“No. Not at all,” she laughed. “I think perhaps I need it.”
He curled his forefinger, motioning her to lean closer to him. “You are perfect just the way you are.” He kissed her.
Christy glowed inside. The man could charm the pants off a…an oyster.
“So you like oysters?” she continued.
“I like eating anything around you. Everything tastes great.”
With his fingers, he placed a stray lock of hair behind her left ear, then held up her chin for another long kiss. His palm slid down her arm, over the fabric of her oversized San Francisco souvenir sweatshirt that matched his.
“And everything is good around you,” he said in a raspy, dead-sexy bedroom voice.
She turned her stool and let his knee hit her pubic bone. She locked him there. “You know what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Well, you’ve had your fortification. So, how many more times can we do it before midnight?”
“I should be good for one or two…but first I wanna have a little talk with you.”
His face got serious. Christy held her breath. Every time there was a “serious” talk before, it had been bad news. Now what? Had their earlier discussion set off a chain of events that was now going to hurt?
Kyle fished something out of his San Francisco sweatshirt pocket.
He got down on one knee, and in front of the whole group of oyster-loving, beer drinking customers, held her left hand and said, “Christy Nelson. Would you marry me?”
Did he just ask me to marry him? She hadn’t allowed herself to long for a proposal of marriage. She’d been planning on enjoying what was to come as long as he was there by her side.
“Absolutely,” she answered. She couldn’t believe it.
He put the ring on her finger.
The crowd took note of the proposal and burst into spontaneous clapping.
She looked at the costume jewelry ring he must have purchased at the hotel. It was the most beautiful stone she had ever seen, and it mattered not one whit that it wasn’t real.
Her man was.
The End
Come follow along the SEAL Brotherhood journey with Book 2, coming out late 2012, Fallen SEAL Legacy. It’s Coop’s story.
Excerpt from Fallen SEAL Legacy:
Chapter 1
A tornado licked the Nebraska landscape with deadly force, tasting contents of houses and farms, furrowing down fence posts and over pencil-thin crop rows like a tongue from Hell. It seemed to like the flavor of metal and sheetrock as well as the tender green stalks of corn, sunflowers and soybeans. Human and animal body parts spewed out to the sides, detritus from a bored gourmand.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The steamy ground hissed in response.
Calvin “Coop” Cooper awoke and smelled cherries mixed with crisp morning sea air. He heard running water and then felt the steam, which had filled the bedroom.
Daisy. In the shower. Slippery and soapy all over.
She’d spent the night in his motorhome by the beach, and what a night it had been. His other SEAL team buddies called it the Babemobile. They could call it anything they like, he thought. Coop was saving a ton of money by pocketing his housing allowance.
Coop scratched above his forehead. The sparse light brown fuzz he called hair made his fingers sticky. And smelling of cherries.
That would be the gel she used on me last night. The gel I used on her, all over.
Daisy did have a job to get up for, and God, yes, no wonder she needed a shower.
Coop rolled over and placed his palms behind his head, disentangling the sweaty sheet from his long six-foot-seven-inch-frame. It had been a wonderful Coronado Island night. Daisy was the best pleasure partner a guy could want. Totally willing. Totally hot. Everyone else wanted to bang her, too. But she, temporarily at least, had secretly chosen Coop to share her bed. Or rather, his bed. Daisy never brought anyone to her place.
She was the one all his SEAL Team III buddies hired to do their tattoos. It was odd, with all the places they’d been sent, all the injuries they’d incurred, his buddies would only let one tattoo artist touch their flesh. Daisy was the best. In many ways.
Coop rubbed his groin, which was getting interested in chasing down the trail of thoughts his brain wandered through.
Down boy.
He usually parked his motor home at the beach, but tonight he’d parked in the vacant lot at Costco so they wouldn’t have any visitors. No sense having a sweet young thing calling on his door, thinking he was available, and him being kinda busy. Daisy had followed him there so he wouldn’t need to take her home. She was a very practical girl.
“Hey baby,” Daisy said as she paraded in front of him, sizing up his exposed torso. “We had some fun last night, didn’t we?” She put two fingers in her pink-lipped mouth. Those lips would leave a ring all right. Her makeup was done, and she was wearing one of those kid’s T-shirts that showed off the frog tattoo around her belly button pierced with a gold ring glinting in the morning sun. Her shorts were so short, if Coop slipped a hand up her backside, he’d be in clover before he got three inches in.
“You smell good.” You taste good too. Cherry wasn’t his favorite flavor. He liked the way she tasted all by her little lonesome, he thought as he scanned her many alluring attributes. And he told her that one time just before she exploded in an orgasm in his arms. Telling her things like that worked real well on Daisy. Like some of the girls in high school he could read scriptures to, especially the Love Chapter from Psalms. Make them hot as hell, and so willing to show it.
Her knees sunk onto the bed and crawled her way up to straddle him. “I’m gonna be late for work if you aren’t quick.”
By the time he gave his assent, she had already removed her T-shirt and 38 DDD bra.
After Daisy left, Coop had to wait for the water to warm up again after her second shower, so he sat in his boxers at the nook, chowing down on granola and whole milk. He checked between the metal blinds in the window and watched a couple of early Costco employees arrive. That also meant it was time for him to leave.
His cell phone chirped.
“Coop here.” He recognized the number belonging to his Chief, Petty Officer Timmons.
“Mornin’ Coop. Say, mind if we have a word this morning?”
“Sure. When do you need me in by?”
“How soon can you get here?”
Something was up, and it wasn’t good. “Can you tell me a little about it?” Coop asked.
“No, mister. I gotta do this eyeball to eyeball.”
Coop hesitated a bit before answering. Timmons hadn’t said it involved anyone else, so this wasn’t a Team thing. Had someone complained about him parking the Babemobile at the beach? Some jerk off do-gooder ranger exerting himself on the community they loved to bust for littering and public drinking? Only because the girls would rather hang out with me than some overweight guy with a green gabardine scout leader uniform and a chronic case of sunburn.
“I can be there in a half hour, unless there’s a jam-up on the highway.”
“See you then, son.”
Son? When his Chief called him son, it usually meant he was in trouble. Coop felt dark fingers dig into his spine at the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.
He skipped the shower, anxious to find out what Timmons wanted. He doubted his Chief would notice Daisy’s smell or the trace of cherry lube gel instead of his usual Irish Spring. If he ran into his Team leader, Kyle Lansdowne, he’d get ordered to get wet and sandy. Old married man Kyle, with a baby now, was a real hard-ass these days. But a damn good SEAL, and the best Team leader a guy could have.
He climbed over the bench seat at the nook, planting his long legs just beyond the driver’s seat of the beast and started her up. A regular fortress, Coop had installed a secret weapons compartment, a sophisticated GPS unit, a satellite tracking system with infrared, and a sound system worthy of a rock star. H
e’d rather spend his money on toys than housing, so he spent the majority of his paycheck on special parts and upgrades for gadgets he was constantly tinkering with.
He opted for the Gone Country satellite channel, donned his sunglasses and departed for the check-in with his Chief.
Coop rounded the corner to the Special Warfare base at Coronado, stopped at the guard shack and addressed the flunky on duty. A new one. Navy Regular. Clean cut. Cooper was thinking he might luck out and get on base without a wisecrack since the guy was new, but had no such luck.
“Well if it isn’t the stud of Coronado and his limp dick pleasure palace.”
Coop studied the new man’s nametag, Dorian Hamburg. He and his Team guys could have fun with that name. And the look on the man’s face told him he had a hair trigger. That was always fun. So the other regulars had told him about his motorhome. No problem. If the guy wanted to spar, Coop would spar with him, and make him pay for it.
“Nice to see the ladies’ve told you about it. That’s why they won’t lick your sorry ass.” Coop watched his words punch Dorian in the face and made him redden. But the man was quick on his feet, unlike some of the other Navy regulars.
“I hear the health department wants to do a study of all the interesting cultures growing in that bat mobile, especially on the ceiling…”
“Nice try, asshole, or is it Dorian? If I were you, I’d go by the name asshole. Dorian sounds queer.”
“You ought to know…” Dorian squinted at Coop’s upside down nametag hanging at a slight angle. “Calvin.”
Sticks and stones don’t bust my balls…
“Well Dorian, you can call me Special Operator Cooper. But for your information, the only other Calvin I ever met was a real big black dude, and he definitely wasn’t gay.” Coop handed over his military I.D.
“When are you gonna fix that rag on your head? Don’t they pay you boys enough for a hairpiece or some plugs?”
“Lost all my hair going down. If the girl likes it, she kinda tugs. Hurts sometimes, get my drift?”
“Um hum.” The sentry handed Coop back his card. “You be careful how you park, hear? And straighten that god-damned nametag.”
The rumble of the engine left a thick cloud of black smoke in its wake. Happened every time Coop plastered his foot against the floorboard.
Timmons’s office was all metal and no frills, except for the bright lime green ceramic frog holding a surfboard that SEAL Team III bought him. It stood two and a half perilous feet tall, perched on top of a metal bookshelf. This was the replacement to the statue Timmons had destroyed on a rather ill-tempered day last year.
Timmons had bouts of anger, more frequently now, especially about procedural things. Coop knew the enlisted man was not longing for the forced retirement. It meant more time at home with a wife who publicly made fun of him. The Navy was his life, always had been. But that wasn’t going to stop them from retiring him anyway.
“Chief?” Coop called out as he stooped under the doorframe to avoid hitting his head.
“Sit down, son,” Timmons said, pointing to one of two metal folding chairs in front of his paper-strewn desk.
The cold chair matched the eerie chill that tingled up his spine every time his Chief used the term son. He licked his lips and waited while Timmons collected strength.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. We’ve just been contacted by the authorities in Nebraska.” He looked up at Coop with his watery, light blue eyes. Coop held his breath.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard it on the news, but there’s been a tornado in Pender and parts nearby, and I’m sorry to say, your family and the farm are gone, son.”
Cooper had been trained to deal with the death of a Team guy. He’d held them sometimes as the life force exited their bodies, rocking them slowly or telling them little jokes to ease their way home. But his real home, his roots in Nebraska, those always remained.
Gone? All of them? Gone?
He felt his body come to terms with the reality of what was just spoken. One by one, every nerve ending began to shout, until the rage inside, the scream Hell No! consumed all his energy. He dug his fingernails into his thighs and, without realizing it, had drawn blood through the green canvas of his cargo pants.
Timmons got up, which prompted Coop to stand as well, although he was weaving. If Timmons hugged him, he’d deck the guy and end his career for sure. But his Chief stood a healthy two feet away, which was close enough to smell the angst of his old chief who nervously flexed and unflexed his fingers at his side. “I’m so sorry, son.”
There’s that goddamned word again. Coop took a deep breath and then felt the tears flood his eyes. I’m no one’s son any longer. Mercifully, he couldn’t see his Chief’s expression. Coop’s fists tightened, he stepped to the side and belted the frog statue, which crashed up against the side of the wall and shattered. Although his team had recently replaced it for well over two hundred dollars, the green glassy fragments exploded and fell in a satisfying tinkle all over the floor, the windowsill and Timmons’s desk.
Timmons stood there overlooking the mess, nodding his head. He thought the frog suffered a good, honorable death, after all. Team III would have it replaced as soon as the donations came in. Next time maybe he should find a way to bolt it to the wall. But that would be dangerous.
For the wall.
End of Excerpt –Fallen SEAL Legacy will be released in the Fall of 2012
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Excerpt from Fallen SEAL Legacy:
Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) Page 32