t let go or move away.

  “And Lucia.” His gaze connected with hers. “I’ll beg you to suck me again. You can count on it.”

  She began to move, her lips gliding up and down. Her fingers followed, stroking him, pushing him closer. Her free hand ran up his thigh and around his hip. She pressed her tongue against his dick and held tight to his ass.

  The pleasure took hold, demanding his attention, rushing over his body. Head thrown back, he roared. He didn’t care if he woke half the hotel. His hands went to the back of her head as he thrust into her mouth.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” he murmured, struggling to catch his breath in the aftermath of an orgasm that made him want to slump to the ground and beg the goddess kneeling at his feet for more.

  “You can cross number four off your list,” he added, withdrawing his hands from her tangled hair. Caught up in his own mind-blowing pleasure, he’d made a mess of her long locks. “Only one item left. But I’m going to need a few minutes before you tie me to—”

  “Oh, no,” she gasped.

  He opened his eyes and looked down. What was she…

  Her mask.

  The painted side rested against the carpet, the black ribbons loose on the floor beside her knees. She scrambled and picked the mask up. But not before he caught a glimpse of her face.

  Now he understood why she’d insisted on the mask. Someone had hurt her and left the scars to prove it.

  She picked up the mask and brought it to her face, but he gently put his hand on her arm.

  “You don’t need it,” he said. “Not with me.”

  She slowly lowere
d the mask and studied his face, and he hoped she could see his sincerity.

  “Lucia,” he said, shoving aside his questions of how and why she’d been hurt. That conversation would come later—assuming she wanted to talk about it at all. Right now, though, he saw a flash of shame cross her face, and he wished he knew how to convince her she had nothing to be ashamed of. Not with him. Not at all. The scars did nothing to hide how insanely beautiful she was.

  But when he opened his mouth, his protective instincts came forward and one question took precedent.

  “Lucia, who did this to you?”

  Chapter Six

  Lucia lowered the mask as her hopes and plans slipped out the door and left her alone in the brightly lit hotel room with the only man who’d ever labeled her gorgeous—a man who now knew the one secret she’d thought he’d never discover.

  He wasn’t the first who’d asked her this familiar question, but he was the first who didn’t make her feel like he was asking out of pity.

  “It’s a long story,” she said softly. “I can’t…”

  I can’t have this conversation. Not with you, when I can still taste you.

  She glanced down at the mask, wishing she’d superglued it to her face for the evening. Without it, she felt stripped bare, her horrid past on display. And she was still very, very naked.

  “I need my clothes,” she said. “And something to drink.”

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get you a robe and a glass of water.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood and listened as he moved about her bathroom. Would he press for answers when he came back?

  “I should have ended this at the club,” she murmured, placing the now useless mask on the desk.

  He returned with two robes tossed over one arm. His other hand held a glass of water. She took one of the robes from his outstretched arm, then wrapped the soft cotton around her body. She accepted the glass of water, and as she took a drink, he put on his robe.

  She almost coughed out the water in her mouth and barely repressed a laugh. On his imposing frame, the fluffy white robe looked comical. The sleeves came up short on his well-defined arms, and the robe barely closed over his broad chest. His very sexy chest that her fingers were itching to touch.

  “The mask,” she said, sitting down on the L-shaped sofa and drawing her legs up. “It’s not part of some kinky game.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out.” He claimed a spot on the sofa, just out of arm’s reach. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, seemingly unconcerned that the robe splayed open in the front, revealing the parts of him she’d so recently had in her hands, in her mouth.

  “Look, you can tell me to mind my own business,” he said. “You don’t owe me an explanation. But I won’t lie to you. If someone did this to you, I want to hunt that person down.”

  No, she didn’t owe him anything. He was here for fun, wild sex. Nothing more. But looking at him now, she saw a warrior. This man was a soldier, trained to wipe out enemies. And she’d put his protective instincts on high alert.

  Another man would make excuses and walk away. Most people stared at her scars, their eyes wide. If they asked anything, it was out of morbid curiosity and a big portion of pity. And then they stepped back, as if they needed to maintain a certain distance from her.

  “When I find the person responsible, I’ll—”

  “He’s in jail,” she said. “It’s over and done.”

  Except when I look in the mirror or leave the house and feel everyone staring.

  In those moments, it felt as if the bad guy behind bars had won.

  “Did you put him there?” Cade asked.

  “Yes.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay. As long as you’re safe now.”

  She nodded, a piece of her pride returning. At least she could sit here and tell this man, this warrior, that in her darkest moment, she’d fought back. Maybe not right away. She’d been too young and weak. But afterward, when she’d been asked to press charges, to testify, she’d said yes. She’d done everything in her power to lock him up.

  “Will you tell me what happened?” he asked.

  Earlier, his skin to her skin, he’d issued commands with the blink of an eye. He’d demanded that she remove her shoes and spread her legs. But he wasn’t giving an order now. He was asking, plain and simple. The choice was hers.

  She drew a deep breath. It had been years since she’d explained her scars. The people she worked with in Tennessee knew, and the children at the hospital never asked. They were suffering from the pieces of their individual stories that had landed them in art therapy, and so they simply accepted her as she was.

  Outside the hospital walls, everyone allowed her to keep to herself, spending her days painting. And most tried not to stare when she went to the grocery store. Tried and generally failed.

  Cade was different. He’d looked at her with desire. He’d said the words: “I want you.” But now that he’d seen the scars, what did she have to lose by telling him the whole story?

  “I was in foster care,” she said. “With my sister. It was our third family. The first two didn’t work out. My sister—she was too much to handle. This third couple had grown children and a big ranch outside of town. They owned horses and when we arrived…I thought it was heaven. They took us in when I was sixteen. Natalie, my sister, was seventeen. Not that it matters.”

  “It’s your story. The details matter,” he said. “So you were sixteen and in foster care?”

  She swallowed. Anyone else, any other time, she’d worry about the fallout of sharing this much. But wasn’t that the point of this weekend? Anything she did, anything she said, it was all temporary. She could embrace a freedom she never allowed herself, and for once, she wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences.

  “After a few months with our new foster father, it became clear that nothing we did was good enough. Everything about having us there made him angry. I know Natalie was difficult, but that feeling that no one wants you, that you’re an obligation…it hurts. I think Natalie became immune to their attempts to make her ‘part of the family.’ I tried. I really wanted them to like me. But nothing worked.”

  “He did this?” Cade demanded. “Your foster father?”

  She nodded. “One day, while I was cleaning out one of the horses’ hooves, our foster father came up to me. He stared screaming about what I’d done wrong, cleaning the hoof the wrong way. Usually Natalie would be there and interrupt, draw his anger away, and they’d shout at each for a while. But this time, my sister had snuck into town to meet her friends. I think he knew that, and it made him furious. He grabbed a knife that I’d left out and swung it at my face…over and over…”

  His jaw tightened with each word out of her mouth. “You don’t have to keep going.”

  Her hand went to her jagged scars. She wanted to paint the full picture for him. Beyond this room, she could count on one hand the number of people who’d listened to her story. She needed the man who looked at her and saw beauty to understand how that label had been ripped away from her. “I’d like to finish.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Once my foster father realized what he’d done, I think he tried to clean up the cuts himself. I don’t remember. But when Natalie came back late that night, she saw them and called nine-one-one. The doctors tried to repair the damage, but he’d cut too deep. And I was left with red, ugly scars.” She stared at the carpet. “Here, in Vegas, I can hide behind a mask. But back home? Away from fancy parties and nightclubs? I can’t hide.”

  “Lucia, look at me.”

  She lifted her head.

  “You don’t need to hide behind a mask. You’re—”

  “Stop. If I’d turned around in the restaurant and you’d seen my face, you would have walked away. Maybe not right away. But you would have found a polite way to leave.”

  “No, Lucia.” He clasped his hands in his lap, interlacing h
is fingers. “I would have stayed.”

  Cade looked away, his gaze fixed on his hands. He would have stayed because he’d wanted her from the moment he’d spotted her studying a painting. Her curves, her long hair, and her vulnerability had drawn him in. Knowing why she’d felt the need to hide didn’t change the fact that one look at her, standing with her back to him, had sparked his desire.

  He only wished Natalie had told him the fucking truth about Lucia. Maybe then he would have been better prepared to make her feel protected and cherished the way she’d needed from the first moment.

  Natalie had offered him a few details into her and her sister’s childhoods, but nothing like this. If he’d known, he would have seen the mask for what it was from the start—a defense against a world that judged her by the way she looked and found her damaged.

  He glanced back at her. Even if he’d known the truth, would he have done the “right” thing? With Lucia, the lines blurred. Their wild night didn’t feel wrong.

  “So now you know all my secrets,” she said.

  And I should tell you mine. I should tell you who sent me.

  But if he told her now, she’d question his every word and action. And he had a bad feeling she wouldn’t believe him when he said he’d broken the rules when he’d accepted her challenge. He’d wanted to make her fantasies a reality. Hell, he still did.

  Wasn’t there a way to give her what she wanted and live up to his promise? Not just help her fulfill her fantasies, but make sure she explored every inch of them in complete safety.

  Come Monday, they could go their separate ways. He’d talk to Natalie and tell her to keep her mouth shut. Lucia never needed to know he’d been sent here.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said. “You don’t owe me anything.” She lifted her water glass to her lips.

  No, he owed her the truth, or at least the part he could give her.

  “A scar doesn’t change the fact that you’re the only woman who can drive me wild simply by eating a chocolate-covered berry.” He stood and shed his robe, then took the robe’s cloth belt. He tossed the strip of fabric onto her lap, and then he turned and headed for the bed.