Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle

by Mary Margret Daughtridge

  “Not really. I sound like I claim kin to a lot of people I’m not related to, don’t I?” Rose color suffused Emmie’s cheek, as if she was embarrassed. The touch of color emphasized the blue of her eyes and called attention to the porcelain clarity of her skin. He’d seen a lot of porcelain in the last few days, and now he understood what those romance writers meant. He didn’t think he’d ever seen prettier skin in his life. “Calling him ‘uncle’ is just another habit I got into, but in this case it’s because my grandmother was a friend of his. Why are you so interested in him?”

  Emmie claimed kin to a host of people she wasn’t related to, whereas the only person he knew for sure he was related to, didn’t claim him at all. It was just one of the many, many differences between them. Do-Lord ignored the relief he felt that she was no relation of Calhoun’s.

  “Just surprised, is all.” Do-Lord decided to give her part of the truth. He was starting to realize that Emmie, unworldly and detached though she might appear, saw a great deal. “My unit was detailed to protect him one time.”

  “Isn’t it strange how no matter where you go, you seem to meet the same people over and over? Or at any rate, people who seem to know the same people you do? Teague Calhoun was executor of my grandmother’s estate—not that I think he did the actual work. He has ‘people.’ I never expected to see him again once the estate was settled, but it turned out he’s at all Pickett’s family parties. The important ones,” she added cynically, “where all the important people will be seen.”

  Karmic circles, she was talking about. Groups of souls who reincarnate together to work out debts left over from past lives. Reincarnation made a lot of sense to Do-Lord, but he’d never considered that he and Calhoun might have karmic ties that would bring them together over and over until they learned their lessons. Until the moment Calhoun had appeared in Afghanistan, he’d never met the man.

  Karma or not, the evidence was in front of him that the unfinished business between him and Calhoun couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t going to stay buried even though he’d refused one opportunity to even the score.

  He had to think. Do-Lord fought the distraction of her feminine scent. She stood just behind him, still studying the wall of photographs. He wondered if she knew how often she encroached on his space, or what it meant.

  In spite of the fact that she irritated him, he was starting to like her. She was abrupt, but he suspected that was because she was as goal-driven as he was, and had as little patience with meaningless chatter. She was as loyal to Pickett as he was to Jax. Where she gave herself, she gave herself completely. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to tease her into full sexual awareness of him, to stroke that heat he sensed into flame.

  The thought was amazingly hot, but he dismissed it. While some SEALs seemed to think wearing the Trident entitled them to sex anytime they wanted, he didn’t use women. Sex wasn’t hard to come by for any SEAL. There was never any reason to take advantage of a woman who didn’t know the score. But that didn’t mean he would turn away this opportunity the universe had sent him. She had the background he needed, and the entrée into a strata of society he couldn’t touch—yet anyone could see she wasn’t one of them.

  And right now she needed him. A smart Chief made sure more people owed him favors than he owed favors to. Do-Lord had been wondering ever since Afghanistan how he would get closer to Calhoun in a way that wouldn’t implicate other SEALs. Now he knew.

  Chapter 4

  “I’M IN.” A CONSPIRATORIAL GRIN TURNED CALEB’S EYES a devilish shade of golden. “What do we have to do?”

  He was going to help her. The sudden relief from the tension of the last hour left Emmie almost giddy.

  A lot of people thought, because she didn’t pay attention to the same things others did, Emmie wasn’t observant. She couldn’t tell the difference between a Mercedes and a BMW, a Rolex and a Timex, and didn’t know why anyone would waste time shopping when slacks could be ordered from catalogs. The surface of things didn’t interest her.

  She had noticed that though he spoke with a country accent, his English was grammatical. He employed an inexhaustible vocabulary of smiles, and despite meticulous courtesy, until these last few minutes, he’d barely tolerated her.

  That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain. The quote from Hamlet popped into her head. She didn’t think he was a villain, exactly, but she knew beyond doubt he used that particular smile to cover his thoughts rather than to reveal them.

  There was more to him than met the eye. A lot more. The thought was a little shivery, but intriguing. He had reasons of his own for assisting her. So be it.

  “The cake I ordered is waiting to be picked up at the UPS office. We’ll take it to the country club while no one is there and substitute it. Simple, really.”

  “What will we do with the other cake?”

  “Pack it in the box the substitute cake came in. I spent hours on the Internet locating a baker who would make a gluten-free cake identical to the one Grace ordered.” And maxed out her Visa to get the cake made and here on time. “I made the plan before I hurt my arm, though. My cake will have to be assembled.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Anything that can go wrong—”

  “Will go wrong,” Emmie finished. “Of course, I’ve heard of it. I find it unrealistically negative.” She felt giddy again. Free of anxiety, now she felt challenged rather than pressured. “Really, finding a baker was the hard part. Since you have two good arms, the rest should be—dare I say it? A piece of cake.”

  On the wide front steps flanked by massive boxwoods they ran into Jax. His normally hard face softened by tender amusement, Jax was watching his small son race around the wide lawn attempting to catch bright leaves as they drifted down from the many old shade trees. Jax had been absent for most of Tyler’s short life but was determined to make up for it now.

  “Emmie! Emmie!” Tyler caught sight of them and flung himself toward Emmie, arms outstretched wide intending to hug her around the knees the same way he hugged Pickett. Apparently, he had decided Emmie rated the same affection.

  Tyler was utterly unrestrained in administering hugs. Do-Lord put his arm behind Emmie’s waist ready to catch her if Tyler unbalanced her, but before Tyler could connect, Jax swept him up.

  “Easy Tyler, remember? You have to be careful with ladies.”

  “You said I had to be careful with Pickett.”

  “Well, you have to be careful with Emmie, too.”

  “Do I have to be careful with Aunt Grace, and AuntSarah Bea, and Aunt Lyle?” Tyler listed Pickett’s sisters. He seemed delighted with all the family he was acquiring along with a stepmother and missed no opportunity to name every one. “And Aunt Lilly Hale and—”

  “Yes,” Jax interrupted the list. Since Pickett’s family was large, it could go on quite a while. “You have to be careful with every single one. Now, can you give Emmie a gentle hug? She has a hurt arm, so you need to be extra special careful.”

  Lifted into position by his father, Tyler settled hands weightless as snowflakes on Emmie’s shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers. After a moment’s hesitation, Emmie brought her good arm up to hold him to her.

  “Did the hug make you all better?” Tyler inquired with a child’s innocent faith as his father lifted him away. “Do you want another one?”

  “Um, maybe later.”

  “Did you know I’m going to be five soon?” Tyler asked Emmie in the lightning fast shift of attention typical of children. “I’m four now,” he clarified, “but then, I’ll be five.”

  “Oh.” Emmie seemed unsure of what to say, but she gave the child the courtesy of taking him seriously. Do-Lord liked that about her. So many people thought that because children were naïve they were negligible. “When is your birthday?”

  “Tomorrow!”

  “Not tomorrow, son,” Jax corrected. “December twelfth.”

  “December twelfth,” Tyler parroted. “That’s s
oon, right? Did you know after we get married tonight, Pickett’s mother will be my grandmother?”

  Emmie’s eyes turned to Do-Lord in momentary confusion. She must not have much experience with little kids. Do-Lord nodded. “Yes.” She turned back to Tyler. “I knew that.”

  Before he could start into another did you know Jax hung Tyler upside down by his hands. Tyler executed a backwards body flip to the ground.

  “Hey, Tyler, go get us five more leaves to take to the hotel, okay?”

  Tyler held up a hand, fingers spread wide. “Five?”

  “Right.”

  When the little boy was out of earshot, Jax turned to Do-Lord. “Listen, I just found out his other grandmother, Lauren, is coming to the wedding. Pickett insisted on inviting her.”

  Do-Lord whistled softly. Lauren was the mother of Jax’s ex-wife, Danielle. Tyler had stayed with her until Jax could return from Afghanistan. There had never been any love lost between her and Jax, and now she was trying to take Tyler away from him. The wedding wouldn’t have been rushed if not for the need to head off any possibility of her getting Tyler.

  “Wait a minute,” Emmie interrupted. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing. I understand where Pickett’s coming from. Lauren might not be the best custodian for Tyler, but she’s still his grandmother. He needs the link to his mother and his past that Lauren can provide.”

  “I understand what Pickett’s saying, too. Inviting Lauren was her call, and you know I’m going to back her. I had hoped Lauren wouldn’t accept. Pickett doesn’t know what Lauren is capable of. She hasn’t ever had to deal with her.”

  “Don’t sell Pickett short. She’s a lot tougher than she looks. She can deal with anything Lauren can dish out. She’ll protect Tyler if she needs to, but she says it’s best not to protect children from knowing their parents and grandparents.”

  Do-Lord laid a careful hand on Emmie’s good shoulder. “You don’t have to defend Pickett to Jax. He’s on her side. She shouldn’t need to handle Lauren on her wedding day. No worries, boss,” he added to Jax. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Jax nodded his understanding. “Thanks.” He gave Do-Lord and Emmie a considering look, his light-colored eyes flicking between them. “Where are you two off to?”

  “Emmie’s ready to leave. I said I’d give her a ride. She can’t drive with her arm in a sling.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” Jax’s tone was bland, disinterested. Like hell. He knew something was up. Do-Lord wondered what stray flicker of body language had given them away. Do-Lord would just as soon have stayed out of range of Jax’s radar. It would be better if Jax had no foreknowledge of Emmie’s quixotic scheme or Do-Lord’s reasons for agreeing to help her.

  “Nah. I’ve got everything handled.” Do-Lord matched Jax’s casual tone perfectly, knowing he didn’t need to add trust me.

  “I got ’em. I got the leaves.” Tyler ran back to the adults.

  Jax slung his son across his shoulder in a fireman carry. “I’m going to take him back to the hotel so we can swim for a while. Maybe I can drain off a few gallons of excitement and get him to nap.”

  Tyler twisted around on his father’s shoulders to regard Do-Lord and Emmie with a look eerily like his father’s. “Don’t forget,” cautioned Tyler. “You gotta be extra special careful when you hug Emmie.”

  Do-Lord grinned and noogied the kid’s hair. Tyler was going to need some fine-tuning before he had his father’s ESP. Do-Lord didn’t think any hugs would be needed. Doing a favor would accomplish his goal. “No problem, big guy. See you later.”

  Chapter 5

  THE MUSCULAR PICKUP, PARKED ON THE GRASSY EDGE of the tree-lined drive, had to be the biggest truck Emmie had ever seen. Do-Lord unlocked the door on the passenger side and held it open.

  “This is a new truck, isn’t it?” Emmie stalled for time. “What kind is it?” She had no interest in trucks whatsoever, but she needed a minute to gather her courage to face the pain of climbing in.

  “A Silverado 250,” His narrowed eyes traveled over her in cool, deliberate assessment. Though there was nothing sexual about the way he sized her up, her breath stalled in her throat. She had never felt so looked at in her life. His lips pursed, as if he was fighting a smug smile. “You need help getting in.”

  She stiffened. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  He ignored the question. “Do I need to be careful of anything besides your shoulder?”

  “Everything else works fine. Really, I can do it.”

  Again, he ignored her. “Brace your good hand on my shoulder for balance—” When she didn’t comply, he took her hand and set it on his shoulder. “When I pick you up lean toward me slightly. Don’t want to bump your head.” Not waiting for her agreement, he placed two hard, warm hands on her waist and lifted.

  The sheer novelty of the experience streaked in a shocked tingle down her legs and up her spine. She wasn’t the kind of dainty little thing men picked up, and even if she was, she didn’t hang around the kind of jocks who showed off their muscles by picking women up.

  Emmie hardly had time to absorb the feeling of his shoulder under her hand before her butt was in contact with the passenger seat, her legs dangling sideways.

  She shifted in the seat attempting to swing her feet into the car. Her cheeks turned white. She bit her lip, but she didn’t groan.

  “Stop. Don’t twist,” he commanded, anticipating her. “I’ll straighten you up. If the Cargo is already injured, it usually works better if the Cargo lets me do everything.”

  One arm around her back steadied her, while the other went under her knees to lift her legs. Dragging on panty hose had been out of the question this morning. His hand brushed the naked back of her legs just above the knee. For one breathless second, she thought it lingered. Then, so smoothly she thought the tiny hiatus hadn’t happened, she was facing forward.

  She hastily tugged at the hem of her skirt. Turning had twisted it, baring her thighs. If she’d ever been one to swear, she would have sworn now. Covering her legs, one-handed and with no leverage, was impossible.

  “Raise up a little.” His voice, suddenly deeper, grittier, was so close she felt the moist puffs of his breath. “I’ll straighten your skirt.”

  Efficiently, but with no trace of hurry, he ran his hand under her buttocks to free the bunched material. When that was done, he firmly and totally unnecessarily, smoothed the wrinkles from the cotton twill.

  “Are you done?” Emmie tried to snap but wasn’t sure she succeeded.

  “Almost.” He extended the seatbelt, and she realized he intended to buckle her in.

  “Enough!” She caught the hand in which he held the metal tab. “I’ll do it, thank you.”

  He didn’t release the tab. He just looked at her. Patient. Implacable.

  His head was level with hers, so close she could see the gold and brown flecks in his irises. His eyes weren’t cold and hard now.

  She had never been on the receiving end of a will so focused it was palpable.

  She gasped and drew his scent deep into her lungs. Wool, starch, spice, and some ineluctable, masculine essence. She could still feel the impression his hands and arms had made on her body—the smooth, casual strength with which he took control.

  With the same strobe-like intensity as when she had realized one couldn’t judge his personality by his good-humored smile, Emmie suddenly understood this man wouldn’t give up. He never gave up. The knowledge shuddered through her like a gong that had been struck. Without a word spoken she knew she had been warned: let go of the belt or he would do more.

  One pointed eyebrow quirked. “Are you going to let me do it now?”

  What was he talking about? Stunned by insights, overcome with sensory surfeit, Emmie found the question baffling. As if she could find the answer there, her attention fixated on his mobile mouth. His lips reminded her of Brad Pitt’s, she thought, too bemused to notice the irrelevance. The upper curved in a p
erfect bow, while the lower poked out as if he knew a secret that poised his lips at the beginning of a smile—or the beginning of a kiss. “Do it?”

  “Buckle the seat belt.” This time the grin was outright, genuine, and so steeped in amused arrogance Emmie wanted to writhe in mortification for letting him make her think about kissing, even momentarily.

  Heat flooded her face and spread down her chest in a fire that threatened to consume her entire body. Her torso tightened in a weird reflex that included her nipples.

  He was so proud of his little display of masculine dominance she wanted to hit him, and that made her writhe because she didn’t believe in violence. And she wanted to run her finger tips over the short velvety-looking hair on his nape—and that made her writhe even more.

  Emmie wasn’t naïve about sexual attraction. No one who worked on a college campus could be. If the massive distraction of sex could be eliminated, the test scores of her students would rise one whole letter grade. But she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d ever needed to be warned against bad boys. She wasn’t the kind who lost her head—but more to the point, she wasn’t the kind bad boys gave a second glance. Or, for that matter, a first one.

  And bad boy he was. It didn’t show through anything as clichéd as a leather jacket or a sullen attitude. He’d been all polite, deferent charm to Pickett’s mother and sisters and aunts. He dressed with military polish, and his hair was cut shorter than Jax’s. And yet she was sure he never played by the rules—not unless he fixed them first.

  If she could, she’d get out of the truck right now. She’d had all she ever wanted of masculine disdain for her plainness. If he knew what she was thinking, he’d probably laugh.

  Thank God, once the seat belt clicked into place, he withdrew without further comment.

  Do-Lord shut her door. His fingers left a film of moisture on the chrome handle. Sweaty palms. Shit. When was the last time his hands had sweated from being close to a girl?

  He’d been pleased—he’d admit it—when he’d realized Emmie couldn’t climb into his truck without his help. It freed him to take charge, and SEALs liked to be in charge.