Dirty Seal
Page 3
Chapter 4
What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
That wisp of emotion is back in Heath’s eyes, and this time there’s no mistaking which emotion it is— amusement. At my expense. “You were staring.”
“I was people watching, and you happen to be a person,” I say, trying not to let his eyes trap me. Of course, trying to avoid his eyes is tricky on its own, because my gaze wants to wander up and down his body, wants to wonder at the muscles hidden beneath his clothes. Knowing he’s a SEAL— knowing where, exactly, that body came from— makes him even better looking than I thought he was this morning.
“I can’t quite figure out what your problem is with me,” he says, tilting his head slightly.
I scoff. “You blamed me for hitting you, you lied about a dog, then you used my number to send me personal texts after taking a hundred bucks from me for no reason.”
“For no reason? My car was damaged,” he says.
“Yeah, but like— why a hundred dollars? We know it costs more than that. So what’d you do, just take an amount of money that you felt some poor girl wouldn’t miss?”
“You want me to…ask for more money?” he asks, frowning.
“No, I want you to stop playing games with me. The dog, the money, the texts, all of it. I want you to be a normal person getting into a fender bender instead of…this,” I say, motioning toward him.
“Interesting,” he says. “By the way, I asked for a hundred dollars because that was the first amount that occurred to me.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I adjust my pegacorn horn; the headband had slipped ungracefully over my eyes during my tirade. I see that glimmer of amusement in his eyes again as I rebalance it on my forehead.
“And the only reason I asked for anything at all was because I knew it’d give me an excuse to get your number,” he says.
I blink.
Because did he just say what I think he just said?
“What?” I ask.
“Your number. I didn’t think a car accident was the smoothest place to ask for a beautiful woman’s number, especially when said beautiful woman was in a bathrobe, in a hurry. I thought I’d call you, tell you that I managed to get a friend— Jack— to fix the car for free, and then offer to tear up the check. Then I reasoned we’d get to talking, and I’d ask you to dinner.”
“What?” I ask again.
He doesn’t explain it a second time, just continues to watch me, still, stony, calm, hints of emotion that now seem more obvious than before. How does he keep them so buried? I feel like my emotions are bubbling out all the time— like this morning, in fact. Or right now, when I can’t stop myself from both scowling and blushing.
“So, I’m happy to tear up the check. I don’t want your money. But I’d like you to go to dinner with me,” Heath says firmly. It’s not really a question, not the way he says it. Nor is it a demand. It’s more like…a statement. Like he’s saying that the sky is blue. A statement, and because of that it doesn’t feel like a simple “yes” or “no” will do.
My lips part, my brows knit, I make what I’m sure is a ridiculous face (and one that likely isn’t helped by my costume). I can’t help it though— I’m stunned. Part of me is stunned by the effort he went to in order to get my number…and part of me is stunned that he’s asking me, the girl wearing a tin foil unicorn horn, to dinner. I don’t dislike the way I look or anything, but this guy is hot enough— and apparently famous enough— to get models and actresses. Why go for a girl who yelled at him in a bathrobe this morning?
“I don’t…think…I…understand…” I say slowly, finding each word only a moment before it leaves my mouth.
“Dinner. We’ll go somewhere. And based on what I’ve seen of your wardrobe so far, you’ll likely wear something both ridiculous and hot,” he says, and oh my god, he smiles. Like, actually, really smiles. The expression stuns me both because of how unexpected it is, and because of how perfect it is. The amusement is back in his eyes, but paired with the smile I can see that it’s not a joke at my expense. It’s playful. It’s cute.
Yeah, the guy who helped capture one of the world’s most wanted terrorist is being cute.
“Um, I…” I am trying to say yes, I swear I am— but everything about this feels like a bizarre fever dream. I hit a hot guy’s car, he tells me a story about a dog, he takes it back, he shows up here, he texts me, he flirts with me—
“There you are!” a voice— Bella’s voice— calls out, and I nearly leap into the air with surprise. I turn and see that she’s poking her head out the patio door; she giggles when she sees my wide eyes. “Sorry— everything okay out here?” she asks, meeting my eyes for a serious second. That’s Bella for you— always looking out for her friends.
“I’m…I’m good,” I say, pausing to really think on the word “good”. “Thanks.” This is the code we worked out when we started hanging out together: “I’m good” means there’s no need to intervene. “I’m fine” means “get me the fuck out of here now.”
But I’m good. I’m good.
I look back to Heath and see that the smile is gone— he’s back to the cool, stony expression, the one he’s nearly always wearing. He didn’t want anyone but me to see him smiling.
“Okay,” I say with a breath. “This is really crazy but…yeah. Okay. Dinner.”
“Excellent,” Heath says, and exhales. He looks me in the eye for another moment, like he’s deciding something, and then lets his eyes drift down my body with the same sweeping, confident gaze that he used this morning outside our cars. “Excellent,” he repeats himself, and when he meets my eyes again that smile is back, though this time it’s smokier. Hungrier.
“When? Where?” I ask.
“I’ll call you,” he says, then lifts his brows. “I’ve got your number, remember?”
“Right,” I say, nodding, trying to ignore the fact that when his eyes ran down me, I imagined for a split second his hands doing the same thing. “I’m going to go back inside now.”
“Alright,” he says, almost like he’s giving me permission. I take a step back, then another, and finally turn around. I’m very aware of the fact that he’s looking at my ass as I walk away, and very aware of the fact that I like it. I’ve never liked this sort of thing before, never liked feeling watched or studied. It’s always felt more like an insult or an invasion than a compliment. Until now.
I get inside, the warmth of the party washing over me, and take a deep breath. I need a moment. I hurry to the bathroom and dab at my neck with cold water, wondering if Heath has come back inside yet, wondering just how many of those potent cocktails I had, when my phone chimes. Another text.
Unknown Caller: Let’s go now. I’m in my car.
I stare at the message, then up at my own reflection in the mirror. I look like my mother did when she was younger— and I think that’s what startles me into the direction of sobriety. My mom would see warning signs all over this. She’s say that this is a setup, that I shouldn’t be alone with him, that guys like Heath are too hopped up on their own testosterone to be safe. That guys like this are too much like my father. She wouldn’t go. She’d play it safe. She’s always played it safe, ever since dad went to prison.
And…so have I.
So even though I probably should at least google his name to make sure there aren’t any mugshots of him floating around on the internet, I remove my pegacorn horn, tidy my makeup as best I can, and then head outside.
Heath is waiting for me in his car, the area around the SUV dimly lit by the running lights. I bite my lip as I walk toward it, trying to sort out if the feeling in my chest is nervousness or anticipation. I suspect that it’s both, especially when I realize that Heath is staring at me, making no attempt to look away or busy himself as I close the distance between myself and the passenger side door. I open it and slide into the massive seat, pretending like the angel wings on my back don’t make sitting uncomfortable
. The car smells like allspice and soap, clean and masculine. I stare straight ahead for a beat, then glance over at him. His face is glowing from the blue LEDs on the interior display.
“Okay. Let’s go,” I say as casually as possible. It doesn’t sound very casual, though; my voice is shaky.
“Where to?”
“Anywhere,” I answer, shrugging. I’m not usually the kind of person who answers like this, but I can’t seem to remember the name of a single restaurant in my entire hometown.
Heath studies me. His eyes are bright even in this darkness. He then says in a sort of husky way, “Anywhere?”
“I mean, sure. I don’t— lots of places will be closed already,” I stammer.
“Do I make you nervous because of the car accident, or some other reason?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, but I know I’m flushing. “I don’t know. You’re just very…confident.”
“You’ve got to be in my line of work,” he says smoothly.
“Yeah, Jack told me. Well. Jack and like…the news.”
He nods in response, like hearing that I know him from the news isn’t particularly interesting information. “So we can go anywhere? Even though I make you nervous?”
I pause, but then nod, more than a little jittery as I do so. He watches me unabashedly, then puts the car in reverse and pulls away from Bella’s house.
Chapter 5
What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing?
I chant to myself as we cut through town, but I really start to chant it when I realize that we’ve more or less passed all the restaurants on the main strip. What am I doing— literally? Where are we going? I want to ask, but I’ve already said that I’ll go anywhere with Heath, so who am I to start demanding an explanation at this point? Besides…nervous as I am, I don’t think I’m actually in any danger. For one, Heath is just too well known to do something as stupid as kidnap me. And two? He just…well…he feels safe.
How can someone make me feel safe and nervous all at once?
“Wait…” I say when he takes a sudden turn. “Are we going to…”
“You said anywhere,” he reminds me.
“My apartment? That’s where we’re going?” I ask, stunned. He’s got my address the same way he had my phone number, and it’s not exactly shocking that he knew what complex it’s in— the town only has two apartment complexes, after all. Mine, Pine Knoll, is full of streets with pine-tree-themed names. I live on Needle Way, which yes, I know, sounds like a drug alley.
“You said I make you nervous. I figured being in your own place would make you less nervous,” Heath says, but does so in a way that makes me think he might like all this nervousness a little more than he’s letting on.
“I don’t…” I swallow. “I didn’t plan on anyone seeing where I live.”
“You didn’t plan on getting in a wreck with me either, but here we are,” he says. He parks the car and gets out, hurrying around to open my door for me before I can even grab the handle. I flush for the thousandth time this evening. No one’s ever opened a door for me before, not even back on prom night.
“This isn’t dinner, though,” I remind him. “Because trust me, if you think I’ve got food up there, you’re about to be disappointed.”
“We’ll order pizza,” he says with a shrug.
“That’ll take forever.”
“We’ll fill the time,” he answers, and that smokiness is back in a way that makes me core tremble. I bite my lip again, shoulder my purse, and start toward my apartment door. God, please tell me I didn’t leave anything embarrassing lying around. Please please please please. I’m reaching toward the lock when I freeze— because Heath’s hand is on my shoulder, gentle but strong.
“To get this out of my system,” he says in a growling whisper, and I tense as he lets his hand slide down and off my shoulder, down my back, to my waist. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath as Heath slinks his arm around my stomach and turns me to face him. With my eyes shut, I don’t see it coming, but I sense it all the same. He wraps his other arm around me and delicately pulls me toward him, then presses his lips to mine.
I’m so overpowered by the sensation that I do nothing for a beat, then I almost, almost pull away…and as if he feels my intention, Heath tightens his grip on me as if to tell me that this is fine, that he’s in charge, that I can give in. My knees tremble, and finally I lean into him, shakily parting my mouth for him, glowing at the feel of his tongue flicking against my lips. I practically have to look straight up to kiss him like this, he’s so tall, and—
I gasp and my eyes spring open when Heath unexpectedly grabs my waist and lifts me straight up into the air. My legs scramble, but he pulls me toward him and I instinctively wrap them around his waist to balance myself. He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before; not the hard, pressing way that bruises my lips, the way men think women want to be kissed. No, it’s more…firm. Strong. Confident, like he is. I’m not surprised that Heath kisses this way, but I can’t believe that I’m on the other end of it.
He finally pulls away from me, and I find myself leaning forward, unwilling to let the kiss end. What the hell is happening to me? I try to shake off the dizzy, flighty feeling racing through my veins, but there’s no way that’s going to happen while he’s literally holding me to his chest. I breathe slow, and he watches me.
“There. Now I can keep my hands off you for a while, I think,” he says in a growling, practical voice.
“I…um…” I have lost the ability to speak. Or maybe it’s just that there are about eight thousand things I want to say at the moment, ranging from “put me down” to “don’t you dare put me down.”
“Too much?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. From this close, I can see a handful of scars on his forehead, thin but deeper than I’d have guessed from a distance.
“No,” I say. “Just…I didn’t think…”
He slowly, carefully unwinds my legs from his waist, setting me down firmly in front of him. Stunned, I jam my key into the lock and open the door of my house. I step inside, fumble for the light by the door, and flick it on. Thankfully, the most embarrassing thing in plain sight is the truly impressive collection of empty Diet Coke cans by my sink.
“This is where I live,” I say, like I’m giving the world’s most boring Cribs tour.
“It’s nice,” he says, but he isn’t looking at the surroundings. He’s looking at me.
“I’m not here often,” I explain despite the fact that he didn’t ask. I turn to look at him. “I’m not much of a homebody.”
“Me neither. That’s why I joined the SEALS. See the world, you know. And shoot at a lot of it.”
“Oh. That’s not why I rented a place here,” I say.
“I gathered,” he says, and smiles, a little broader than he has before— I suppose because he knows we’re alone here. It makes me smile back at him.
“You have a nice smile,” I say, the words fluttery in my mouth.
“So do you. You have a lot of nice features—“
“Wait,” I say, and put a hand up to his chest, laying it flat across his muscles. I groan a little at how much I like the way he feels; warm and hard and powerful. “This is all going really fast. I’m not sure I understand. I thought maybe you hated me.”
“You’re too cute for me to hate you. I get a kick out of you, actually. Like how you yelled at me. In a bathrobe.”
“And that does it for you?” I ask. It’s a more serious question than I think he realizes.
“People don’t usually yell at me. Especially when they’re in bathrobes. Especially when they’re at fault in an accident. I like your nerve.”
“It wasn’t totally my fault. You braked out of nowhere.”
“See? I like that.”
I don’t know that I believe him, but I’m also not sure what else to say. I exhale, shake my head. “Do you want a drink?”
“No.”
“Did you want to order food now?”
I lick my lips fearfully. “Heath—“
“Hm?” he asks, stepping closer.
“I don’t really know you.”
“I’m happy to stop, if you want,” he says, but his voice is a tender growl again. “Say the word.”
I open my mouth. Responsible, caretaker, rational Karli wants to say the word— to say “stop”. But…Responsible Karli seems to be on vacation at the moment. In her place is a version of Karli who is desperate to feel Heath’s mouth again.
The excitable, adventurous Karli that I packed up ages ago, a version of myself that I thought was long gone.
“Would you like to order pizza, Karli?” Heath asks, taking a step closer to me.
“No,” I whisper.
He takes another step closer, and his voice lowers. “Would you like to kiss me again, Karli?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
And now he’s right up to me, towering over me. He runs his fingers across the angel wings that I forgot I’m still wearing, then along my shoulder, fingering the straps to my dress. My eyes drift shut at the feeling. His hand continues to move along the material, until he’s running it along the neck of the dress, his fingers gently running along the fabric’s interior edge and across my cleavage. My heart pounds and I wince at a rush of unexpected but not at all unwelcome want.
“Will you let me fuck you?” he asks.
My eyes spring open at the word, at the way it sounds so simultaneously crude and hot. He’s looking me dead in the eye, like he knew exactly where my gaze would land. The question is real, and it’s desperate. He wants me, and based on the hunger radiating from his irises, he wants me just as badly as I want him.
“Yes,” I breathe, and Heath sweeps forward, encompassing me in his arms, pulling me up against him. This time, I wrap my legs around him without hesitation.