To Tempt a SEAL

by Sara Jane Stone

  “Number three,” she said.

  “Excellent choice,” the hostess declared as she marched up to the double doors and pulled them open.

  With Cade’s arm tight around her, she followed the wild-haired woman into the dimly lit room. Hardwood tables surrounded by plush benches and chairs filled the railroad-style space. Works of art lined the walls, a mix of portraits and abstracts. The paintings were well lit, and candles offered the only lighting on the dining tables.

  “Welcome to the gallery,” the hostess said.

  “It’s perfect,” Lucia murmured.

  “This is one of my favorites,” the woman confided. “But it’s not as popular as the others.”

  “Most of your patrons dislike number three?” Cade asked mildly.

  “Visitors tend to read the reviews online and decide which door to pick. The owners initially wanted to rotate the spaces, but the financial backers balked at the expense. We were already over budget on the decor and the talent.” The hostess shook her head as they wove through the tables to a counter booth. “It’s a shame, really. It would have added to the experience.”

  “I should have offered to paint for the people who created this place,” Lucia murmured, scanning the series of portraits and abstract paintings lining the walls. “They sound just crazy enough to pay a fortune.”

  The hostess stopped in front of a velvet love seat tucked into a corner. A table lined with candles stood in front of it. Couples were seated on two-tops with settees in the other corners.

  “Your waiter will be over with your menus,” the hostess said before disappearing into the dark room.

  “You were right,” Lucia said, sliding into a booth. “It was worth leaving the room for this experience.”

  A spotlight cut through the space illuminating a ring lowering from the pressed-tin ceiling. Cade sat down beside her and pressed his thigh up against her leg as a woman in a nude leotard began moving. With her hands holding tight to the bottom of the ring, the acrobat flipped her legs over her head and arched her back until her toes touched her forehead.

  “Impressive,” Cade said.

  A young man who looked as if he’d dressed for the Mad Hatter’s tea party in his oversize suit and top hat stopped in front of their table and held out menus. “The top one lists our signature cocktails and the bottom is our food menu. May I offer you still or sparkling water?”

  He glanced at Lucia. “You first.”

  “Still. And a champagne cocktail.” She quickly scanned the list. “This first one here. The Dancer’s Dream.”

  “I’ll have an old-fashioned,” he said without glancing at the menu.

  The waiter nodded and disappeared into the darkness. She stole one more glance at the woman transforming herself into a pretzel fifteen feet in the air, then turned to Cade. “You are old-fashioned, aren’t you?” she teased. “Insisting on a dinner date.”

  “If we’d stayed in the room, I would have my hands on your breasts right now.” He leaned close and brushed the hair off her shoulder. His index finger ran down her neck, igniting her nerves. Beneath her dress, her nipples tightened, adding a touch-me-now plea to the conversation.

  “While that sounds satisfying…” he continued, his finger tracing her collarbone, “I promised to show you the sights and sounds of Vegas beyond your hotel room. And if that means I need to endure a few hours staring at your gorgeous body barely hidden by that dress, knowing I’m going to own it later, I’m in.”

  “You take your promises seriously,” she murmured.

  He withdrew his hand and caressed her cheek. “I do my best.”

  “Me too.” She placed one hand on his thigh and touched her lips to his ear. “What if I promised to take the edge off your suspense?”

  His muscles tightened beneath her fingers, propelling her courage forward. This man had teased her from the moment they met. Here, in the dark corner of the restaurant, she wanted to give him something in return.

  “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?” the waiter interrupted, placing their cocktails on the table.

  “We need more time,” Cade said, the words hard and sharp.

  “A lot more time,” Lucia added, sitting up straight. She kept her hand on Cade’s leg and reached for a sip of liquid courage with the other.

  The waiter nodded and retreated into the semidarkness.

  Cade turned to Lucia, a question mark clear and present in his furrowed brow. “Planning to offer me a peek beneath your dress before the waiter returns?”

  “Not exactly.” She moved her hand up and down his thigh. “But I know how anticipation can eat away at you. For example, I’m dying to know what’s in the gift bag.”

  “Something I saw this afternoon that made me think of you,” he said. “I’ll let you open it now if you tell me how you plan to take the edge off.”

  She laughed. “You don’t like surprises either, do you?”

  “I try to avoid them whenever possible. Most of the ones I face tend to end badly,” he admitted. “I can be patient when I need to be. But if there’s a way to learn what I want to know, I’ll take it.”

  “Deal.” She set her drink down and held out her hand. “The bag, please.”

  He picked up the plain white gift bag overflowing with red tissue paper and held it out. She peered inside and tried to catch a glimpse at her present before she tore the paper out.

  “Now you’re willing to let anticipation linger?” he said.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone has given me a present.” She reached for the tissue paper lining the top of the bag. “Last Valentine’s Day, the kids I was working with at the time made beaded necklaces for me.”

  “I didn’t buy you jewelry,” he said, his tone reassuring, as if he knew she secretly craved something unique that spoke to her.

  She reached into the tissue paper…and found a long rectangular box. She pulled it free and stared at her present. “You bought me a watercolor set.”

  “There’s a sketchbook in there, too,” he added. “Last night, by the fountains, you mentioned wanting to paint what you saw.”

  “Thank you.” She took out the sketchbook and set it beside the paints on the table. She flipped open the watercolors, then picked up the slim brush inside and dipped it in her water glass. In another restaurant, she’d probably draw disapproving looks from the staff. But she had a feeling their Mad Hatter server wouldn’t blink an eye.

  “I’m glad you’re excited to get started,” Cade said. “But I think you’re forgetting your side of the bargain.”

  “Now’s the time to be patient.” She swirled the wet brush through the black paint. “I’d like to do a before and after series.”

  He leaned back against the love seat’s red velvet and studied the room. “You want to paint the girl in the ring before she finishes her act?”

  “No, I’m painting you,” she murmured, focusing on the lines of his face.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Before and after what?”

  She studied his face, noting the way he schooled his expression. On the surface, she saw his curiosity and desire, but beyond that, there was so much more. He’d given her a glimpse when he spoke of his dedication to the Navy and his haunted past with his parents.

  Her hand moved over the paper, translating what she saw into shapes and lines. Adding shades of color to the black outline.

  “Do you always paint people?” he asked, turning his gaze to the performance near the ceiling.

  “No, most of my work resembles the paintings you saw at the opening last night. But I still do the occasional portrait.” She dipped her brush in the water again, touched it to the paints and then the paper.

  “Why did you choose to paint abstracts instead of portraits?” he asked.

  “When my therapist first introduced the idea of using art to express what I was feeling, she told me to create a self-portrait. But when I thought about painting myself, I didn’t see lines,” she continued, focused on the pape
r in front of her. “Or a face. I saw colors. Later, I realized I was painting what I felt.”

  “The colors represent your emotions?”

  In her peripheral vision, she saw him lift his glass to his lips.

  “In a way,” she said. “Although it’s not as simple as anger equals red. Sometimes there isn’t a linear path between words and emotions. Especially for kids. And many times, a grown-up’s idea of how to process trauma or change doesn’t work for a child. Adults have grown accustomed to using their words. But kids, even teenagers on the cusp of adulthood, often need a different outlet. Painting, drawing, a physical expression of what is happening inside helps them process the world around them.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of kids who could use your help,” he said.

  “I can imagine,” she murmured.

  “There was this one kid. Nine or ten. I’m not great with ages, and this boy had probably spent months, maybe years, struggling with hunger. But he’d found a stick and was drawing in the dirt. What stuck with me, the reason I did a double take while we were moving through the area, was that this kid wasn’t just passing the time. He drew with purpose and determination.”

  He lifted one hand and ran it through his hair, pressing his eyes closed for a split second, as if locking the memory away in the vault.

  No wonder he wants to escape his past and everything that makes him who he is for a few fantasy-filled nights. This man has witnessed nightmares.

  The waiter returned and asked, “Ready to order? Questions about the menu?”

  Cade’s relief permeated their intimate space as he reached for the menu. After they ordered, the waiter disappeared. The spotlight turned on again, this time illuminating a piano in the corner to the right of their table. A man wearing a tuxedo with the tails draped over the bench began to play a classical piece that sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Have you finished painting?” Cade asked.

  Lucia nodded, glancing down at the portrait. The man in the picture looked lonely. She picked up the brush and swirled it in one color after another, creating a frenzied background layered with pinks, reds, greens, and blues. She set the brush down and glanced at the paper. This was what she saw when she looked at Cade—a man who promised to give to the people around him but remained closed off to taking for himself.

  But now it was her turn to give.

  “All done.” She set the painting on the far side of the table to dry. She slipped her left hand under the long tablecloth and touched his thigh. “You’ve been very patient.”

  “I liked watching you paint,” he said.

  “You’ll like this more,” she promised.

  She ran her hand up to his crotch and moved her palm up and down, mapping the shape of his long, hard length. He locked his gaze with hers and raised one of his eyebrows. Her fingers moved to his zipper, drew it down. His eyes widened as she slipped her hand inside and freed his cock from his boxer briefs.

  She stole a look around the restaurant. No one was looking at them. The other diners were focused on themselves or the lingerie-clad tap dancers who’d just stepped onto the stage beside the man seated at the piano.

  She began to stroke him. “Tell me what you want,” she said. “How you like to be touched.”

  “Lucia.” The raspy quality of his deep voice betrayed his desire.

  She turned her body toward him, reached her free arm under the table, and cupped his balls with her right hand. He groaned and lifted his hips off the love seat.

  The sight of the big, bad Navy SEAL demanding more from her touch left her bold, determined, and wondering if she should slip her hand under her dress and roll her fingers over her clit. But no, this was for him.

  “This wasn’t on my list,” he said as she stroked him harder and faster.

  One of the lingerie-clad tap dancers sped up, the sound of her shoes threatening to drown out the piano.

  But Cade wasn’t looking at the show. His eyes roamed over Lucia as if they were the only two people in the room—and she was all he needed to come hard and fast under the table.

  “Tell me what you want,” she demanded. “Because I’m adding ‘give Cade a hand job in a restaurant’ to mine.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She does a helluva lot better job at keeping her promises than I do.

  Cade had gone from swearing to do the right thing and keep his hands off his best friend’s sister to letting her jerk him off before the waiter returned with their meal.

  Technically, the clothes had stayed on. But if they got arrested for this, word would probably get back to Natalie. His best friend would go after his balls with the small, dull knife she used to cut lemons behind the bar. And he could forget about seeing his dog again.

  He should tell Lucia to stop. Just like he should have told her he’d been sent to watch out for her. She deserved to know the truth.

  She slowed her hand near the tip of his dick and swept her thumb through the liquid that beaded up. He groaned. Hell, she deserved a gold medal in hand jobs.

  “You like that?” she murmured. Her full, red lips curled into a mischievous smile he swore was designed to work alongside her touch, pushing him closer to the finish line.

  “Yes,” he gasped. And she repeated the movement. But he needed more.

  “What else? Just tell me what you need,” she said.

  “Tight and fast.” His hand covered hers, showing her how to send their little trip to fantasyland barreling toward the goal line.

  She grinned, a signal that she understood his instructions, so he released her hand and pressed his palm into the love seat. He looked around the room, half expecting to find wide-eyed stares. Maybe the hostess heading for their table, ready to kick them out.

  But no one was looking at them. The other guests appeared enthralled with the frantic music coming from the piano.

  Then Lucia’s other hand teased his balls and the rest of the room faded away. His gaze locked on hers. He’d witnessed her shy and embarrassed. He’d seen her tumble into pleasure. And he’d studied her near-orgasmic expression while she ate a piece of chocolate. But the look in her eyes right now threatened to do him in.

  “Does it turn you on?” she asked. “Knowing all these people are nearby while I have your cock in my hand?”

  “No.” It was by the grace of the crazy women causing a racket beside the piano that no one had glanced over at them. “It’s not them.” He reached his right hand up, wove his fingers through her salon-perfect hair, and drew her mouth to his. “It’s the wild, fun, beautiful woman sitting next to me.”

  His tongue swept inside her mouth. She let out a soft moan. He might be holding back the truth, but when it came to his actions, he swore he’d give her everything he had.

  Her hand tightened around him, stroking faster.

  He grabbed a napkin off the table and quickly covered his lap. “Don’t stop. I’m going to come.”

  Because one glance at her and he saw a bold, daring woman who knew what she wanted—him.

  And he came so hard that all he could utter was a strangled gasp of pleasure.

  He allowed the rush to wash over him and fade away. He’d been on covert missions that dialed the adrenaline up to one hundred, but this felt like the biggest damn thrill of his life.

  He gently moved her hand away and went to work cleaning up and putting his very grateful dick back in his pants. She grinned as if she’d walked into dinner expecting to make him come under the table. Shit, maybe she had. Beneath her insecurities, she was the woman he’d met at the opening. A little brazen, and fun to the point that it was intoxicating.

  “Looks like we finished just in time,” she said with a nod to the approaching server.

  The man in the strange suit dropped off their entrees, then returned moments later with a clean glass of water. Lucia pushed her steaming plate away and reached for her paints.

  “Not hungry?” Cade said.

  “I need to paint your after portrait.” She flipped
to a fresh page in the sketchbook he’d bought for her and dipped her brush in the clean water.

  “You don’t want to eat first?” he asked. “While it’s hot?”

  She shook her head, her attention on the paper. “I want to capture the way you look right now.”

  “Satisfied?”

  She looked up at him from underneath her long lashes. “You look like a man who wants more.”

  His smile faded as he cut into his steak. Between the hand job and those words, she’d pushed him off his axis tonight.

  For so long, his life had been a series of missions. No girlfriends. No connections he couldn’t leave behind when the call came in to deploy. Sure, he had his dad. But his old man understood. And his mother had shifted her focus to her new life, closing herself off to the pain of having a loved one in harm’s way most of the year. Right now, his biggest commitment was to his dog. And he had joint custody that felt more like visitation with each deployment.

  Hell, maybe he did want more. But every time he tried to put the pieces together in his head, they delivered him to his dad’s not so happy ever after.

  Cade stabbed his steak as Lucia bent over the sketchbook. A long band of hair fell across her good cheek, and her body leaned forward as if every inch of her was invested in her creation. It was fucking mesmerizing. How the hell was he going to walk away from her?

  You don’t have to. Not yet.

  “I do want more,” he said.

  She looked up at the sound of his voice, her brown eyes widening.

  “I want to see your dress hit the floor,” he continued. “The minute we step inside your room, I want you naked on the bed. And tonight, I plan to work through every fantasy on my list.”

  Lucia focused on the paper, trying to mask her disappointment. When he’d said those words—I do want more—her hope had surged. The fantasy would follow her home, bringing the best piece of her Vegas vacation back to her day-to-day life.