Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  His SEAL brothers let him do this in private. No one consoled him. They let him deal with his joy and his pain as the van took them back to their home. He now realized that for every joy in life, which was so precious and fragile, there could always be a huge source of pain.

  Not today.

  Today, the good guys had won. Today, they were going to live to be with the ones they loved. He was sure that Kyle and Cooper, Armando, Jones and Fredo, were missing their wives, their girlfriends, and their own children, as they followed every movement he made as he hugged the miracle of his own.

  When they arrived at the house, he picked Charlotte up, heading for the front stoop. She’d begun to fall asleep, which he was grateful for. Lizzie met him half way, relief on her face as she hugged them both and received a tired return hug from Charlotte. Kendra took her daughter in her arms. Mrs. Gunther wrapped her arms around her daughter, who collapsed in her mother’s chest. They were lead to an ambulance

  Lizzie pulled his head down. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, my love.”

  All he could do was smile through his own tears, matching hers, and search how full his heart was, overflowing with the love of his women.

  Next, Lizzie went to each of the SEALs and gave full-on, body slamming hugs and kisses, thanking them for their rescue mission. He followed along as she received embarrassed smiles from these tough guys, saw their cheeks pink up. His beautiful Lizzie could melt the whole State of Alaska with her gracious, loving heart and warm smile. She would live with exuberance and the free spirit organically given her from the day she was born. And he’d spend his life protecting that free spirit and making sure nothing would ever interfere with her happiness again.

  One by one, people started leaving the house. Kendra transferred both girls, who were fast asleep, clutching each other, to her bedroom, instructing Jameson and Lizzie to take the other one.

  “We all need to rest. I’ll do the duty in the morning and bathe the girls. I’m not going to do it now nor do I have the energy to bathe myself,” her raspy voice chirped. “This has been quite a day, and I’m exhausted.”

  Jameson suddenly didn’t feel so exhausted. He ushered his SEAL brothers outside, and wished them farewell. He conversed with the police and Detective Blalock, and shooed away a news crew with their satellite dish and white van. He locked the front door and saw Blalock had put a detail out in front of the house. He was grateful for that as well.

  “You know what Charlotte told me when I gave her over to Kendra?”

  “No. What, sweetheart?” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing, and feeling so grateful to be alive.

  “She said, ‘Mommy, can I tell you a secret?’ and I said, ‘sure.’”

  He waited, leaning back to be able to view her pretty face in the reflection of the moonlight.

  “She said, as she pointed in your direction, ‘That’s my daddy. And he loves me.’” Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears again. “You told her.”

  “I don’t remember any of that, honey, but I must have. It just came out, I guess.”

  “Well, she was listening. She heard every word. You’re gonna have to remember that in the future. She has very keen ears.”

  “Hmmm.” Her body heat begin to permeate his soul. “I’m going to have to remember that.” He kissed her, felt the familiar reach of her arms up over his shoulders, the way her tight nipples knotted against his chest. He squeezed her ass, lifting her up off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his hips.

  He carried her down the hallway to the little bathroom with the even smaller shower. “There’s hardly any room in here,” he growled as he opened the glass door and turned on the water. “So we’re gonna have to conserve space as best we can. Would it be okay, honey, if I pressed you close so we both could fit in here?” He followed up his statement with a wicked grin.

  “With pleasure,” she said as he removed her top and her bra. She carefully unbuttoned his special shirt. “Some day, you’re gonna have to tell me about this.”

  She carefully folded it, laying it on the stack of towels on the wicker shelf where it would be safe.

  He followed right behind her into the shower and pulled her back against his torso. She held her hair up with one hand and turned to expose her neck to his lips, and he kissed her from the nape of her neck to her ear. “Love you, Lizzie,” he whispered in her ear.

  His fingers smoothed over her slick breasts with warm soapy water sluicing down. She moaned as he bent his knees and pulled her butt in to rest on his thighs, reaching around between her legs to feel her little bud vibrate to the ministrations of his thumb and forefinger. He found her opening, and she angled her pelvis back and forth, riding his hand.

  “God, I missed you. Did you receive all the lustful dreams and dangerous shower scenes I was sending you from California just about every day?”

  She giggled, removing his hand and turning, placing it to her left breast. “So that’s what it was. Here I thought I was having all those erotic dreams of you, and it was you all along coming to me. You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you? God, you’ll never leave me alone, will you?”

  His fingers found her again, and she arched back as he inserted two.

  “Never. I’m going to love you all day and fuck you all night.”

  “Hmmm. I love the way that sounds, sailor.”

  The cold tile on his flesh was delicious, but not nearly as delicious as her smooth, soapy, warm flesh under his fingers. They took turns washing each other, kissing each other, rubbing against each other for as much flesh-on-flesh contact as they could manage.

  Then the water turned ice cold quickly.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “So much for foreplay. I’m ready for the main course. How about you, Jameson?”

  “Most definitely. I’m starved.”

  She turned off the water while he found a towel and blotted her fine body dry, kissing her here and there, wherever he thought she needed a kiss. At last, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

  He placed her delicately on the bed and studied her body’s rise and fall to the beauty of her own rhythm.

  He held her arms to the sides, threaded his fingers there, and allowed his body to find hers. Her knees were bent, her pelvis perfectly angled to accept his stiff cock in one long motion until he had completely filled her, pushing against her cervix.

  “Marry me, Lizzie. Let’s do this. Let’s be a family. Let’s give Charlotte another brother or sister. Tonight. Be my wife,” he whispered as he slowly stroked her insides, her lithe body rising like the waves of the ocean, falling back into the soft bed. “I need you to be my wife, more than I’ve needed anything else, Lizzie.”

  “Of course, my love. It will be so.”

  —The End—

  About the Author

  Sharon Hamilton

  New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Top 100 Bestselling Author Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL Brotherhood series have earned her Amazon author rankings of #1 in Romantic Suspense, Military Romance and Contemporary Romance. Her new Brotherhood stand-alone series are: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Band of Bachelors and True Blue SEALs.

  A lifelong organic vegetable and flower gardener, Sharon and her husband live in the Wine Country of Northern California, where most of her stories take place.

  Author Page ** Sharon's Blog ** Sharon's Website ** Facebook ** Twitter

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  Additional Books by Sharon Hamilton

  BAND OF BACHELORS: Lucas

  SEAL'S CODE

  BIG BAD WOLF

  A COS commando novel

  by Gennita Low

  Dedication

  To my friend, Jaime, whom I miss very much.

  To Ranger Buddy who taught me much more than roofing.

  Big Bad Wolf: Chapter One

  Here comes trouble. That was the first thought that crossed Jaymee Barrow’s mind when she saw him walking around the job si
te. There were men all around her, already busy at work at eight in the morning, men half-naked and sweaty, of all shapes and sizes, but none had the same effect on her as this stranger.

  She was a woman used to men. Having grown up among them, she understood them better than her few girlfriends. She had learned from personal experience to spot trouble of the male kind a mile away. It was still early but she was already perspiring from carrying supplies up and down the ladder. She impatiently flicked away a drop of perspiration at the end her nose, pausing in the middle of getting ready for work, her nail gun in one hand, squinting her eyes as she watched the tall man talk to Joe, the electrician, then Stan, the plumber. They both shook their heads and the stranger moved on, coming closer toward her. Her finger lightly squeezed the trigger of the nail gun as he approached.

  He was tall and whipcord lean. The tee-shirt he wore clung to his muscular shape like a second skin, damp from the searing Florida summer heat, emphasizing an impressive chest and a long torso that invited eyes to drift lower, which hers did, all the way. The faded jeans hung low on his hips, molding and hugging his thighs and legs, doing strange things to her heart rate as she continued staring. Here comes trouble, the voice in her head repeated, as if in warning.

  The stranger tapped one of Jaymee’s men on the shoulder. “The plumber there told me to ask for Jay. Which man is he?”

  She stiffened. He was asking for her?

  Her workers snickered. Lucky, the man whose shoulder the stranger tapped, gave a gap-toothed smile. “You want the boss?” he qualified, as if to make sure.

  “Yeah.”

  “You can find Jay by the blue truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jaymee couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending disaster. She knew what he would do next, and he didn’t fail her. He stopped right in front of Dicker and spoke to him. This close, the slow drawl of his gravelly voice sent shivers down her spine. “Are you Jay?”

  Dicker threw back his head and laughed. The stranger frowned. Jaymee coughed politely. Pointedly. She waited until he turned around, and cocked her head to one side when he looked down at her. She decided she didn’t like the height disadvantage.

  His eyes were gray. No, blue. Or in between. However, there wasn’t anything in between about the intensity of his gaze. He looked at her and her insides suddenly felt like the inside of a burning tar kettle. Jaymee blinked, feeling suddenly quite dizzy. What was wrong with her? He was just a man, like any other, but her heart didn’t seem to agree as it suddenly accelerated to a gallop.

  “Jay?” he asked, a frown puckering his forehead.

  Jaymee nodded, unable to say a word. Something exuded from him that she couldn’t yet pinpoint; it was a new thing, something that prickled and made her want to jump into her truck, lock it and drive off like the devil was after her. She shook off such fanciful thoughts, and belatedly tried to find her tongue. He was just too damn tall, that was all.

  “Can I help you?” To her disgust, her voice came out breathy and slightly husky.

  “You’re Jay.” It was more a statement than a question. The tone of his voice, as had his expression, had now turned skeptical. “The boss.”

  She usually handled similar situations with light amusement. It was, after all, very rare to find a woman roofer. A woman roofer/boss at that. That was why it was easier to be Jay. Homeowners and people seemed to react differently to Jay, the contractor than Jaymee, the contractor. However, his whole demeanor irritated her, and thus her answer came out sharper than intended.

  “I’m Jay,” she agreed, and after a slight pause, added, “the boss. How can I help you?”

  He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m looking for work, any kind of labor. Do you have any job openings?”

  Jaymee stared up at him. He had incredibly long eyelashes, she noted vaguely. Rugged and strong-jawed, with full sensuous lips that were slightly crooked. His hair was long and untidy, like most construction workers, and a devilish lock, black as night, fell across his forehead. Her eyes traveled down the length of him again—strong, wide shoulders, powerful biceps. She looked at his large hands. Long, artistic fingers. Clean nails. If he could roof, she thought, then she could build a rocket ship.

  He just patiently stood there under her perusal. When her eyes met his again, she found mockery glinting back at her. The man was probably used to being treated like some piece of mouth-watering meat, and she was quickly disgusted with herself. She met his eyes directly, unflinchingly, refusing to let him see how he affected her.

  “I don’t think, Mr…?” She paused.

  “Langley. Nicholas Langley.”

  “Mr. Langley,” Jaymee said, “I don’t think you have any, or enough, roofing experience. Do you?”

  Nicholas Langley shrugged again. “I’m a quick learner and a good worker,” he said, “and a damn good carpenter.”

  “So why don’t you apply to be one?” Jaymee asked. “The pay’s better.”

  “The two companies I asked already have a full crew and the third wants me to move. I’ve just gotten in town, and I’d rather stay here a while.”

  Dammit, she needed a carpenter. She needed a whole crew, with the lack of good help around here these days, and ordinarily, would hire the man on the spot. But he didn’t look like a carpenter either.

  “How do you fare working in hundred-degree heat?” She wanted to scare him off.

  “No problem.”

  “What do you know about roofing?”

  “That it’s hot work.”

  “Can you shingle at all?”

  “I can swing a hammer.”

  “We use nail guns now, Mr. Langley,” she wryly told him.

  “I’m good with guns.”

  Jaymee shivered slightly at his voice. Self-assured and deceptively potent, like good brandy, it had the same heated effect on her stomach. She sighed inwardly. She was shorthanded, having fired Rich and Chuck yesterday. She couldn’t afford to be picky. Against her better judgment, she asked, “When can you start?”

  “Now.”

  She arched a brow at him. “You need tools first,” she told him, then looked down at his feet, “and you have on the wrong kind of shoes.”

  Nicholas Langley looked down and tapped one hiking shoe on the dusty ground. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “The sole will mark and scuff up the shingles,” Jaymee explained. “You need soft sole rubber, preferably canvas shoes. Like these.” She lifted her leg up, so he could see her shoes.

  “OK.” His eyes traveled from her shoes up her calf and then her thigh. She hastily put her foot down.

  “Why don’t you start in the morning?” she suggested. “Bring your tools here. We start around eight. I can’t pay you shingling rate until I see what you’re capable of doing. The labor rate isn’t much but once you can lay shingles fast, you get paid by the square.”

  “Fine.” The man wasn’t much of a talker, she concluded. “Mind if I hang around and watch for a bit?”

  “Be my guest,” she answered, and extended a hand. “Nice meeting you.”

  She hoped Nick Langley wouldn’t return in the morning. Most of them didn’t. Roofing wasn’t exactly a much sought-after job.

  His grip was firm and his palm felt surprisingly hard. She eyed him thoughtfully. Well, maybe her would-be new laborer could work after all. Those were the calluses of an outdoor man. And those muscles must come from somewhere.

  She couldn’t help it. A soft sigh of appreciation escaped her lips as she watched him turn around and wander off, showing her the other side of his too-good-to-be-true anatomy. Abruptly, she returned to the chore of getting ready. The man was no ordinary laborer, that was for sure. That strange tingling feeling bothered her again, and she tried to figure out what it was about Nicholas Langley that was making her nervous.

  “Just an ordinary man,” she muttered very softly.

  ***

  Leaning against a tree, the man known as Killian watched the wo
man on the roof with hooded eyes. “Nick” was one of his many identities, usually when he was playing drifter or portraying an easy-going front. The lady had taken him by surprise in more ways than one, something that very rarely happened. Besides the obvious, she was also projecting an energetic stillness that was intriguing. He had been deliberately laid-back and unassuming, and yet her awareness of him was palpable, to the point of nervousness. Why was he making her nervous?

  He wondered what made her choose to be, of all things, a roofer. She didn’t seem strong enough for such hard work. He liked the gentle tone of her voice when she spoke, a far cry from the crew from the old days when he worked in construction.

  Not that there was anything wrong with being a roofer, he thought, studying her nimble movements as she moved across the roof. She obviously knew her job very well, barely pausing while she laid the shingles in diagonal fashion, the nail gun flashing in the sun as it moved across the shingle in rapid rat-tat-tat.

  The sun beat down relentlessly, and Nick made a note to remember to bring along a cooler for his new job in the morning. A corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. He remembered the way she had looked at him when she questioned his experience. It was easy to read her mind. Jay, the boss lady, didn’t want him to work for her. It was in the tone of her voice, the hopeful look in her eyes he would reconsider the heat and change his mind to go seek a better job.

  He knew she could tell he wasn’t a construction worker. Those quick dark eyes of hers had settled for a long moment on his hands and the slight wrinkle of her nose betrayed her certainty. He glanced down at his hands and shoved them into his jeans pockets. He was getting careless. His nails were too clean.