Call to Honor

by Tawny Weber

  “Doesn’t matter what they’re looking for. SEALs are SEALs and SEALs don’t want publicity,” Torres said, tossing his cards on top of Lansky’s and scowling before Ramsey could respond. “Neither does Poseidon.”

  There was a second of silence as if everyone was waiting to see Savino’s reaction to Torres’s response. When he said nothing, the men exploded. Protests, complaints, dissection and criticism foamed through the crowd like an overshaken beer.

  Through it all, Savino stood, listening. When the litany quieted to a mutter here or there, Savino nodded, his elegant features calm. Aaron knew a lot of people thought calm and cold were the only expressions the man had. Poseidon knew better, of course. But their leader’s mythical reputation added to the team’s mythical reputation, so nobody bothered to correct it.

  “Objections acknowledged and, for what it’s worth, I agree.” As he spoke, Savino pulled a Leatherman knife out of his pocket, slit an inch off the bottom of one of the straws, then gathered them all together. “But our views are irrelevant in the matter. Word came down and it came down from Admiral Cree. Apparently this person has enough pull and knows which strings to tug. They want the article to focus on Poseidon. They want to talk to one of the team. We’ve been ordered to cooperate.”

  With that, he held out a hand filled with eight straws, one for each, including their leader. Nobody grimaced, none of them said a word. They knew the drill. Starting with the man on Savino’s left, each took their turn tugging a small red-and-white-striped cylinder from the lieutenant commander’s hand. This was as much a ritual as the mantra they recited before each mission.

  Savino met the eyes of each of the seven men who were Poseidon as they pulled their straw. The others who made up the twelve-man team were deployed elsewhere, off the hook for this particular venture. If they’d been there, he’d have looked them right in the eye, too. Savino never sent a man on a mission he wouldn’t take himself, and he reminded each of them with his direct and honest gaze.

  When it came to his turn, Aaron contemplated the three straws remaining, figured the odds, went with the one in the middle.

  And frowned at the short straw.

  Shit.

  He’d rather be sent into a terrorist cell wearing neon. It’d beat the hell out of dealing with a clueless journalist with more enthusiasm than smarts.

  “Congratulations, Bulldog. Looks like you’re our PR patsy.” With a slap on the back, Savino grinned. “You’ll meet Ms. Radisson tomorrow, nineteen hundred at Olive Oyl’s.”

  Shit, again.

  A clueless female journalist.

  Could it get any worse?

  CHAPTER TWO

  THIS WAS SO GREAT.

  Her foot bouncing to the beat of the band’s pretty decent rendition of “Brown Sugar,” Bryanna Radisson had to force herself to stay in her seat. There was so much to see here. So much to do. And she was a woman who embraced seeing as much as she could see and doing as much as she could do. What better way to enjoy life than to live it to the fullest, after all?

  And talk about enjoyable.

  She surveyed the bar, loving the clever name. Olive Oyl’s. Who knew a small seaside bar would have such an eclectic variety of patrons. Grizzled, unshaven fishermen types bellied up to the bar next to sleek businessmen with their ties loosened and their shined-like-glass shoes. There was a guy in the corner playing a handheld game one-handed, using the other to alternately lift his beer to his mouth or shove his glasses back into place. A trio of women argued good-naturedly in the corner, and Bryanna swore she even saw one guy in cowboy boots dancing with a woman in a dress that looked like a watercolor.

  She could write a whole series of articles based on this bar alone. Relaxation options for the average sailor, base-community relations, a visitor’s drinking guide. The possibilities were endless.

  It was a great example of local color, a glimpse at the type of people who lived and served in Coronado. The small resort town was nestled between the cool waters of the Pacific and the San Diego Bay and sported that casual beachside glamour she loved. The gorgeous area housed both the Naval Amphibious Base and the Naval Air Station, which meant there were a plethora of military hotties to ogle.

  Especially SEALs.

  Bryanna shifted in her seat, halfway out of it as she angled a look toward the back room. This was reputed to be a SEAL bar, and she’d heard that back room was where they hung out. She’d grown up on the fringes of the Navy, paying just enough attention to know a petty officer outranked an ensign, that Bravo Zulu meant “well done” and that a pollywog was a sailor who’d never crossed the equator.

  Nobody had been more surprised than she when she’d decided to take her journalism degree, with a minor in marketing, and apply for a job as a public affairs specialist, civilian, for the Navy. But she’d been at loose ends and dissatisfied with the jobs she’d tried out and had always wanted a chance to live in California. So when her uncle had mentioned the position, she’d jumped at it. And, in her inimitable way, got it.

  In her usual gung ho fashion, she was determined to make it a huge success. Bryanna firmly believed in the power of thoughts, and since she had so many, she figured that meant she had a lot of power to make her dreams come true.

  Her smile widened as the waitress stopped at her table, a glass-covered ship’s wheel. Bryanna took a second to admire her modified sailor suit—double-button-front white jeans and a navy shirt with red and white stripes—then smiled.

  “Great lemonade, Lila,” she complimented, admiring the redhead’s sassy sweep of side bangs. “I love your hair. I wish I could pull off that style.”

  Lila blinked, either at the compliment or over Bryanna remembering her name.

  “Thanks. I like yours, too. I suppose you get compared to a fortune-teller all the time with those long, dark curls.”

  “Usually when I ask someone to cross my palm with silver,” Bryanna said, waving one hand mysteriously over the other with a wicked smile. “You must love working here. It looks like a shopping spree at Hunks R Us in Navy uniforms.”

  She waited for the other woman’s laughter to fade before leaning closer.

  “I hear the bar counts a lot of SEALs among its clientele. I’d think that’d make this a great place to work. You must have some fun stories, hmm?” Elbow on the table, Bryanna planted her chin on her fist and gave the waitress her patented “sharesies” smile. The one that invited whoever she was talking with to spill everything to her welcoming ears.

  Whether she was well trained or simply disinclined to gossip, Lila only offered a shrug.

  “Can I bring you anything else?” She tapped a laminated anchor-shaped menu on the middle of the table. “The red-pepper hummus is seriously delish, or if you’re in the mood for something heavier, the sliders are good tonight.”

  “Hmm, I’m meeting someone, so it’d probably be smarter to wait and see what their preference is.” Bryanna glanced at her watch, then at the menu, then shrugged. Ordering would give her another chance to chat with Lila. She was sure that, sooner or later, she could convince the woman to share a story or three. “But he’s late, so why not? Let’s do the hummus. And another of these fabulous lemonades.”

  “Five minutes,” Lila promised with a smile before hurrying off.

  After a brief thought as to whether her appointment would actually be here by then, Bryanna leaned back in her chair to enjoy the view and the music.

  And saw him.

  Wow.

  Just... Wow.

  Bryanna pursed her lips and blew out a long, slow whistle of appreciation. The man was gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t do justice to the power of his looks, the strength of his build or the intensity of his expression.

  Simple jeans and a tee did nothing to detract from his power. She was sure he’d command the same attention
in a three-piece suit or a Navy uniform. That he was Navy went without saying. From his shorn hair to the way he carried himself, he shouted military. Powerful military.

  Was this Chief Petty Officer Ward? she wondered.

  Oh please, oh please, oh please, let it be, she chanted under her breath. Her imagination soared at the idea of spending time with this man. Anything from interviewing him to licking her way over his body to having his baby appealed at the moment.

  Bryanna was a firm believer in love at first sight. So much so that she’d spent most of her adult life hoping to experience it. As a deep sigh of longing swelled in her chest, all she could think was wow, this would be the perfect guy to experience it with.

  With every step he took, the man got better looking. As he drew closer, Bryanna searched. But she couldn’t see a single flaw to keep her lust in check.

  Yowza.

  His short, spiked hair was the color of polished oak and his skin a dusky gold, as if he’d spent the weekend on the beach. His body... Oh, his body. Broad shoulders were hugged close by the soft blue cotton of his long-sleeved tee. The shirt molded to a muscular chest, tapering down his slender waist to tuck into jeans draped over tight hips and strong thighs. The glint of a chain around his neck and the smooth leather of his watchband finished the look.

  She suddenly felt overdressed in her black pencil skirt with its ruffled hem and high slit at the calf and her white silk blouse. But when she’d picked out her outfit, she’d been thinking about business. Not about finding her perfect man.

  Mr. Perfect, or Officer Perfect in this case, tapped the waitress on the shoulder. Her stomach did a little dance of delight when Lila gestured toward Bryanna, then it slid into her toes as the man smiled his thanks. Oh, God. What a smile. His entire face lit up.

  Despite sudden, rarely felt nerves, Bryanna got to her feet as he headed her way.

  She could see the interest in his eyes, hot admiration that made her want to preen with delight. More, it made her want to reciprocate. She’d like to skim her hand over those biceps, to squeeze tight and find out if they were as hard, as solid, as they appeared. Was his skin warm or cool? Smooth or work-roughened? There were so many questions running through her head that she had to take a second to sort them out.

  Some, the sexy ones that involved wondering how he looked naked, she set aside.

  For now.

  Others, a multitude of others that revolved around her assignment, her career, her goal, those she forced herself to bring front and center. It helped to picture her uncle’s face, that formidable glare of his heavy with expectations. With that, and a deep breath, she was ready.

  Thankfully, Bryanna prided herself on her ability to multitask. So she figured she might find a way to pull a few of those sexier thoughts to the forefront while she worked through the rest. If she found the right opportunity.

  In the meantime, she had a job to do.

  “Ms. Radisson?”

  “Hi, yes. I’m Bryanna. Bryanna Radisson. You must be Aaron, right? Chief Petty Officer Ward? We’re going to talk about all things Navy, SEALs and Poseidon, right?”

  His smile didn’t shift, and she could still see the interest in his eyes. But something in his expression told her that he didn’t want to talk about any of those things. Not because he’d rather discuss the two of them getting naked together—although she was pretty sure he’d be happy to converse about that at length. But because he didn’t want anything to do with her project.

  Why? Bryanna’s easy smile slipped a little. Didn’t he think she was qualified?

  People tended to judge her by her beauty, sultry and exotic, and her personality, bubbly and outgoing. It was rare that anybody bothered to look beyond the sexy packaging or friendly chatter to realize that she was also savvy, smart and ambitious.

  Bryanna never bothered wasting time blaming them. Why, when she could use their shortsightedness to her advantage? Not that she figured it’d be an issue with this man, she decided, her smile widening as she slid her hand into his.

  Her breath caught in her chest, hot and tight. Need coiled in her belly with edgy fingers, wanting more, desiring satisfaction. If he could stir this much heat with simply a touch of their hands, what would happen if they got closer? Nakeder?

  Bryanna felt her smile turn sultry as she gave him a flirtatious once-over.

  “You are Aaron Ward, right? I admire—”

  “Chief Petty Officer, or simply Chief Ward, actually,” he interrupted in a deep voice that did justice to that deliciously broad chest. “That’s my rating, or rank if that’s easier. In the Navy, we’re addressed by our rank.”

  Oh. It wasn’t the words, so much as the tone that sent a spiral of disappointment curling through Bryanna’s belly. He was one of those. Well, she’d dealt with misogynistic chauvinists plenty of times before. Especially in the Navy. Sometimes she wondered if it was an enlistment requirement. It was probably too much to believe that such a gorgeous face and mouthwatering build would come with an open mind, too.

  No big deal. She was here to gather information that’d help her write her article, Bryanna reminded herself. Not to score a hunky new hottie for her very own boy toy.

  With that firmly in the forefront of her mind, she set aside her disappointment and slipped her hand from his, putting a little distance between her and temptation. Sitting again, she smoothed the snug fabric of her skirt over her knees and offered him the smile she used for pushy salespeople and head-patting repairmen. The one that oozed ice-cold pity.

  “Hmm, chief petty officer, did you say? That’d be an E-7 rating, one of the higher ranks an enlisted man can achieve in the Navy, right? Until they instituted the senior chief and master chief ranks in the late ’50s, of course.” She sipped her frozen lemonade and arched one brow. “Added to that, you’re a SEAL, which affords you the rating of Special Warfare Operator. Assigned to Coronado Naval Base, you serve primarily with SEAL Team 7, which is comprised of six platoons and is deployed worldwide.”

  “You did your homework.” He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat. But instead of looking impressed, or cowed—which had been her real goal—he smiled. And sent that spiral of heat swirling through Bryanna’s belly again.

  Ignore it, she told herself. Pretend he’s cross-eyed, pockmarked and sin-ugly.

  “No, that wasn’t homework, that was simple knowledge,” she corrected precisely. “A basic understanding of Naval ratings, duty assignments and deployment structure should be a necessary component of the position as a public affairs specialist, don’t you think?”

  “I agree. Unfortunately, those basic qualifications don’t always make the cut when it comes to some things.” Before she could take offense, he smiled and leaned one elbow on the table. “I’m glad to see that’s not true in your case. So, Ms. Bryanna Radisson. Why don’t you tell me all about yourself?”

  Uh-oh. Bryanna blinked as the full wattage of his smile flashed. Like the sun, it was warm and inviting, with just a hint of danger.

  Heroic, sexy and charming?

  If the man had a brain, she was in serious trouble.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WITH HER TUMBLE of curls and those fringed doe eyes, Aaron figured the brunette could be taken for cute. But the wicked arch of her brows, those razor-sharp cheekbones and lips that rested in a sultry pout shifted cute into damned sexy.

  From what he could see, her body matched the promise of that.

  Damn, she was one hell of a package.

  Aaron had thought he’d use calm persuasion, a little charm and maybe even resort to flirtation if he had to. He’d planned to use facts and numbers, duty and allegiance, the safety of the troops and, if that failed, intimidation.

  Charm wasn’t something he had to call on very often, but like any of the rest of the weapons in his arsenal, he knew how t
o use it when necessary. And it seemed to be necessary right now.

  Aaron had expected smart, although he’d hoped for not. He’d figured she’d be pushy and arrogant, while complacent would have been easier. He’d been ready for a certain amount of self-interested zeal, while a civic-minded openness would have been welcome.

  What he hadn’t prepared for was hot.

  Hot, sexy and appealing.

  Bryanna Radisson was all of that and more.

  After an hour, he knew her to be smart, charming, savvy and clever with the quips. Another hour of sidestepping her subtle attempts to lead the conversation to the military and he realized she had a good-natured dedication to duty that he admired almost as much as he did the sexy sweep of her lashes over those huge dark eyes. She had an exotic look she tried to contain with ladylike clothes but those wild curls and lush curves spoke to him louder than her sedate outfit.

  He knew they were here for a specific reason, but as Lila brought drink after drink, hummus then sliders followed by a molten cake, Aaron continuously shifted the conversation. Finding out as much as he could about her while keeping her off balance, he figured. What he found was an intriguing amount of common ground with an enticing woman he wanted to know better.

  A woman he wanted. A great deal.

  “C’mon, Aaron, let’s talk Navy.” Bryanna leaned forward, her smile washing a hint of delight over him. “You’re a member of Poseidon, a decorated SEAL. I have facts and details, but I’d really like the human factor so I can craft the perfect presentation. I’ll put into words and images the romance and power of your calling.”

  “I’d rather hear more about living in Hawaii. I served there for a few months when I first joined the Navy. Have you lived there your entire life?”