To Tempt a SEAL

by Sara Jane Stone

  Except that wasn’t what he’d meant.

  She could walk away from the fancy restaurants and the breathtaking fountains. She’d survive with the memory of little umbrellas in her drinks. But she couldn’t ignore her desire to keep Cade in her life.

  And in the moments after his orgasm, he’d looked like he wanted it, too. He’d kissed her as if he needed to claim parts of her body, to feel connected to her while she touched him under the table.

  But more wasn’t part of the plan. Not beyond their sexual connection. Not beyond this weekend. She should know. She’d set the rules from the beginning. This ended tomorrow when she returned to Tennessee.

  “I’d better get to work on this portrait.” Her hand moved quickly, painting the after look from memory. The man tearing into his steak as if he hadn’t eaten in days had already drawn up his defenses, blocking her out again.

  She cocked her head, studying the incomplete picture. The lines and colors looked right, but something was missing. She touched the brush to the paper and tried again.

  “You’re talented.” His low voice splintered her focus, and she lifted the brush off the page. “I can’t believe you’re doing all of that with a set of watercolors from the Vegas mall. I was serious when I asked to see the rest of your work.”

  “I have a few pictures on my phone.” She set the brush down, reached into her purse, and withdrew her cell. She entered the pass code and clicked on the photo icon. “You’re welcome to scroll through them.”

  She returned her attention to her current work-in-progress. Something was off. The image failed to convey emotion.

  She bit her lower lip. Maybe the piece wasn’t working because she wanted to portray a feeling that hadn’t been part of the scene in the first place. He’d had an orgasm, not an epiphany that opened his eyes to a new future—one that included her.

  She set the brush on the table, leaving the painting incomplete, and reached for her dinner.

  “Maybe I’ll get to see the real thing one day,” he said, still paging through the images on her phone.

  A shiver ran through her, every inch of her silently screaming, yes, please.

  “Or maybe you’ll let me keep one of the paintings from tonight,” he added.

  Not the disastrous after, she thought, letting her hope fade.

  “Maybe,” she said softly.

  He held out her cell. “When did you paint this one?”

  She set the fork on her plate and pretended to take a closer look, even though she knew which one was on the screen. The light pastels, the vague illusions of silhouettes holding hands by the water—she’d recognize that piece anywhere.

  “That’s one of my first paintings. It still hangs in my studio where I can see it before I start my day, or while I’m working.” She picked up her drink, downing the bubbly liquid in a few quick gulps.

  Years ago, she’d struggled to create that image, too, scared to record what she felt versus what she wished to feel. But sometimes emotions were like mountains. She couldn’t move and change them to suit the picture she wanted to create.

  “Does this convey a single emotion?” he asked, focused on the small image that represented a huge piece of her life. “About what happened?”

  Her hand went to her cheek. For a little while, her face had slipped into the background. She’d walked into a restaurant and sat through most of a meal without the jagged lines dictating her movements and reactions. “No, this piece isn’t related to the incident or my scars.”

  He looked up, and his gaze met hers. And then he turned to his steak. Had he seen too much? Did one look leave him wondering if she wanted to rewrite the rules for their weekend?

  “I’d been in therapy for months,” she said quickly. “And I felt they were ignoring a large part of who I was. I began lashing out. And at one point, I refused to paint. Bethany, the therapist who introduced the idea of using art, insisted my feelings were linked to my foster father. So I painted this to show her that I was still heartbroken over the loss of my parents.”

  He nodded, his face etched with pity for the first time since her mask had fallen off.

  “Learning to live with what happened, with the scars on my face, is one thing, but facing a future without my mom and dad, that sometimes hurts just as much.” She stared at the painting. Most days, she saw it when she stepped into her studio. “I was ten when they died. And I remember what it was like to feel wanted and loved unconditionally.”

  She waited for him to ask the usual questions. How did they die? Did you have any other living relatives or family friends to take you in? By now, she could talk about the car crash without dissolving into tears. She could explain that no, she had no other relatives besides Natalie. No aunts, no uncles. Even her grandmother had already been suffering from Alzheimer’s when the crash happened.

  “The shadows in the painting, those are your parents,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said, looking up from the picture as he held out her phone. “For all the grief I give my parents over the choices they made with their lives, I know I still have their love. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She’d abandoned the seemingly obligatory “it was a long time ago” after she’d realized that she’d never stop mourning their abrupt end. Some days, she just plain wanted her family back. She missed that feeling of being loved and accepted, no matter what.

  Maybe that was why the thought of saying good-bye to Cade felt so hard to endure. He made her feel like she was home again, and it would crush her when their weekend lease ran out.

  What was she supposed to do? Just ask him to set aside his concerns and keep this thing going? He’d been clear how much he wanted and for how long. Who was she to think she deserved anything more?

  He must have caught something in her expression, because he said, “I’m sorry. You didn’t come to Vegas to talk about your past.”

  She shrugged. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “Still. Let me make it up to you.”

  “Ready for dessert already?”

  He held up his hand, signaling the server for the check. “I’d rather feast on you. And the box of chocolates I picked up earlier.”

  “The gifts just keep coming,” she murmured as the server appeared with their bill. “Did you select ones that explode in your mouth?”

  “We’ll find out.” He reached for his wallet.

  “Let me pay for dinner,” she said. “After everything you did today.”

  “No. Consider this the last piece of your Vegas tour.”

  After the server slipped away, he stood and held out his hand. He drew her up, leaned close, and in a quiet voice said, “When we get to your room, I want you to strip off your dress and climb on the bed. No robes tonight. Lie on your stomach and lift your hips just enough to run your hand between your legs. Drive yourself wild. And don’t call for me until you’re ready.”

  “I don’t recall this Post-it drawing,” she teased, his words pushing her close to calling out, ready!

  He took her hand and led the way to a door marked exit. Heaven help her if this door led to another one of the rooms. She’d be tempted to strip off her dress in the library, the kitchen, or whatever space waited on the other side. And she’d probably land them both in trouble.

  Two days ago, she’d been begging for a little bit of trouble. But now? Didn’t she already have enough of that? Hell, she had more than she could handle. She was falling for a man who still planned to say good-bye tomorrow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Time hovered like an enemy. But Cade felt powerless to stop the minutes, unlike his past foes, from slipping away as they drove down the Strip. And the elevator ride to their room lasted an eternity. If the confined space hadn’t been filled with teenagers, he might have pushed her up against the elevator’s mirrored interior and taken her.

  But he’d bypassed the opportunity to see her pleasure reflected in the elevator mirrors
. He wanted more than a quickie in the elevator. And now, finally, they were inside Lucia’s suite, shut away from the rest of the world and the harsh realities waiting for them when the sun came up.

  She set her bags down and reached for the zipper along the back of her dress. “Ready for your dreams to come true?”

  You have no idea.

  One look at her and he wished this fantasy could be their future. Days, nights, weeks, months sinking into her, kissing her. But outside this room, reality—the lies he’d told, the fact that he had to go back to work and likely ship out—would return.

  “Please,” he said, letting desire trump reason. “Let me see you.”

  To hell with fantasies, he needed her now.

  Zipper undone, she shrugged out of the dress and abandoned the black fabric to the floor. Her underwear followed, and she climbed on the bed.

  “Like this?” she asked, assuming the all-fours position he’d described in the restaurant.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he walked toward her. “Perfect. So damn perfect.”

  Moving with a confidence that blew him away, she pressed her hands into the bedding and thrust her ass in the air.

  “Are you sure? I think you described something more like this.” She pressed the damaged side of her face against the bed. A teasing question floated in her brown eyes as her left hand drifted south.

  “Yes,” he growled.

  He watched her hand slide over her bare skin and stripped off his new clothes. Her fingers disappeared inside then withdrew, offering proof she was wet and ready for him. Slowly, she slid her knees across the hotel blanket and opened her body to her touch, fingers moving faster and faster.

  “Just like that,” he murmured as he retrieved a condom and turned the foil packet over in his hand.

  She lifted her head, and the movement sent her breasts gliding forward against the bedding. Her back arched at a nearly impossible angle. She rocked back and forth, her whole body moving against her hand.

  His dick begged to climb up on the bed, rub up against her, and slip inside. He tore open the condom and rolled it over his erection.

  “Do you want to watch me come? I’m close,” she gasped, her face upturned. “Tell me what you want.”

  He placed one knee on the bed, but his gaze remained fixed on her face. And the truth slammed into him.

  He wanted to erase her past. From the beginning, he’d set out to prove her physical scars hadn’t erased her beauty. He looked at her curves and saw a goddess. And her mouth? He couldn’t imagine a day when he wouldn’t want to thrust his dick between her full lips.

  But they’d known from the beginning when this would end. The only way to even have a chance at something more meant revealing he’d betrayed her from the start. All the trust she’d given him shattered in an instant.

  She’d already been betrayed by the people she trusted most. She had the scars to prove it. He wouldn’t add to those scars. He wouldn’t add to her pain.

  Tomorrow, he’d walk away, his lies still intact. He’d send Lucia back to the children who needed her help while he returned to the one constant in his life—his team. By Tuesday morning, he would be nothing more than a memory. And by God, he’d make sure it was a good one.

  “You deserve so much more than this,” he said.

  Her hand stilled. Lips parted, she stared at him, confusion etched into her expression.

  “You should have someone who can give you more than a fantasy,” he said, struggling to translate his feelings into words.

  She deserved the type of no-holds-barred love that went hand in hand with commitment. But how the fuck could he say those words to her and tack on the fact that he couldn’t be that man?

  She smiled, and her hand returned to her clit.

  Walking away from her, from this—there were parts of his body that might never forgive him. The thought of living with this image burned into his memory, knowing he’d turned his back on what came next—

  “Cade,” she said. “Tonight, I want to be the girl in your fantasies. We can talk about tomorrow when the sun rises.” She held his gaze in hers. “I’ve never felt this beautiful. This bold. Even without the mask, I feel wild.”

  Her hips moved faster and faster, pushing against her fingers. She let out a low moan as she withdrew her hand and drew a wet path over her stomach to her breasts. She paused there and teased her nipples before continuing up to her collarbone. Then she parted her lips and slipped her glistening fingers inside her mouth.

  And that was all it took for him to let reason fall by the wayside.

  “Fuck me,” he murmured.

  “I’m ready,” she said. “And if you think I’m this wet because I want something more than your cock, you’re crazy. Join me. And don’t you dare hold anything back.”

  “You want to be the girl in my fantasies?” He took her face in his hands. “You are my fantasy.”

  He knew those words would hold true tomorrow and the day after that. Six months from now, deployed halfway around the world, he would wake up dreaming about this woman. And she would be out of his reach forever. Tonight was his only chance to make every moment count.

  Lucia closed her eyes and pressed her hands into the mattress as Cade positioned himself at her entrance. In one fluid movement, he wrapped his hands around her hips and filled her.

  She relished every piece of the sensation. The way she stretched to accommodate his long, thick length. The slap of his body against hers as he slid her forward on the bed with each thrust. The pinch of discomfort that bordered on pain as his fingers pressed into her hips and lifted her higher, adjusting her position to serve his needs.

  His fingers bundled in her hair and gently pulled for her to turn her head toward him.

  “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.”

  She obeyed, and the pieces of the puzzle fell together. The hard cock stretching her, the body pushing her closer and closer to a climax—each part of the picture belonged to the warrior behind her.

  She pressed back, matched him stroke for stroke. She refused to let him own this moment alone. She wanted to give him something in return, to be a necessary part of this frenzied trip to his climax.

  His hips moved faster and faster. If he released his hold on her, she’d slide into the headboard with his next powerful thrust.

  “Tell me you’re close,” he demanded.

  Just like that, the rough, raw edge to his panty-melting voice tipped her over the cliff marked with a giant, flashing O. Pleasure dominated her senses, owned her from head to toe.

  He guided her down to the bed. Her knees splayed out and her hips sank into the mattress. He moved with her and lowered down on top of her as he continued to thrust.

  “Gorgeous, you’re so tight like this,” he rasped. A low groan followed the words. His cock slid into her one last time and stayed there.

  His ragged breathing filled the room. Beneath him, she wiggled her hips.

  “Ah, hell, Lucia.” She felt his chest lower down onto her back. “If you want more, I’ll give it to you. Just say the word.”

  “More,” she murmured. “More, more, more.”

  He rocked back, stealing away the intimate feel of his muscles blanketing her. “Roll over.”

  Mentally running through the positions on his list, she shifted to her back, her curious gaze focused on the man kneeling between her legs.

  “Number three,” he said. “This time without the ice machine. Slide up the bed and hold on for the best orgasm of your life.”

  Devilish green eyes stared back at her. But she was determined to show him that tonight was about so much more than her pleasure.

  “Cade, how do you feel about a twofer? Number three followed by number five?”

  He laughed, and the low sound left the southern half of her body clamoring for everything he’d offered.

  “I’m game,” he said. “But to be honest, I didn’t memorize the list.”

  “Straight-up missi
onary.” The simplistic drawings were imprinted in her memory. “I want to see your face, feel you move inside me while you fall apart.”

  A hint of wariness flashed in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, she wondered if she’d asked for too much. But she blinked and the unease had vanished, replaced by an intensity that promised she’d get her wish.

  “Twofer it is,” he murmured and lowered his head.

  “One down.” Cade trailed kisses over her hips and brushed his lips over the soft curve of her belly. His hands followed and glided up her sides.

  He wanted to memorize her shape. The taste of her. The sound of his name on her lips. Hell, he wanted to bottle every sound and movement she made when she climaxed and take it with him. Her orgasms were the damn sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

  “Ready for part two?” he asked as he reached her breasts, his body hovering over hers.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said, her voice low and rough. “I want more. So much more of you.”

  “Hold that thought. I need to get a condom.”

  He located another foil packet in his wallet, then covered himself and returned to her. Slowly, he sank into her, inch by inch.

  She gazed down to where their bodies joined. “Your cock is perfect,” she said, the bliss from her last orgasm still lingering in her dreamy brown eyes.

  “Drunk on sex again?” He withdrew, just slightly. “Or are you trying to boost my ego?”

  “It’s your mouth.” Her head fell back against the bedding. “It’s intoxicating. The way you use your tongue…you have every right to feel cocky.”

  “I’m glad we cleared that up,” he said, his voice low and raspy. He was about to come for the third time that night, but he still couldn’t hold back. “I’d hate for you to leave thinking the ice machine did all the work.”

  Her hands cupped his jaw and held his face over hers. “No, it’s you.”

  He stared down at her as her hips rocked up to meet him thrust for thrust. The movements felt basic, primal, and hell, when she tightened around his dick, fantastic.

  But when she reached up and held his face in her hands, the rough, jagged lines on her cheek drew his attention. His jaw clenched, and this time it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was buried inside her. He wished he could take the bastard out. Hell, he felt at home wiping out the bad guys. If given the chance, he would destroy her foster father with his bare hands. No second-guessing. No fears.