A SEAL's Desire (Uniformly Hot!)

by Tawny Weber

  He considered himself an expert on the female form, so he knew his evaluation of her body as damned good was spot-on. Broad shoulders rose above lightly muscled arms, and as she straightened to better pull those deep breaths down to her belly, he gave a silent hum of appreciation.

  Oh yeah, she had a sweet body. Fabric cupped breasts full enough to fill both his hands, then wrapped snugly around a long torso, slender waist and narrow hips. From there down she was a mystery because of the ocean of material, but based on the facts on hand, Laramie had to believe that the legs would be as much a turn-on as the rest of her.

  For a brief second, he had to wonder if Art had been more serious than he’d figured about that last suggestion. Laramie wouldn’t put it past him, but he just couldn’t figure where the old man would find a woman this hot to play the part.

  Which meant she was probably lost or running from something.

  As hard as it was to tear his eyes from the striking face with its razor-sharp cheekbones, slashing brows and full lips, Laramie managed to cast his eyes behind her.

  He checked the bushes to the left.

  He scanned the trees to the right.

  His slowed breath quieted his heartbeat. The only sounds around were the light rustling of the wind in the trees and the light panting from the sexy redhead.

  Laramie waited another few seconds, his senses attuned for footfalls, engines, anything that’d hint that there were more people around.

  Nothing.

  So he lifted his Stetson off the branch where he’d hung it, setting it back on his head and angling the brim just so.

  And took another look.

  This time he smiled.

  Under the gloss and glamour, he knew that face.

  She liked grape popsicles on hot summer days, preferred crayons to paints and had a penchant for standing up to bullies.

  “Hello, Sammi Jo,” he drawled.

  “Laramie. Hi.” The bride bent from the waist again with both hands pressed to her belly as she tried to catch her breath. After a couple of attempts, she shrugged as if acknowledging that it just wasn’t going to happen. Instead, she gave him an arch look and said in just as breathless a voice,

  “You said you’d help if I ever needed it. Remember? Well, I need your help.”

  4

  LARAMIE DIDN’T EXACTLY look thrilled to see her, but who could blame him? Sammi didn’t know too many single guys who’d be thrilled to be chased down by a woman in a wedding dress. Even fewer who were crazy about someone they hadn’t seen in a dozen years crashing their vacation with a plea for help.

  Sammi Jo watched him pace in front of a fireplace that took up an entire wall of the cabin, the rough-hewn stone a gray backdrop against his long lean body.

  Even irritated, he moved with a sensual sort of grace. The kind that made Sammi think he’d move like that in bed. So smooth, but with determination that said he always got exactly where he wanted to go.

  Like a silk-covered jackhammer.

  Like most of the men in Jerrick, Laramie wore a plaid flannel shirt over his T, jeans and cowboy boots. But the standard cowboy uniform looked so different on him.

  Perched on the buffalo-hide couch, Sammi narrowed her eyes. It could be that the back pocket of his jeans had no white ring from carrying a can of chewing tobacco. Her eyes followed his backside as he paced the other way, noting that the denim decorated one very nice butt. Her hands warmed with the urge to pat it. Just to check and see if it was as firm as it looked.

  As horrified as if she’d said that aloud instead of in her head, Sammi ripped her gaze from Laramie’s backside. It landed on his shoulders, covered in blue-striped black fabric and broad enough to hold two full-grown women. Or for one to hang on to during sexy times.

  No wonder he was a sexual legend in Jerrick.

  She took a deep breath, trying to settle the weird feeling in her stomach. Dancing butterflies? Wild dragons? Horny hop toads, more likely.

  Oh, my.

  Sammi dropped her head into her hands, pressing her fingers against her eyes in an attempt to clear the crazies. What was she doing? Her fiancé was in danger, and here she was having her first ever lusting thoughts about the man she’d come to ask to find him.

  What was happening to her? Had stress unhinged something in her DNA? Was this how her mama had started? Stress-induced lust? Maybe it was a vicious circle, with the lust then causing stress that caused more lust until next thing you knew, you were doing the ice-cream truck driver to get an extra scoop.

  “Sammi Jo? Hey now, don’t cry.”

  He sounded as horrified as if she’d set his Stetson on fire. Laramie stopped pacing so fast, she heard his boots skid on the plank floor.

  But when she lifted her head to assure him that she wasn’t crying, he didn’t look horrified. He looked as if he wanted to toss her out the door onto her wedding-dress-covered butt. Then the thought of Mrs. Ross’s face if he did popped into her head and suddenly, her eyes did fill with tears.

  “Stop that.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “You let one tear drop and I’m walking out that door.”

  “It’s your cabin,” she pointed out, the urge to laugh doing more to waylay her hysteria-fueled tears than his threat.

  “Then I’ll make you go.” As he looked her over, his frown deepened so that she noticed the grooves bracketing his mouth and creasing his brow. The lines were well-worn, as if he frowned a lot. But that was so at odds with Laramie’s reputation as an easygoing, love ’em and leave ’em smiling kind of guy that she almost dismissed the idea. Almost. Because, well, the grooves were there.

  The urge to find out what had put them there was so strong that Sammi leaned back a little. As if those two inches would keep her from getting too personal.

  “Look, don’t take this wrong, Sammi, but I’m here to relax.” As if challenging her two-inch safety zone, he closed the distance between them, squatting down in front of where she sat. He smelled like the outdoors. Warm, free and just a little wild. The scent was so tempting, Sammi wanted to lean in and nuzzle her face against his throat and breathe him in. Instead, she tried to subtly breathe through her teeth. “If you had second thoughts two steps from the altar, well good job seeing the trap and getting the hell out. If you already said I do, then I’m sorry. I’m not available for jealousy games.”

  What sort of games was he available for? She could feel the words as they danced on the tip of her tongue, hear their flirtatious tone.

  Sammi wanted to drop her head into her hands again and try to massage some sense back into her brain. But Laramie was so close she was afraid to move in case she accidentally touched him. Who knew what’d happen then. She might spontaneously orgasm. She’d heard friends say it could happen.

  Then she replayed the rest of his words.

  Wait. Jealousy game? What was he talking about? Oh... Sammi glanced down at the white skirt fluffing around her like petals.

  “Oh, no—” She started to explain that she wasn’t married yet. That she’d been in the middle of a fitting and hadn’t taken the time to change.

  But Laramie stopped her words with just a single shake of his head.

  “I hate to deny a beautiful, sexy woman anything.” His voice deepened, his gold-rimmed hazel eyes sliding over her like a caress, leaving tingles in its path. “But darlin’, I have a couple of rules I live my life by. One of them is to never fool around with married women. Not even as a favor to help them make their husband jealous.”

  “Isn’t that awfully cynical,” she dismissed with a shake of her head.

  “Experience begets cynicism.”

  “You’re telling me that women—married and otherwise—have shown up at your place with the sole purpose of using you to make their significant other jealous?” That was crazy.

  “Yep.” He waited a beat, then added, “And to have sex.”

  And just like that, Sammi’s body heated up again. She wet her lips, trying to ignore it.

  “The married
ones, too?”

  “Yep.”

  She wanted to ask him how often it happened. Did he only refuse to have sex with the married ones? A million questions ran through Sammi’s mind, many of them accompanied by images. For a woman who had previously had virtually no interest in sex, Sammi was feeling a little overwhelmed. And hot. She resisted the urge to wave her hand to try to cool herself off.

  She stared at Laramie, who was staring right back at her. His face was actually beautiful. Sculpted cheekbones and full lips went with the sharp angles of his chin, while his magnetic eyes were topped with brows a few shades darker than his toffee-colored hair.

  That hair was short, whereas the last time she’d seen him, it’d been long enough to blow in the breeze. Still, her fingers itched to touch it. To see if it was sharp or soft.

  Why was she here, again?

  Sterling. Dammit. Sammi mentally smacked herself. Sterling.

  “Look you’ve got it wrong. I’m not...” She blinked. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “You just got that part, huh?” His smile flashed, sending a hot shard of desire to lodge deep in Sammi’s belly.

  “I’m not usually slow on the uptake,” she said, disliking the idea of Laramie thinking she’d grown up into a bubblehead. Unable to sit any longer, Sammi pushed to her feet.

  Laramie took her place on the couch—looking much more comfortable than she had with his arm stretched along the back and his ankle resting on his knee while Sammi took over pacing in front of the fireplace.

  “It’s been a weird day, okay? Sterling was a total grump at breakfast, then he took my computer. Which left me nowhere to hide from the second wedding dress. Who needs two dresses for one wedding, I ask you?”

  Since she really was clueless, she threw her hands in the air as she paced.

  “Two questions.”

  The words were barely louder than a murmur, but they stopped Sammi in her tracks.

  “Okay?”

  “First, you’re marrying Sterling Barclay?”

  “You know Sterling?” Her stomach tightened again at the thought of her fiancé and what he might be going through now. A part of her wanted to blurt out a plea, to beg and scream for help. But her logical side—usually in complete command—had argued during her frantic drive to the cabin that she needed to lay it all out clearly.

  Laramie was so used to women throwing emotions all over him, he was probably immune. But logic, that was smart and reasonable. So he’d respond in the same way.

  “Let’s see,” Laramie mused, easing his hat further back on his head. “Uptight pinhead who liked fancy cars and wore his letterman jacket like a badge of honor. Had a penchant for cheating and always hid behind daddy’s name.”

  Oh. Sammi bit her lip. Well, that wasn’t good. That sort of opinion could make persuading Laramie to rescue Sterling a little more challenging.

  “You said two things?” she reminded him, buying time. Sterling had gone to a private school, so what had given Laramie those impressions? How did she change them without knowing?

  “Two, you keep moving around like that and you’re gonna pop right out of that dress.” His smile went from easygoing to wicked in a flash. “Not that I mind. The view promises to be a good one. Just thought you’d want to know.”

  Sammi’s arms dropped to her sides so fast, her wrists bounced on her hips.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  Even as it made her want to giggle, the look on his face, a sort of heated intensity, derailed her thoughts once again.

  “So what’s the deal?” No longer teasing, his expression turned serious, his eyes watchful. “Are you in trouble? Running from someone?”

  “No, not me. I’m fine,” she hurried to assure him. As the iced fury faded in his eyes, she felt something soften in her heart. Appreciation, she told herself. She’d never had anyone willing to defend her before.

  Except Laramie himself, of course.

  But it had a lot bigger impact now that he was all grown up. Her gaze wandered again, meandering a slow path over those broad, strong shoulders, down that chest—so muscular that she could see definition beneath his black T-shirt—and down toward his belt.

  That’s enough. She forced her eyes back upward again. She’d confirmed that he was all grown-up. No need to check the particulars.

  “So, here’s the deal,” she blurted, needing to start her spiel before she got distracted by particulars again. “I’m getting married.”

  “No, really?”

  Sammi rolled her eyes. Then, because he’d interrupted she had to start her carefully rehearsed request from the top.

  “I’m getting married. To Sterling Barclay.” She waited, but when there were no derogatory comments or change in Laramie’s expression, she relaxed her shoulders and continued. “The wedding is in three weeks. Well, two weeks and five days now, actually. So there’s a lot going on. Preparations for the wedding and for after the wedding and all sorts of changes at the inn.”

  Laramie arched his brow.

  “Oh, I’m assistant manager at the Barclay Inn.” She paused, just in case he wanted to offer congratulations or anything. But Laramie simply stared. That intense, penetrating stare. “Remember? The Barclay Inn. I was all set to run away that summer when I was fifteen. I even asked you for a ride to the bus station. You talked me out of it, took me to the inn and convinced the housekeeper, Mrs. Reed, to give me a job even though I wasn’t old enough.”

  She bit her lip, afraid she’d start babbling if he didn’t say something soon. As if hearing her thoughts and willing to prevent that, he finally nodded.

  “I remember.”

  Oh, God. It was the pained look in his eyes that made her want to groan. The reason he’d had so much pull with the housekeeper was because Laramie’s mom had worked there right up until she died. And here Sammi was reminding him of that.

  She had to swallow hard to get past the knot in her throat.

  “So, um, Sterling and I are engaged. And we meet for breakfast on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so we met this morning as usual,” she explained, trying to find her rhythm again. “What?”

  His hand resting on his knee, Laramie had raised one finger.

  “Do I need to know this?”

  Sammi rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t I tell you and then we can decide.” She’d worked so hard on what she’d say and how she’d say it, and she needed to mention every point. After all, she didn’t know which one would be most persuasive and she couldn’t afford to skip a single one.

  But the tone of Laramie’s question made it clear that he wasn’t impressed with any of the points so far. What if he refused to help her? Sammi thought of how long it’d been since that phone call. Her heart shuddered, stomach cramping tight against the worry she’d so carefully tucked away. The only thing that’d kept her from hysterics so far was the promise that she’d find Laramie and he’d help her. But now that promise was crumbling.

  “They kidnapped Sterling,” she blurted out.

  Laramie’s only reaction was to narrow his eyes.

  “Someone took him. They’re threatening him. They could kill him.” With each word her voice rose a smidge higher on the hysteria scale.

  “Why don’t you go back to breakfast.”

  Bent at the waist, Sammi Jo paused in the act of sucking in great big gulps of air to give Laramie a questioning look through the wavy strands of hair hanging in her face.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  When Laramie circled his finger in the air, Sammi took it to mean he’d decided that he did need to know. She was too worried about Sterling to smirk. Much.

  “Sterling and I had breakfast at the inn, as we do every Tuesday and Thursday and afterward he closed himself in my office. He was still there two hours later when Mrs. Ross cornered me into trying on this second wedding dress.”

  “You planning on marrying more than one guy?”

  “Ha. No. Apparently it’s some crazy tr
end. Probably thought up by dress designers and bridezillas unwilling to get past their special day.” Unable to stand still with all the tension winding through her body, Sammi started pacing again. Her toes ached from too much time in her pointy-toed heels, but she walked through the pain. “So I’m trying on this dress and arguing with the wedding coordinator about needing more than one when my phone rang.”

  Sammi could see it in her mind as if she were there. Mrs. Ross in eye-searing orange, the scent of the beeswax polish used to polish the hall floor that morning. Her irritation, both at Mrs. Ross and at Sterling for messing up her day.

  There she’d been, thinking about herself and her oh-so-justified irritation while poor Sterling was being kidnapped. Hurt. Possibly worse.

  Greasy fingers of panic slid up Sammi’s throat, grabbing and squeezing. Her ears rang with the sound of bells dancing on the ocean.

  “Cell or landline?”

  Sammi had to blink to clear the tiny black dots from her vision before she could frown at him.

  “What?”

  “We’ll get back to it. Before you pass out, why don’t you tell me exactly what was said on the call.”

  “I’m not going to pass out.”

  Could he be any less sympathetic? Sammi actually felt her bottom lip slide out. He’d been a lot more helpful when he was seven, rescuing her from bullies. She’d bet if she passed out now, he’d simply watch her fall.

  After a quick glance at the light coat of dust carpeting the hardwood floor, Sammi dropped onto the couch, making sure to sit as far from Laramie as she could.

  “The call,” she said slowly, playing it back though her mind. Her burning eyes focused on the toes of her fancy wedding shoes, Sammi repeated everything she could remember about the conversation. She’d memorized the call time. She told him about the threats and demands. Her voice shook when she described how scared Sterling had looked and the bruises on his face.

  “They said not to go to the cops, not to tell Mr. Barclay, nothing,” she said as she reached the end of her recitation. Only then did she lift her eyes from her satin-covered feet to look at Laramie.