To Tempt a SEAL

by Sara Jane Stone

  She waded out into the sunbaked waves and headed for her SEAL.

  “Picked your favorite?” he asked.

  “Number three, please,” she said in the same voice she used to order from the drive-through menu.

  “If we do that here, I’ll drown.”

  “I thought going down under the water was a SEAL specialty.” She paddled hard to keep her head above the man-made current.

  “I must have missed that lesson in BUD/S training,” he said, easily floating beside her.

  How did he make it look so effortless? Her legs were burning, and she was barely keeping her head above water. Swimming beside him felt about as sexy as a ride on the elliptical machine.

  He swam up behind her. “How about I take you to shore and we find someplace a little more private?” He wrapped his arm across her chest and drew her back against his hard body. “Not a lot. Just a little taste of privacy.”

  “Your plan sounds better,” she said, allowing him to pull her to shore. She could have swum the short distance, proving to herself and anyone else who was looking that the past six months of workouts had left her in decent physical shape. But then she’d lose the feel of his chest against her back and his breath against her neck.

  He shifted his body, relaxed his hold, and moved his hand across her chest. He trailed a light, teasing circle around one breast and then the other. Through her suit, her body begged for more.

  “You can stand up here,” he murmured.

  Her feet touched the bottom as he ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, entwining his fingers with hers.

  He led her out of the water and stopped beside their chairs. “You’ll want your dress.”

  “And the list?” she asked, pulling the black cotton cover-up over her head.

  “I don’t need a diagram for number three.” His low words left her wet and ready. “I know where I’m going.”

  She grabbed her bag and took his hand. “Show me.”

  He led her into the hotel lobby. They wound through the slot machines and past the reception desk. He moved like a man who knew where he was going, and no one questioned them as they headed for the elevator banks.

  “I need your room key card,” he whispered, drawing her close to his side.

  “It won’t work here.” But she pulled it from her bag and handed it over.

  Smiling, he wrapped his hand around the key. He flashed only the top of the plastic to the hotel security guard. And he kept walking without waiting for the uniformed man’s approval. At the elevator bank, he drew her close and captured her lips.

  She sank into the kiss. Her surroundings slipped away until she heard the ding of the elevator doors. Then he broke their kiss, led her into the elevator, and handed her back the key.

  “Same color key cards, just different hotel names printed on them,” he explained, hitting the button for the forty-second floor, one level below the top.

  Her anticipation rose with the elevator. His hand moved to her low back. They passed the tenth floor, and the impact of what she was doing hit her. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours, yet she was following a man who slipped past security on a whim up to God knew where.

  Go. Trust the man who let you bind his wrists and ride him until you were out of your mind with pleasure.

  “Why not the top floor?” she asked, her interest in his answer fading as his hand moved lower.

  “I don’t have the key to access the penthouse level.” He gave her backside one last squeeze as the elevator doors opened. “This way.”

  He took her hand and guided her down the hall. His gaze darted from left to right, as if surveying the options. Apart from the breathtaking view of the Strip when they stepped off the elevator, the corridor looked like any other hotel. Doors lined either side of the corridor. Room service trays piled with the remains of breakfast sat outside one or two. It was completely ordinary, yet her anticipation spiked with each step.

  He stopped in the middle of the hall and drew to a halt beside her.

  Oh, God, he’s going to make me come in the doorway of room 903.

  “In here,” he said, leading her past a sign that read ice.

  The small, white-walled room held an imposing stainless steel ice machine that jutted out into the space. When they reached the far side of the humming ice maker, he pressed her against the wall until the doorless entryway disappeared from her line of sight. Her world narrowed to the fluorescent lights above, the sound of ice falling into the holding bin, and her need to follow his fantasy to the end.

  He dropped to his knees. His broad shoulders blocked the view of her lower half if anyone came by looking for ice and discovered them. Her breath caught at the thought, and her thighs pressed together as she glanced toward the hall.

  “There’s a chance someone might walk by,” he said, running his hands up her calves. “But I promise they’ll hear you before they see you.”

  His hands glided under her dress. Muscles that until last night had only worked during a torturous Pilates class tightened, and her core begged for attention. She leaned against the wall and felt the vibrations from the ice machine to her right.

  It was a gentle hum that bore a stronger resemblance to a car moving over the road than a washing machine’s spin cycle. The trembling wall teased her senses but would never deliver satisfaction. But Cade’s hands—roaming her inner thighs, moving higher and higher beneath her cover-up—those hands might drive her straight into orgasm territory on their own.

  She reached for the hem of her dress, ready to strip it off under the room’s bright light. One step closer to delivering a fantasy that felt more hers than his.

  “No,” he said, his hands moving higher, reaching the top of her inner thighs. One finger slipped beneath her bathing suit and brushed the bare, damp skin beneath. “The clothes must stay on. Press your hands against the wall.”

  She released her cover-up. What did he mean by “must”? Was it because someone could walk in? He’d written “with you” on the note, as if he wanted her. All of her. Just as she was. As if he wanted to see her.

  His finger teased her slick folds. “Spread your legs. Let me in.”

  She heel-toed her right foot closer to the stainless steel box. His finger rewarded her and slipped inside.

  “Cade,” she moaned.

  “Hold on tight, gorgeous. We’re just getting started.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The ice machine rumbled to life, and the sound of falling cubes echoed in the small room. Cade felt the vibrations pulse through Lucia, and her body tightened around his finger. He glanced up and watched her close her eyes and rest her head against the wall.

  “Oh, wow,” she murmured.

  He raised an eyebrow. He’d never gone head-to-head with an ice machine for a woman’s attention. But he’d be damned if he’d finish second to a vibrating wall.

  He hunched his shoulders, slipped beneath her dress, and prepared for battle. His lips touched the soft, smooth skin of her inner thigh as his free hand pulled her swimsuit aside. He brushed her clit with his finger, and she thrust her hips toward him, away from the wall. Now that he had her attention, he replaced his finger with his mouth and ran his tongue over her.

  Stay with me, gorgeous.

  Last night, he’d learned what drove her wild. He was ready and willing to give her what she wanted—and maybe a little more. He left his mouth focused on her clit and let his hand wander around her hip and slip beneath her suit. He palmed her backside and traced the path his dick had taken earlier on the lounge chair. Only this time, there were no barriers.

  Her lower back arched into his touch. His fingers moved closer and closer to his target. Lucia moaned, her hips bucking back and forth, demanding more from his mouth and his hand. The low, throaty sound coming from her mouth sent blood rushing to his crotch.

  He wanted to take her right here, to hell with the list and his promises to keep the clothes on. When he’d asked for Post-its at the ba
r, he’d wanted to erase any doubts in her mind that she drove him off a cliff named desire.

  But now, with her clit grinding against his tongue, her movements urgent and needy, he’d make damn sure she walked out of this room fucking glowing. He’d give her an orgasm that would follow her around like her new best friend, daring anyone to look at her and see anything but a sensual knockout.

  And he planned to stay right by her side, taking on strangers who glanced at her and thought the scars, or the full curve of her body, made her somehow less.

  “Cade!”

  Her palm hit the wall over and over as her hips bucked against his face, leaving no doubt about how much pressure she wanted. And he gave it to her, licking, sucking, pulling her closer.

  The sound of her hand against the Sheetrock overtook the ice machine. But nothing compared to her cries for more filling the small room. He’d witnessed a woman coming hard. Hell, he’d felt this woman explode against his mouth. But this was off the charts. Right here in the hotel ice room, she wanted everything he had to give. She wasn’t holding back.

  “Oh, yes,” she panted. “Cade. Cade.”

  He fucking loved the fact that she connected her pleasure with his name. And then the warning bells rang. He could give her this, but nothing more. That hard truth cut into his triumph. He’d never wanted more than a moment. But with her, it didn’t feel like enough.

  Don’t be selfish.

  What did it matter if this might not be enough for him? This wasn’t about what he wanted. What he needed. This was about her.

  Her body tensed, and her hips stilled. She let out a low moan, hitting the wall one more time. With his head hidden beneath her dress, he couldn’t see her face. But he could damn well imagine her lips parting, her eyes closing as the pleasure hit her, wave and wave.

  Slowly, her orgasm eased off and her hips stopped begging for more from his mouth and his fingers. He released her ass and slipped his hand out of her suit. He rocked back on his heels and dipped his head out from underneath the hem of her dress. He stood and watched as she slid to the floor, her back pressed against the now quiet wall.

  Her long black hair fell over her flushed face. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. But her eyes remained open and focused on him. Her surprise mingled with a naughty satisfaction. And her mouth—those lips formed a teasing, tantalizing smile.

  Beside them, the machine fell silent. After the heat from their last round, the ice maker had probably produced enough to keep the floor stocked for the rest of the day and into the night. But one look at Lucia and he knew he couldn’t wait that long to deliver her here, to this blissed-out place again.

  “Between you and the ice machine…” she murmured, “that was the best orgasm of my life.”

  Just wait. I can do better. And I’ll do it without the help of a machine.

  “For the record,” he said, “this one doesn’t count.”

  “I can still feel it. It counts.” She stared up at him as she smoothed her skirt over her bent legs.

  He took her hand and drew her up. His gaze locked with hers, noting the lingering pleasure in her eyes. “I like that look on you. But next time, I want to be the only one to put it there. I don’t like to share.”

  He might not have a claim to her beyond Vegas. But until she stepped onto the plane, she was his.

  Her brow furrowed. “You’re jealous of the ice maker?”

  He laughed. He loved seeing her smile at his joke. “Maybe. But I’m glad you liked it.” He reached out and brushed a strand of long black hair out of her face. “I’m asking for another chance to make number three come true.”

  “Now?” Her eyes widened.

  “No. Now, we gamble,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. He’d already wagered his friendship. Why not risk something he could afford to lose? A hundred bucks at the craps table wouldn’t hurt too much. “I promised you the full tour of Sin City.”

  She rose up on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. Part of him wanted to push her back up against the wall and head straight for fantasy number five. But then she drew back, leaving him with the memory of a soft, simple kiss.

  “This is the best vacation ever,” she said, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

  Her words mixed with the light in her brown eyes and the glow on her cheeks. And the combination sent his emotions scrambling for cover. It was too damn tempting to wrap her in his arms and offer more. But he couldn’t go there. In his world, relationships were like quicksand. Even if they could keep their heads above the surface, what would happen when she found out he’d been sent here to find her?

  She’d never trust him again. With her body, her heart, or anything else. This ended in the morning. Sin City was the only place he could push his luck. Beyond the famous Strip, he had to play by the rules.

  “Let’s go,” he said, leading her out of the ice room. “Before we attempt number two on the ice room floor.”

  Lucia glided through the beachfront casino as if she’d been granted wings and a one-way ticket to heavenly bliss courtesy of Cade and an ice machine. No rose petals and champagne followed by gentle caresses for her. She was the woman who’d let a big, buff Navy SEAL go down on her while exploring parts of her body she’d never dreamed about sharing, especially not in a public place.

  A giggle escaped her as they walked past a blackjack table. The blonde, bikini-clad dealer glanced up and smiled, as though she recognized the look of a woman still feeling the aftershocks of an orgasm that rivaled an earthquake. Groundbreaking. Earth-shattering. Something so powerful and intimate that even the scars on her face couldn’t keep two people from appreciating.

  Lucia’s giggle turned to laughter.

  “Planning to let me in on the joke?” Cade asked, looping his arm around her waist and holding her close.

  “That orgasm,” she said. “It was intoxicating. I feel giddy, maybe even tipsy.”

  He looked down at her. “Sure it wasn’t the daiquiri?”

  “I’m sure.” She struggled to keep a straight face. “I’m officially drunk on sex.”

  “Perfect time to teach you to play craps.” He led her toward a large oval table with high edges. The fabric stretched over the center was covered with numbers.

  Three men in bathing suits lined the table’s curve. Sure, they weren’t wearing much, but the logos on their swimsuits suggested they lived in a very different income bracket. And all three had tall stacks of chips in front of them.

  She slowed her steps a few paces from the table. “I can’t afford to play for high stakes. Art therapy pays well, but not enough to secure a place with the high rollers.”

  “The table has a five-dollar minimum bet on one side and a hundred on the other,” he explained. “I suggest we start with five, seeing as you’re tipsy. And I’ll cover your buy-in. Some chips to get you started.”

  She stopped a few feet from the table. “I can’t take your money.”

  He leaned over and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “One condition—I get to help you spend your winnings.”

  “And if I lose?” she murmured, stepping up to the table.

  “I’ve had the pleasure of watching you play.” He set a stack of twenties on the table. “Consider it part of the full Vegas tour.”

  She took the chips and set them in the groove on the table’s lip as she studied the foreign numbers and markings on the felt. A plastic disk rested on the number five. And there were various sections labeled thing like “come” and “pass line.”

  “Five is point right now,” he explained. “I’d recommend betting five dollars on the pass line for this next roll. Get a feel for the game.”

  After a nod from the dealer, she set the chips on the letter P and two more on the C.

  “Couldn’t resist?” he said.

  “When given the choice, I always like to bet on coming.”

  He laughed. “Today, you can count on it.”

  His deep voice momentari
ly stole her attention from the roll of the dice. But then the small group at the table cheered and drew her focus to the table as the dealer added more chips to her pile.

  The game moved quickly after that. Hovering at her side as if he were her personal bodyguard, Cade offered a few words of explanation and the occasional suggestion.

  “What should I do for the come-out?” she asked him after a player on the far side of the table rolled a seven.

  “Your choice. I think you’re getting a feel for the game now. And I need to step away and make a call,” he said. “I’ll swing by the bar for another round of drinks. What would you like?”

  “For gambling with the next James Bond? A kir royale,” she teased.

  The bikini-clad woman taking bets did a double take and looked at Cade long and hard, as if trying to determine if she had a movie star at her table.

  He noticed her glance and caught Lucia’s eyes. “Not my style, gorgeous. You know that,” he said, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. He whispered into her ear, “And you put every Bond girl I’ve ever seen to shame.”

  Her Navy SEAL moved away from the table, and she felt some of the afterglow follow him. She turned her focus to the table and watched the dice flying through the air.

  Cade wanted her. Out of all the beautiful women in Vegas, he’d handed his stick figure fantasy list to her. He’d taken her to the ice room on the forty-second floor and given her an orgasm that deserved a place in the record books. He’d thrust past her inhibitions and introduced her to a level of pleasure she’d never imagined.

  As she placed her bets, she stole a glance around the table. Three men on the far side of the table were staring at her. The dealer who’d studied Cade moments earlier smiled.

  She’s looking at me like she knows what we did in the ice room.

  Cade returned to her side with a champagne flute. His voice was low as he moved behind her and grazed her ear with his lips. “I promise you everyone at this table is wondering what I did to put that wild look in your eyes. Did I bend you over the bed before we left the room? Steal you away to a quiet corner and press you up against a wall until you screamed my name?”