No Getting Over You (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 2)

by Cerise DeLand

  She was enthralled. “You. Just you.”

  “I want hours with you, Viv. We’ll dine and dance. You’ll tell me about paintings and Venice.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll bore you with provenance searches and humidity controls.”

  He lifted her fingertips to his lips and kissed them. “And if that goes well, and we decide we shouldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, then I want everything.” He inched closer. Loomed larger. She had always liked big, bold men. Never had one. But oh, did her mouth water for this scrumptious hunk of masculinity. “Tonight.”

  “Hey, Viv, there you are!” Abby called from the doorway.

  Viv heard her but couldn’t tear her gaze away from Britt.

  “I hate to let you go.” He slid forward on his barstool, his luscious lips curving in a killer grin. “Because the way you look at me makes me feel like a superhero. And your voice makes me die to hear about humidity controls.”

  She choked on laughter while Abby worked her way toward them through the bar.

  Britt reached inside his trouser pocket and pressed something flat and cool into her palm. “After dinner and dancing, I’ll leave before you. Room 510.”

  Viv felt the plastic in her hand. His room key. She wanted to hug him or kiss him. Preferably both. But Room 510 would be the best place to do all that. And more.

  “Hi, Viv. Britt. Look who was in the back.” Abby pointed toward the gray-haired man walking toward them. “Frank Damon.”

  Viv greeted her former supervisor and wondered how much he had seen of her and Britt’s conversation. Without a clue, she introduced Frank to Britt and hoped for the best. Frank was a kind man, and he’d been interested in seeing her outside of work. She’d refused him. Between them, there’d been no vibes. No connection.

  Not like the headiness with Britt.

  Britt smiled at Frank and shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Gotta run. See you at the rehearsal.”

  Fingering his room key, she watched him go.

  How much more fortunate could she get?

  Chapter Six

  The twenty-two guests at the rehearsal dinner and dance were well oiled by ten o’clock. They’d devoured the hors d’oeuvres and drained the open bar, then polished off the four-course dinner. Viv stood by the head table sipping a sambucca, admiring others in the wedding party.

  Across the room, Tracy stood chuckling with another of Nick’s teammates. Her honey-blonde hair slipped from a neat little French bun as she laughed like a kid with the forbidding-looking SEAL whose nickname was The Saint. He hovered over the petite woman, a wide grin on his face while he told her some story as animated as a second Charlie Chaplin.

  Feet away, Abby and Nick took the floor in a slow dance. Neither of them could take their eyes off the other.

  Viv remembered that magnetism of being so in love. The regard of one equal for another. The anticipation of endless kisses and caresses.

  She drained her glass. “I want that again.”

  “Is this what happens when I retire?” Frank Damon appeared at her side. “Not minutes ago, I found Tracy talking to herself. Now you.”

  “The extra work load hasn’t killed me yet.”

  “Didn’t think it would.”

  Where was Britt? Had he left already? She really didn’t want to talk with Frank. He was always polite, but she wondered if he’d noticed her intimacy with Britt in the bar earlier tonight. After her husband died, Frank had become…well…proprietary, and she hadn’t liked it.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw two more of the guests were saying goodnight to Abby and Nick. Viv’s heart did a little salsa step, marking the minutes when Abby would call it a night and Viv could leave, too.

  “So what do you say, Viv?”

  “I’m sorry. What?” She turned to Frank.

  “I wonder what you think about stepping into my position. I put in the good word for you before I left.”

  “Thank you. That was kind of you. But I’ve been re-thinking if I want the promotion. I like the work I do now, and I doubt trading that in for managing people is a good fit for me.”

  “You had so much on your plate with your husband’s illness. Now that you’re recovering—”

  “Done, I think, with the worst of his loss. I’m ready for some changes.”

  “That’s a step forward. From my own experience, after my wife died, I mourned too long. Got too used to the monotony of it. There’s more to life than work.” He nodded in the direction of a handsome giant in a dark gray suit who made a beeline for them both.

  “You’re young,” Frank said. “Let someone else work eighteen-hour days. When you have a good thing, don’t waste time questioning your fate.”

  Fate. Viv nodded. Had that fortuneteller really had the dope on her future? Did it matter if he’d been right and Britt was her new adventure? He was, at least for tonight.

  Britt worked his way across the dance floor, and Viv tingled at the sight of him.

  “Hi, Frank. Viv,” Britt greeted her in that killer bass voice as he slipped his arm around her waist. “Come dance. You won’t mind if I take her away, do you, Frank?”

  “Not at all.” The older man set his brandy snifter on the bar.

  Britt led her out onto the floor, hugging her tightly to his big, hard body. All day she’d hungered for this. To be close to him. Hugged. Possessed. Taken.

  Sighing in satisfaction, she curled one arm up over his shoulder, brushing her fingers in the satin of his hair at his nape. Her other hand, tucked in his, was warm until he caught it near his chest. She locked her gaze on his, asking for reassurance, getting it with a smile and nod. “Just move with me, Viv.”

  She fell in with him easily, fluid and easy in his arms.

  “I’ve been dying for this since I left you at the bar,” he whispered against her ear. His breath ruffled her hair, and she shivered. “The band is good. The song is great. But you?” He nipped her earlobe, and she melted closer to him. “You make it the best music in the world.”

  “You’re killing me here,” she told him on a thread of sound.

  He tightened his arm around her back, crushing her breasts to his broad chest. “Believe me when I say I want you alive for what we’re gonna do.”

  Butterflies made her tease him. “We’re going to talk, right?”

  He narrowed his eyes on her lips. “You bet.”

  “And have another drink?”

  “If you like.” He squeezed her closer and whirled her in a turn.

  Over Britt’s shoulder, Viv caught a glimpse of Terry.

  He sat in his wheelchair over at the far corner table, frowning and turned away from Catrina. She looked beyond him, her gaze purposeful and stern, focused on nothing. The stiffness of both their bodies told Viv that they’d fought. How well Viv recognized the anxiety that flowed from Terry. Was he mad he couldn’t dance? Was Catrina frustrated that she couldn’t?

  Oh, don’t fight. That doesn’t solve anything.

  “What’s the matter?” Britt asked and pulled back to look down into her eyes.

  “Terry and Catrina,” she whispered.

  Britt didn’t look over at them. “I know. I went over a few minutes ago. He’s in a fit. Looks like she’s tired of dealing with him.”

  “I feel for them.”

  Britt delved into her gaze. “You know what that’s like?”

  “I do. I’d forgotten.”

  “Don’t remember any more.” He clasped her more tightly to his torso, and she felt every marvelous hard inch of his body. “Not now. Not tonight.”

  “I won’t.” She let out a laugh. “You’re just what I need.”

  He put his lips to her forehead and kissed her there. “Same goes.”

  “I’m so glad you love to dance and you’re so good at it.” Her husband had merely tolerated it.

  He gazed down at her, all the while pressing his palm to the small of her back so that he dipped her backward in time with the music. “I knew we’d be great out here.�
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  “Did you also know that we would outrage everyone here with the way you’re holding me?”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled, all the while keeping his hips glued to hers. “I worked for it.”

  She hooted. “We fit so well that we’d make a good porn flick.”

  He moved ever so slightly, and his erection pressed right to her mound. Her very swollen mound. “My hope exactly.”

  She giggled. “For private showing.”

  “For private enjoyment. Just you and me. But only if you want.”

  She pressed her breasts to his chest. “I want.”

  He inhaled sharply and twirled her around, then caught her sharply to him.

  “People are leaving in droves now,” she told him, excitement setting her tummy to quiver. “I wanted to wait until Abby left.”

  “You stay,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I’ll go after this song.”

  “Thanks. How this looks matters to me, Britt.” What it is matters even more. She traced her fingertip along his shirt collar.

  “Viv, we’re being discreet. And you’re not being foolish. Neither am I. We’re just being human.”

  “Not teenagers?”

  “That, too, I hope.” He hauled her closer and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Music’s stopped. I’m saying goodnight to the others and heading up to my room. Use the key, Viv. Nothing will happen that you don’t want.”

  Viv stared at him as he left the room. He was tall and beautiful and said the loveliest things. But she had met him only this morning, and suddenly, she was going to hop into bed with him. Rubbing her arms, she whirled around.

  Abby stood before her, her eyes half closed but smiling. “I’m going up. It’s been a day. You’re always so kind and a gem to wait for me to leave.”

  “Got to see the bride tucked in properly.” Viv picked up her evening bag from the table, then hooked her arm in Abby’s.

  “Shall we talk about Britt, hmm?” Abby had a twinkle in her eye.

  “We could discuss what time you’re getting up in the morning.”

  “No.” Abby shook her head repeatedly. “I don’t want to. So, give it up, lady. The topic is the man.”

  “Yeah, well. Hmm. The man.”

  “The tall, buff, intriguing SEAL who’s been your companion all day and here at night.”

  Viv tipped her head to and fro. “He is very nice.”

  “Right.”

  “Wonderful, in fact. Satisfied?” Viv arched her brows at Abby who got a goofy expression on her face.

  “No.”

  Viv grinned. “Not all of us meet a man one day and—”

  “Fall for him the same day?”

  They stood in front of the elevators.

  “Well?” Abby insisted.

  Viv noticed the floor lights as they rose with the previous passengers. “These things don’t go very fast, do they?”

  “Never quickly enough to evade answering.”

  “Okay. I like how he dances.”

  “Oh, I saw that, all right. He dances like he was a prince whose Cinderella is about to go poof. Are you?”

  The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped in together. Abby punched the button for her fourth floor suite. “Anything else you want to add?”

  Viv punched five. “Yeah. You ask too many questions.”

  “And last night’s prediction that you’d meet a man with a scar on his cheek who’d mean something to you doesn’t make you believe in the power of fate?”

  Fate was too woo-woo a concept for Viv to grasp. “My mother had the Sight. I see only a few auras now and then. My husband certainly believed in such things. You don’t live as a Creole in New Orleans and not know about the unseen powers of the universe. But me? I thought I was too level-headed to ever believe in it.”

  The doors parted at Abby’s floor, and she stepped into the hall, her gaze devoid of humor. “And now?”

  “I’ll tell you that after you answer a question of my own.” Viv punched the button to keep the doors open.

  “Shoot.”

  “Did you plant that fortune with that guy last night?”

  Abby slapped an open palm to her heart. “Me?”

  “You. You’ve met Britt. Knew about his scar.”

  “Nope. I didn’t tell Mr. Voyant a thing about Britt.”

  “So he was the real deal?”

  “In every way.”

  “An-hah.” Viv tapped her toe on the elevator floor. “Were you really unable to go get Terry’s wheelchair? Or did you arrange that?”

  Abby winced.

  Oh, boy. “Confession is good for the soul, girl.”

  “It was a real help that Britt could do that and pick you up. The cake was just a fluke. And Terry’s and Catrina’s delayed flight was—”

  “Just one of those things?”

  “None other.” Abby threw her head back to laugh. “So, do you believe in fate now that you’ve met Britt?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “No! Go to bed. You don’t want to look like you’ve been up all night.”

  Abby’s brows shot up. “Neither do you.”

  “Toodles!” Viv released the button and waggled her fingers at Abby.

  “Don’t do anything I’m not doing tonight,” Abby leaned forward to whisper as the doors swished shut.

  “Not likely,” she said to the empty elevator.

  Then she bent down and removed her heels. Hooking the straps on her fingers, she straightened and grinned at herself. Tonight, she would claim what she wanted, what felt so right to have and enjoy.

  ****

  When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Viv caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length hall mirror. The shoulder-length red hair, the dark green eyes, the body she worked super hard to keep in shape. Didn’t this woman deserve to take what she wanted? Especially since the desire was mutual?

  She extracted the card key from her purse and began her hunt for 510. Directional signs led her around to the left and down the hall, and she happily padded along on the thick carpet. The hotel was filled not only with Abby’s family but also with her professional associates and quite a few friends. Viv might not want that promotion, but she wasn’t eager to have anyone see her go to her rendezvous. So she hurried along the hall and turned another corner—

  Only to halt in her tracks.

  Two doors down stood Tracy Banning with The Saint, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he held her against the wall. Their lips were locked in a frantic kiss, and Tracy’s legs were hooked around The Saint’s hips.

  Viv shrank back around the corner silent as a mouse.

  “You need to go,” Tracy whispered, her voice husky.

  “You don’t do wedding hook ups, is that it?” he asked, disappointment in his tone.

  “The odds of being happy about it tomorrow are not great.”

  “We can reexamine that idea tomorrow night,” he said with a laugh. “Waiting makes it all better, don’t you know! And I’m a patient man.”

  “Thanks, Santiago,” Tracy whispered. “You’re a good man.”

  “That’s me,” he said. “Adios. Sleep well.”

  Viv heard a door click shut. She straightened and took a step around the corner. “Hi, there.”

  Santiago threw her a little salute. “Hey, there, Viv. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

  “Right.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Speeding up, she went to the end of the hall before she found 510.

  She stood there a minute, smoothed her palm over her hip, knocked twice, then put the card in the slot and—

  A wild screeching siren rent the air.

  What the hell is that?

  Her head shot up. She stared and looked around.

  The door in front of her swung wide.

  Her mouth fell open.

  Britt stood there, bare chest, bare feet, bronze and beaming from ear-to-ear.

  She heard yells. Doors opening.
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  The door in back of her disgorged people. People who said, “What is that?”

  A woman yelled, “Oh, shit!”

  Another door opened and someone moaned, “A fire? At this hour of the night?”

  “Darlin’, where are my briefs?”

  “Is that a fire alarm?”

  “Britt?” she beseeched him, jostled by four hotel guests rushing around the hall in pjs and shock.

  He reached one long muscular arm out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her inside. “Oh, honey.” He pressed her to the wall and slammed the door shut. “I thought you weren’t coming. I was crazy.” His hands were in her hair, his body warm and hard, his lips sweet as they spoke on hers. “Thank god.”

  “Britt,” she murmured, so enthralled by the little kisses he bestowed on her mouth and her throat that she could barely breathe, let alone think. “The place is on fire!”

  “Tell me about it.” He was chuckling as his fingers took her evening bag from her and put it on the hall table.

  She grinned, arching into his big warm hands as he molded her to him, breasts to chest, tummy to tummy, flames roaring. “But the hotel—”

  “Forget the hotel, baby. I’m burning up. In a minute, you will be, too.”

  She moaned as he found the side zipper to her dress and slid it down, tooth by agonizing tooth. “The place will burn down.”

  “I know it will.” He brushed his hands inside the crepe and let it slither down her body.

  The air-conditioned air made her shiver, but his adoring hands scorched her everywhere he touched. “They’ll find us in here.”

  “I know they will.” He pulled her forward to step out of her cocktail dress that puddled on the carpet.

  Laughing at the absurdities of life and luck and alarms, she tossed her hair and widened her eyes at him. “We’ll be burnt to a crisp.”

  He continued backward to his sitting room. “Damn right.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “That some drunk fool tripped the alarm?”

  She threw her head back to chuckle. “I really shouldn’t laugh.”

  “Laugh, baby.” He sat down in a big easy chair and pulled her down with him, her legs bent at the knees to the cushion, her entire body open to him with only see-through French lace adorning her. He inhaled and lifted the wealth of her breasts, one in each reverent palm. His china-blue eyes grew heavy-lidded and stormy. “Giggle. Scream. Do one. Do all. Do whatever comes naturally.”