by J. M. Madden
Then she noticed the blood. "Oh, no. Did he get you with his knife?"
Drake looked down at the blood on the white sleeve of his shirt, then down his body. Izzy reached forward to the slice at the bottom edge of the vest, just above his waistband. The white shirt underneath was quickly turning crimson. "Take your vest off," she ordered, nurse command in her voice.
Drake's pale eyes barely even flickered. "It's a flesh wound. Don't worry about it."
"Bullshit. Actually, I don’t care if it is. There’s blood so I want to see it. Strip, big man."
She had a second to see the surprise in his eyes before she turned away to search for something to staunch the blood. There was a storage shelf right beside them, as well as a stack of linens. She grabbed several soft cloth napkins and turned back to her rescuer.
Oh, my sweet hell...
Okay, she knew Navy SEALs had to be in top physical shape, but she'd never seen a man as fit as Drake. Muscles were stacked on top of muscles, from his strong shoulders, mounded pecs to the cobbled contours of his abs. Her mouth watered at the thought of following the dark cloud of hair on his chest down the length of his stomach to beneath his waistband. Then she caught sight of the blood. All of her attention focused on that area. Moving forward, she leaned to get a better look at the cut.
It was only a scratch, like he'd said, but a deep enough one to require some care. Laying the clean napkin over the wound, she applied pressure, leaning into her hand. When she looked up, Drake stared at her. Was that interest she saw in his hard gaze?
"If it hurts, I'm sorry. It's just a small cut, shallow, but this will slow the bleeding."
His gaze dropped down between them and Izzy realized how close she'd stepped into him. Her cheeks heated again and she started to step away. "Sorry."
Drake reached out and cupped her elbows, making her pause. "You're fine. Don't go anywhere. I think it's still bleeding."
Izzy smiled, appreciating the humor. "I'm sure it is. So, Drake, how long have you been a hero?"
One dark brow quirked up. "Not long. About five minutes, actually."
She frowned. "Aren’t you one of Dylan's Navy SEAL buddies?"
He gave her a single nod.
"Then you've been a hero for a lot longer than five minutes. How long have you been a SEAL?"
"Fourteen years."
Izzy's brows popped up in surprise. "Wow, that's a long time."
She looked at his torso again. Yep, she could see the history written on his body. Old cuts that hadn't been stitched, blossoms of scar tissue that looked like gunshot wounds. Her fingers drifted from wound to wound. His abs tightened at her touch and Izzy realized how forward she was being. God, she didn't know this guy at all. She knew him less than she'd known Brendon, but something about him drew her. She wanted to know him.
Trying to draw on her professionalism she pulled back, peeling the napkin away from his wound. It had stopped bleeding and as she gently blotted at the skin, she decided it didn't need stitches, just a bandage and some Neosporin would do. Glancing around the break room, she spied a first aid kit on top of the row of lockers. Would have been nice if she'd seen that earlier.
Crossing to the lockers she started to pull a chair close to stand on, but Drake stopped her.
"I can get it," he told her, reaching over her shoulder with ease.
The warmth of him against her back was intoxicating. Maybe it was just the release from the adrenalin spike, but she was feeling more than friendly toward him. If he gave her the chance she would totally jump his sexy bones.
A fingertip brushed over her right shoulder, directly along the lines of her tattoo.
"What style is this?" he asked, breath puffing against her skin. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's a watercolor tattoo."
"It's beautiful. Very feminine," he murmured, running his fingers along the petals of the chrysanthemum, then down the stem. It felt as if he were touching something much more personal than her back. His touch was unbelievably gentle.
Bandage. She needed to bandage the knife wound.
She turned in place, taking the first aid kit from him. "Do you think we need to report him to the cops?"
Drake's expression was inscrutable, but he shook his head. "No, not unless you feel you need to."
Izzy was confused for a moment. Oh, yeah, he'd gotten hurt because she was being attacked. How had she forgotten that?
"No, I don't think so. We're already going to have to try hide what happened from Dylan and Kiko. Their families are out there. I don't want their wedding overshadowed by this."
Drake gave a single nod, then moved to one of the circular tables. Pushing a couple of the chairs away he leaned his butt back against the edge, legs stretched out in front of him. "Is this okay?"
Izzy moved toward him, placing the kit on the table near his hip, incredibly conscious of him being so near, watching every move she made. Those ice-cold eyes unnerved her. She flipped the lid on the box and rummaged inside. A four by four should be big enough. She found an antiseptic wipe and ripped it open. "This may burn a little."
Moving in front of him she leaned down to get a better look at the wound. The knife had nicked him just above the waistband of his pants on the left side of his body. She was focused on an area just a few inches from his zipper. Oh, hell, was he getting erect?
The door pushed open behind her and Izzy glanced over her shoulder. A harried young man with a load of linen in his arms paused.
"Get out," Drake snapped.
The young man turned and bolted, stuttering out an apology.
As Izzy straightened and turned back to look at Drake, it suddenly occurred to her how it must have looked with Drake leaning back, shirtless, and her bent over in front of him. When she caught the glint of male satisfaction in his pale eyes and quirk of a smile on his lips, she burst out laughing. "You dog! You knew that would happen, didn't you?"
The smile spread his lips, white teeth flashing. "I thought it might be a possibility."
Izzy giggled and smacked his arm, appreciating the totally male move. They didn't know the worker and she doubted he would go blabbing to his friends what he'd seen.
Or maybe he would...
The thought of people knowing she'd been with Drake didn't bother her. The man was sex on a stick. She'd never dated anyone with a shaved head and it made him appear ultra-sexy. She wanted to run her hand over the skin of his head, and the barest hint of dark stubble there. Thick, dark brows arched over his intelligent eyes and there was a bit of a smile on his full lips. If she didn’t know he was a SEAL, he could have totally fit into the Hollywood crowd. Her girlfriends would probably be urging her on right now. Her gaze flicked to the wall and the white-faced clock there. Dylan and Kiko weren't due to arrive for another thirty minutes.
She did not expect to get bowled over by anyone on this crazy destination wedding. When Kiko had taken she and Ginny to lunch one day and explained that everyone was going to the mountains of Montana for this high-class wedding, she and Ginny had laughed.
“You’re kidding,” Ginny had gasped.
Kiko had shaken her head. “No. This is an area where we vacationed when I was a kid and I fell in love with it. Dylan loves it too, so we’re going to do it.”
There had been no shaking her. And when she’d said she would hook them up with blind dates for the day, Izzy had cringed but smiled. Actually, she'd had slight hopes for Brendon, the guy Kiko had chosen for her, but obviously those weren't going anywhere.
This male specimen, on the other hand, was a much better prospect.
Leaning down again she spread the antibacterial ointment across the cut, then positioned the four by four across it. Ripping bandage tape from a roll she secured the pad. And yes, maybe she let her hand linger just a moment longer than needed. Out of the peripheral of her eye she glanced at his erection as she stood up. Yup, definitely still interested.
Drake looked down at the patch job. "Thank you for ta
king care of my scratch."
"No problem, truly. It was the least I could do after you saved my life. I would offer to kiss it better, but, you know, germ transmission and all that."
If anything the heat in his eyes intensified. He shifted his hips as if to draw her attention to them but she kept her eyes up, locked onto his.
"Well, maybe you could just give me a peck on the cheek. You know, just to help keep my spirits up."
Izzy smiled at his inventiveness. "Perhaps I could."
Leaning forward, resting one hand on his strong shoulder, she brushed her lips against his lean cheek, feeling the slightest bristle of hair. It had probably been this morning since he'd shaved, but he still smelled damn good. She paused in her retreat just to inhale the spicy scent of him.
Abruptly, he turned the tables on her. Burrowing a hand in her hair, he tugged her close, inhaling against her neck. A shudder wracked her body and her nipples peaked beneath the bodice of the dress as arousal swept through her. A small moan escaped her. Before she could think better of it she twisted her mouth toward his. For a long second, they breathed each other in, then Drake brushed her lips with his own. Izzy didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the incredible need that rocked her.
Drake consumed her like she was a decadent wine, moving slowly and lingering on the curve of her lower lip. He tasted of beer and sex and Izzy had a feeling that if she gave the slightest agreement they would be going at it like bunnies. As his hands moved to cup her face, she pulled back to get some breathing room.
"I don't know if this is a good idea," she sighed. "You taste damn good, but you're not a good bet."
Drake went still enough that she could feel the thud of his heart, then suddenly he released her and leaned back. "You are completely right, Izzy. My apologies."
Izzy rocked back on her heels, stunned that he'd just let her go. Then she felt like an ass. After everything he'd done for her, being wounded and securing her safety, she'd just told him he wasn't good enough for her. That wasn't the kind of person she was and she felt a little disgusted with herself.
"Drake," she paused, unsure what to say.
"It's okay. I understand."
Pushing to his feet he crossed the break room to a standing clothes rack. Several white shirts hung there with tags hanging from the hangers, obviously freshly laundered. Swiping the hangers along the rod he pulled one, ripped the hanging tag off and shrugged it on. It fit him like a glove. Buttoning it quickly, he looked for the bow tie that had been around his neck. He retrieved it from the back of one of the chairs then picked up the vest.
The cut was not very visible in the fabric; it had just been nicked. And as he turned it around she realized it had missed most of the blood, as well. He shrugged it on and buttoned it. When he was finished he looked like nothing had happened.
Drake snatched up the bloody shirt, rolled it into a bundle and stuffed it into the trashcan, then headed toward the door.
Izzy bolted forward. "Wait. Don't just leave. Please."
His brilliant silver eyes had gone ice cold again. "I'm glad you're okay, but you're right. We wouldn't be good for each other."
With a final, lingering glance at her mouth he let himself through the door and disappeared down the hallway.
Izzy returned to the table to gather up her mess, then abruptly dropped into a chair. Her body was slick with arousal and the reason for that need had just walked away from her. Though he presented a hard demeanor, she had an instinctive feeling her words had hurt him somehow, and she felt terrible about that. Maybe if she explained why she was hesitant, he would understand her need to protect herself.
But was there even any sense in fighting it? He was a SEAL. Current situation excluded they weren't generally settling down types. They lived on adrenalin and camaraderie with their teammates. Drake was exactly the kind of guy she knew she should stay away from.
Hadn't she been left enough in her life?
It probably wasn't fair to compare him to her dad, but they lived kind of the same lives. Her father had been a smoke jumper, living for the excitement of the next fire. Izzy's mom had loved him unconditionally, right up until the day he got injured, bad, then she'd put her foot down. Izzy could remember the sound of their fighting in the next room. Her mother had pleaded with him to take a job closer to home, so that they could see each other every night. But her father had argued, claiming that a nine to five would kill him and that if she loved him, she wouldn't ask it of him.
That had been the last time she'd heard her father's voice. He was called out the next day for a jump and just never returned, deciding that his freedom was more important than their love. Izzy had been ten.
Swiping the trash into a pile, she crossed the room to throw it away on top of Drake's shirt. The thought of his lips on hers replayed in her mind over again, sending a tremor through her body. That ten seconds of bliss was going to replay in her mind for the rest of her life, along with a buttload of regret unless she hoped for something more.
With that thought in mind she left the break room.
Chapter Two
Drake needed a beer. Or something stronger. As he walked away from Izzy and back toward the noisy reception, he tried to decide how he could get liquor without engaging with anyone else. Maybe he could find a bottle of whiskey and hide in a corner somewhere, away from the boisterous crowd.
Even better... he found the waiter that had walked in on them earlier.
The young man immediately turned bright red, then tried to play it off. Drake waved away his fumbling words and stuffed a hundred dollar bill in the kid's hand. "Don't say anything about what you saw, or think you saw in that room. Got me?"
His eyes widened, then he started to nod. "Yes, Sir. I mean, no sir. I won't say anything!"
He started to back away, but Drake stopped him. "Find me a bottle of something, would you?"
Again, the kid nodded and backed away, then took off running. Drake smirked at his retreating back and moved to lean against the wall.
Within just a couple of minutes, though, the kid had returned with a bottle of Woodford Reserve and a glass tumbler. Drake's brows lifted in surprise. "Not bad, kid."
Drake tried to hand him more money but he shook his head. "No, sir. Thank you anyway."
The kid disappeared back down the hallway.
Drake had spied a balcony earlier that overlooked the courtyard and the wedding guests. At the time he'd thought it would be a great sniper hideout. Shrouded in darkness and blocked by boughs of pink hanging flowers, he doubted anyone would even see him up there. He had to do some finagling to find the way up, and he might have gone through a door marked private, but once there it was everything he'd wanted- dark, comfortable and had a view of the entire massive courtyard. Cracking the seal on the bottle, he took a moment to inhale. Oh, yeah, this would drown his sorrows just fine.
Izzy had been completely right to turn him away. He wasn't the man for her. If she wanted a quick fuck, yeah. No long term entanglements, definitely. And certainly nothing that could be construed as a relationship.
"I'm leaving any minute," he muttered to himself.
That was the thing about Navy SEALs. They gave everything for the job. Their lives, their bodies. No commitment superseded that. He had accepted a long time ago that there was no chance of any other relationship while he was with the SEALs.
Some of the younger guys had wives and girlfriends, current situation included, but Drake didn't know how they managed. The spouses had to compromise so much just to be with them. And if they had kids it was that much harder.
There were a few couples down there on the patio that seemed to be making it work, but most of them had left the SEALs. Hank Patterson, a former SEAL, had built a security company for the rich and famous. Sadie, his girlfriend, seemed radiant as they talked quietly together, sitting at a round table. Some of the attendees here he had probably aided in some way.
From this vantage point he spied his buddy
Gabe Carter and Gabe’s girlfriend Julie. They also looked totally absorbed in each other, and the couple across from them. Gabe had left a few months ago to join the Lost and Found Investigative Service in Denver. From here he looked completely happy.
Maxwell Tate, their former team leader, had left the team and joined LNF almost two years before that. His fiancé Lacey had helped him when he'd had a psychotic break. When Drake had heard about the incident he'd been sad, because Max had been one of the best. Seeing him now, though, as he chatted with Gabe, he looked better than ever physically fit and excited to be there, connecting with old friends.
Seeing the couples below him gave him hope that there would someday be someone for him.
As if Fate had heard him, Izzy appeared beneath his balcony, Pepto-colored dress swirling in the mountain breeze. Leaning forward, he tried to get a look at her face but she was turned away from him. Another woman in a bridesmaid gown called her over and she sat down at a table. It was in a perfect location for him to watch her in the waning light of the afternoon. The women fell into conversation and at one point the brunette leaned forward to give Izzy a hug. Had she been relating details of the attack?
It didn't take long for men to start approaching the two single women. When guests had been invited Drake didn't think they'd taken into account how many more men there would be than women. It was a ratio of about three to one, and as he watched Izzy smile up at men bringing her drinks or just stopping to say hello, he began to seethe. He knew what those young studs were thinking and he wanted to go down to warn Izzy. Then his rational side kicked in. She knew what these men wanted. Hell, it was the same thing he'd wanted a piece of her.
No, he wanted many pieces of her. And he wanted to breathe her in again. Actually, he kind of just wanted to talk to her again first. Although they hadn't talked much earlier. She'd seemed like a person that would be easy to be around. Non-judgmental. Well, beyond the 'you're not a good bet' thing. And he shouldn’t have grabbed her and kissed her. Beyond being caveman-ish it was a pretty aggressive move after the woman had been attacked.