Hot SEAL, Single Malt (SEALs in Paradise Book 9)

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Hot SEAL, Single Malt (SEALs in Paradise Book 9) Page 8

by Kris Michaels


  Gunner gave a small chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, there was an incident. Kind of a meeting of two minds via a skull cracking type incident. Knocked both of us on our butts. That woman has a hard head."

  His dad shook his head and laughed, stepping once again towards his house. "In more ways than one. If I leave you two alone tonight, promise me you won't end up the hospital?"

  "I can't promise you that. The woman is a minefield. One wrong step and...boom!" His hands flew up into the air as he said the last word.

  His father laughed and slapped him on the back. "Well, enjoy the adventure, kiddo."

  "I will. You enjoy your evening and tell Charlotte I said hello."

  "Will do." His father smiled, winked and headed took the path to his house. Gunner broke off to walk the other path to his home. A huge sigh of contentment filled his lungs. He was happy and fuck it if it wasn't an amazing feeling. Any notion that his retirement wasn't the right decision had long since departed. Life at this moment was fucking spectacular.

  Chapter 11

  The house smelled fantastic. The baguettes A.J. had just pulled out of the oven were perfectly golden brown. Her homemade linguini noodles were lightly dusted with flour to keep them from sticking together before she dropped them into boiling, salted water. The last thing she needed to do for prep was to wash and debeard the mussels. Pulling up the recipe again she read it through. Simple enough. Using a small brush she'd bought on her shopping trip this morning, she scrubbed the outside of the mussels as she took the little shells out of the bag. There were one or two that had the little beards on the shells and a couple of the shells that were open. Holding the shell at eye level, she looked inside. The snot-like thing inside the dark brown shell solidified the fact she was eating a salad and bread for dinner. She cringed and shivered at the idea of putting hard shells into a bowl of noodles, let alone serving them, but if Gunner liked this dish, she'd follow the directions to a "T." She clicked the open mussel in her hand like a castanet and laughed at her silliness. It would be easier if all the shells were open. Then she could scoop the snotty little critters out and not have to put the shells in the pasta. But only five or six of the shells were open, and she had no idea how to make the rest open up without cooking them. Whatever. She put all the mussels into a strainer and was finally to a point where she could go get herself ready for the evening.

  A.J. took her time in the shower and afterward putting on makeup and fixing her hair. Both were things she rarely bothered doing. Typically, she washed her face, scraped her hair back in a ponytail and went to work. Tonight, however, she wanted to take the time to look nice for Gunner. Was it silly and perhaps a little bit vain? Maybe, but the butterflies in her stomach told her it was important. She opened her dresser and pulled out a small box. She removed the top and gently lifted the thin, fancy paper that covered the contents, a lace thong with matching bra and wrap that cost far too much money. A.J. snorted at the price she paid. Probably close to ten dollars per square inch of lace. But they were beautiful, and she couldn't wait to see Gunner's face when she put them on for him tonight. She carefully hung up the lace and placed them on the back of the bathroom door. She put a pair of white stilettos along the sink vanity out of view. If all went according to plan, she'd excuse herself, change and then make a grand entrance.

  Her face heated at the thought. She wasn't a seductress. She was a small-town girl from East Texas, but she'd concluded she wanted Gunner for more than just a fling. She felt sexy, safe and cherished in his arms, and she wanted that feeling to grow and flourish. The pretty little bits of lace weren't necessary, but she wanted to try.

  Her face and hair done and wearing a little black wrap-around dress she'd bought for a wedding years ago, A.J. slipped on her heels and headed back to the kitchen. She pulled the salad out of the refrigerator and pulled the cork on the bottle of Merlot she'd purchased earlier. She placed an aerator on the top of the bottle and poured herself a small glass to have along with a rather large piece of fresh bread she unabashedly slathered with butter. She pulled up the recipe again, reached into the fridge to pull out the ingredients she'd prepped earlier, and turned on the burner to bring the water to boil. According to the recipe, it would take only minutes to cook the mussels. She wanted the water for the pasta hot and ready to go. Putting a lid on the pot, she finished her bread and drank the last of her wine.

  A second glass of wine poured, she wandered out to the back porch of her little rental house. It was smaller than Silas's home. The house Gunner lived in had been a rental at one time, but she could tell that he'd modified the house over the years. She sat down in one of the two chairs she had on the porch and watched the water. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Gunner walked out of his house wearing a long sleeve white shirt, grey dress slacks, and carried a bouquet of roses. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She'd never received flowers, let alone roses, from a boyfriend. Her mind stumbled over that adjective, but somehow, she let herself believe Gunner was her boyfriend, not just a hook-up.

  He jogged up her back steps and leaned over, dropping a kiss on her upturned lips as he lay the flowers in her arms. She pulled them up and buried her nose into the soft pedals before she smiled up at him. "Thank you, but I thought I was supposed to be groveling tonight."

  He sat down beside her and stretched out his long legs. "I told you groveling was not necessary. I'll even take you out to dinner to prove it."

  "Oh, no." They were eating a meal she prepared especially for him, and she had a fashion show, of sorts, planned for dessert. "No, I have everything ready. I just need to drop the pasta—which is homemade, by the way, because I wanted you to know when I grovel, I grovel professionally. First, would you like a glass of wine?"

  Gunner looked at the glass and chuckled. "I can do wine with dinner, but I'm a single malt type of guy."

  "Ah, well then I have a small amount of Lagavulin or a full bottle of Macallan. Do you prefer it over ice?" She lifted out of the chair as she spoke. He made a move to get up, and she held up her hand stopping him. "I need to put these in water. We can watch the sunset." She nodded toward the bay. For once it was clear and relatively warm. She would grab a shawl on the way out.

  "In that case, I'd like to try the Macallan. Are you sure I can't help?" He moved to get out of the chair again.

  She touched his shoulder, freezing his motion. "Let me do this. It’s included in the price of groveling." She held her roses to her nose again and smiled into the flowers as she turned and practically danced into the kitchen.

  It took a few minutes to find a vase, but she succeeded and placed the flowers on the sofa table where they dominated the small living room-slash-dining room combination. His single malt poured, she grabbed a crocheted shawl and headed out to the small porch. After handing him his scotch, she settled into her chair and turned to him. "Tell me about being a Navy SEAL."

  He gave her a surprised glance before he looked back out to the bay. She wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with the question or not sure how to answer her. Just as she was about to laugh it off and ask a different question, he spoke.

  "It was all I ever wanted to do. Growing up I found an article in some obscure magazine at school. I think I was a freshman in high school at the time, maybe a sophomore, I don't really remember. What I do remember is reading about the physical and mental demands placed on the candidates. They had these pictures throughout the article. The men were filthy, and you could see the exhaustion on their faces, but there was this one guy. He wasn’t the focus of the photograph. He stood behind the man the photo was about. He had this look of complete determination in his eyes. Everyone else had looks of anguish, but this guy, it was like he'd channeled this inner Zen or something. You didn't see the strain like you could on the guys surrounding him. That guy fascinated me. Later in the article, it showed the graduating class. The article said the attrition rate was seventy-five to eighty percent. Only twenty to twenty-five men out of a hundred were
able to make it through the training. The man I picked out in the other picture, he graduated. Again, he wasn't the focus of the picture, but he was there and still with that look of complete and utter calm on his face. I knew then that I wanted to be that guy."

  A.J. was enthralled. Gunner's expression was so intense, yet calm. It was almost like he'd channeled the picture he'd talked about. "So, you joined the Navy after high school or college?"

  "I enlisted after high school." He chuckled and shook his head. "I thought I had a clue on how tough going through BUD/S would be, but shit, there is no way to prepare for that. No way in hell."

  "Buds? What is that?"

  "B.U.D. slash S. It stands for Basic Underwater Demolition slash SEAL training." He shrugged. "Until you are pushed to your limits you don't know really what your limits are and what you are willing to endure to reach your goal. The course is made to tear you down. To get those who aren't strong enough, physically and mentally, to drop. Sometimes physical injuries cause a person to drop, but most of the time the course defeats your mind before it defeats your body. Hell, I can remember it like I lived it yesterday. I was ready to quit. We were freezing cold and ten hours into the worst twenty-four hours of my fucking life, but right before I opened my mouth to tap out, that guy's face flashed through my mind. I latched onto that ideal. I'd played with the whole Zen thing through high school. It earned me my nickname." He chuckled and rubbed his beard. "They called me Iceman. I fucking ate that shit up. Big man on campus, you know. Quarterback. Well, that didn't mean shit when I was blue with cold and wanting nothing more than to quit. Right then, I finally got what that man was doing. He'd found a place inside of himself stronger than the elements that surrounded him. I turned inward, and I searched until I found that place." He shrugged. "I made it through the remaining fourteen hours and graduated before I went on to other schools and training."

  A.J. took a sip of her wine and waited for him to sip his scotch. "Are the movies true? Is that what SEALs really do?"

  "Movies? Hell, I never watched any of those. I have no idea what they depict. I trained hard, every day. I was part of a team, and we did routine deployments. Those that weren't necessarily routine were few and far between, but that is why we train. We do what the nation asks us to do. We do it to the best of our ability. Somehow the media caught wind of a couple of the missions one team was involved in, and suddenly a profession that lived below the radar was exposed, glorified and vilified, all at the same time." He turned and met her stare with his. "I served my country. It is as simple as that. Every person on my team would lay down his life for me as I would lay down my life for them." A smirk spread across his face, "But I can guarantee you, should some force try to take us out, hell on earth would erupt before we went down. We are that good." He blinked and then took a sip of his whiskey. "Was that good. I'm out of it now."

  A.J. ran her finger across the lip of her wine glass as the sun started to fall behind the horizon. "Do you regret getting out? Silas said once he didn't want you to get out because of his stroke. He didn't want you to make that sacrifice."

  She watched as his gaze floated back to the water. "I miss the men on my team. Hell, they were my family for twenty years. Of course people transitioned, left for one reason or another, but you go through some of the things we went through together, and you get tight. I won't deny I miss that, but it was time. Young men come in and take our places. It is the way of all services. When Dad had his stroke, I was at a point in my career where I was questioning when to punch my ticket. I'm good with my decision." He glanced at her. "What about you? Are you happy with your decision to move to Half Moon Bay?"

  A.J. considered his question for a moment. "I'm not thrilled with the reason I left home. I wish my lessons in trusting and loving the wrong person hadn't resulted in a week-long stay in the hospital and then a month's recuperation." His hand landed on hers, and she linked fingers with him. He squeezed her hand, and a soft smile spread as warmth filled his eyes. "I adored your father from the moment I met him. He is a class act. I could tell he had physical limitations. He didn't use his arm, and his speech was slightly slurred, but his wit was sharp, and he made me laugh. I worked hard during that interview. For some reason I needed him to know he could count on me to run the Walrus and to run it correctly."

  "He's very impressed with you." Gunner lifted their joined hand and kissed her knuckles. "So am I."

  Her heart fluttered, and her insides flipped just a little. She didn't know how to respond. Flustered, she stood, pulling their hands apart. "I'm...I'm going to go start dinner. Can I get you another drink?"

  He chuckled and shook his head, lifting his nearly untouched glass of Macallan. "I'm good. Do you need any help?"

  She shook her head and laughed. "No. Required groveling, remember? Finish your drink before you come in. Dinner will be ready in no time."

  A.J. drew a deep breath the second the door to the porch closed. She put her hands to her face and smiled. She felt like a teenage girl with her first crush. Was she happy with her move to Half Moon Bay? No, she was ecstatic!

  Chapter 12

  Gunner gazed over the water. The sounds from inside the kitchen played like distant background music to his musings. Memories of a childhood spent on his father's back porch hastened to mind. His mother's laugh as his pops picked her up and spun her. The nights he and his old man had lain under the stars and talked about everything and nothing. Life here was everything he ever wanted for his family, should he ever be so lucky. At forty it wasn't guaranteed. He lingered outside in the growing darkness until the irresistible smell of garlic sent his stomach into a roar that would do a pride of lions proud. He finished the last of his whiskey and wandered in the house.

  Two long tapered candles were lit on a small table immaculately set for two. A single red rose was placed in a tall glass in the middle of the candles. With the exception of the kitchen, none of the house lights were on. The small area off the kitchen had been set as a scene of seduction that even he, a salty old SEAL, could understand. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as she strained a pot of noodles. To his wonder and amazement, she lifted the lid to a wonderful sight. He lifted away from the counter and stepped behind her, putting his hand on her back in an effort to stop her from startling. It worked. She smiled up at him. "Your dad said linguini and mussels were your favorite."

  "I haven't had them in a long time." His tastes had changed over the years, but his dad was right, linguini and mussels were still one of his favorites. "This smells wonderful."

  "Thank you. I'll have you know, for you, I learned how to tear the beard off mussels. I wasn't aware groveling required learning how to shave shellfish, but shave them I did."

  Gunner looked at her and then back at the mussels. "You didn't actually shave them, did you?"

  A.J. laughed and filled a large bowl with noodles. The salads and bread were already on the table. "No, Charlotte explained how to debeard them."

  "Well I, for one, cannot wait to eat the feast before me." "I'm glad because I have to admit, I'm not eating those." A.J. poked the opened shells with a serving spoon. She lifted a few up. They dripped what smelled like white wine sauce. "They look like..." she glanced up at him and whispered, "... snot and who puts shells in pasta?"

  He blinked at her and then looked at the mussels before he started laughing. She was fucking adorable. "You made me a dinner you have no intentions of eating?"

  She squinted at him and then at the pot where she poked at the top shell again. "Well, yeah. Your dad said it was your favorite."

  "So is a thick juicy ribeye or any type of pulled pork." He grabbed a shell out of the pot and jostled it in his fingers before he tipped his head back and popped the mussel into his mouth. The flavor of garlic, butter and white wine exploded on his tongue. The sauce was going to be amazing over her home-cooked noodles. He rolled his eyes heavenward before he leaned down and kissed her hard on the lips. "Perfection."

  She lit up
from the inside. "Really? As you can guess from the shaving comment, I've never cooked this before. I hope it's good." She ladled several large spoonfuls of seafood and sauce over the noodles and handed him the bowl. "Take that to the table. Would you like another scotch, or do you want wine with dinner?"

  "Scotch, please. The Macallan was very good." Gunner placed the bowl at his seat and only then noticed the larger salad centered at her place setting. She wasn't joking, she'd spent all day making a dinner she wasn't going to eat. He waited until she returned with his drink and a full glass of wine for herself. He pulled her chair out for her and seated her, bending over to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Thank you for the effort you put into dinner."

  She blushed prettily and smiled at him. "You're most welcome."

  Gunner sat down and stared at the bowl in front of him. He couldn't help thinking that her efforts were more than just groveling. Or at least he'd hope there was more behind the homemade noodles, fresh bread and the hassle of making a dish she'd never made before.

  "Please, dig in. I'm dying to know if you like the noodles. My grandmother taught my sisters and me how to make them. The woman literally never used a packaged noodle in her life." A.J. speared some fancy looking lettuce and lifted it to her mouth as Gunner dug in. The noodles were complete heaven. The white wine sauce had a hint of citrus and a wallop of garlic.

  "Amazing. Perfect. And the noodles. Seriously, can I pay you to make me spaghetti sometime"? It was fucking fantastic.

  She laughed and shook her head. "No. I'll make it for free. No payment necessary. We can invite Silas and Charlotte over."

  "Hell of an idea." He took another bite and grabbed the hunk of fresh bread from his plate. "Excuse me, but my table manners have gone to shit." He dipped the bread into the sauce and moaned at the taste combination.

 

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