A SEAL's Fantasy (2 page)

The one everyone came to for help. Advice. Directions, even. He was hell on wheels when it came to directions. Handy, since he generally served as the point man and navigator for his SEAL team. Something he was proud of.

“Seriously,” Lucas said, interrupting his mental back patting. “I thought Joe said you weren’t gonna make it home for the party. What changed?”

Buying time, Dominic took a drink, the cola doing nothing to relax his aching muscles. A beer would go down sweet right now. A half dozen of them would go a long way to ease the pain racking his body. But the doctor had warned that severe concussions and alcohol were a bad mix for the next few days.

“The team is on a mission, I’m not. That means I could snag an extra week’s leave and come home.”

Lotta started her countdown, tossing her spangled bra into the rowdy crowd, then taking a few swings around her pole. Dominic made a show of watching, hoping Lucas would let the conversation die if he seemed fascinated by silicone so tight it didn’t even sway as the stripper spun.

“Your team is on a mission and you’re not?” Lucas asked, an intense frown creasing his brows. “What happened? Turning yellow?”

“I can still kick your ass.” Dominic matched his brother’s glower. Then he shrugged. “They didn’t need me for this one. Plenty of them speak the language and I needed some downtime.”

And a little distance.

There was no way in hell he could sit around the barracks,
resting,
while the team kicked mission ass.

The SEAL team was like a brotherhood. Every man had the other’s back. Every man knew he was a part of the team, each one vital to the success of their missions. They lived together, they trained together, they fought together.

Sometimes it was the best deal in the world. Sometimes it sucked.

Dominic had grown up with five siblings. He knew that life wasn’t always smooth, that all relationships had plenty of ups and downs.

What he didn’t know was how to deal with a guy who wasn’t a part of the brotherhood. Who didn’t fit, didn’t even try to fit.

Especially when that guy was, thanks to his irritatingly stellar record, now the ranking officer on the team.

Who was so by-the-book uptight that he made Dominic sit out on a hot mission because the helicopter launched at 0700 and Dominic’s medical profile said he was grounded until 0830. Hell, they wouldn’t even have reached their destination by then. He could have gone if it wasn’t for Banks’s uptight ass.

Instead, the jerk had taken the team one man short and left Dominic feeling like a let down loser.

He freaking hated that guy.

“I’m thinking about transferring,” he muttered.

His eyes wide enough to pop out of his head, Lucas dropped his chair flat, the front legs hitting the floor with a bang.

“Out of the SEALs?”

Dominic had taken a bullet, broken multiple bones and was currently sporting bruises down to the bone over three-quarters of his body, not to mention a concussion hangover and a weak ankle.

But none of them hurt like the idea of leaving the SEALs.

“Hell, no. Just, you know, transfer. Virginia, Hawaii. SEALs are based other places besides Coronado. I might like to see a few, you know.”

“Because thirty states and eight countries aren’t enough?”

“I saw this act in Oahu once. Erotic fire dancer.” Dominic blew out a breath, then fanned his hand in the air as if cooling off the memory. “Let me tell ya, a woman who dances naked with a flaming baton knows her way around big, hot sticks.”

Lucas winced and shook his head.

“Sad, little brother. If that lame story is the best distraction you can offer up, you’ve obviously got something bugging you.” He waited a beat, as if giving Dominic an opening to confess. But Dom did the advising—he didn’t go looking for it. Finally, Lucas shrugged and lifted his beer again.

“You wanna talk, you know where I am,” he offered.

Dominic nodded, even though they both knew he wouldn’t take him up on it.

Not because he was such a snob that he couldn’t reach out from time to time for a little guidance. But there was a reason he was the advice guy. In the family, on the team, with his friends. He knew stuff. Military stuff, girl stuff, sex stuff. Thanks to his nana, he even knew cooking stuff.

He stared at his drink, muscles aching and head throbbing.

It was a damned shame he didn’t know what to do for his own stuff.

Two hours and three Motrin later he poured three cousins and one of his brothers into a limo. Patting the hood, he signaled the driver to hit the road.

Hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Dominic laughed as Marco popped his head out of the sunroof to serenade him with “Happy Birthday.”

“It your birthday, big boy?”

He turned, grin in place, to watch the woman saunter over. Even fully clothed, Lotta still exuded sex the way some women wore perfume. Strong, heady and inviting.

“Nope. He’s having a tequila-inspired calendar mix-up,” Dominic told her.

“Too bad. I was gonna offer you a little birthday goodie,” she said when she stopped in front of him. He wanted to tell her she’d be a lot prettier with about half as much makeup on, but didn’t figure it was his advice she was interested in.

“I watched you while I danced.”

Dominic looked down, noting that all it’d take was a cold breeze across her thin blouse to bring their bodies into contact.

Then he met her eyes, the hot interest and hard edge.

Message received.

“Isn’t that a coincidence? I watched you, too,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. He wasn’t interested—yet another thing he figured he could blame Banks for—but he didn’t believe in leaving women disappointed. He might not be going to give her a wild ride, but there was no reason not to make her feel good. In a fully clothed kind of way.

“Did you like what you saw?” she asked, her tone saying she had no doubts about that at all. She moved closer, so close that her ice-pick nipples stabbed his chest. Dominic had to wonder if she’d blasted those babies full of silicone, too.

“You do know your way around a pole.”

“I do good work with long and hard.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Dominic looked her over again. He had a special appreciation for dancers. They were so damned good with their bodies.

Rethinking his body’s aches and pains, he debated a little naked boogie with the stripper. He did a quick check to see if lust was stronger than bruises.

Nope. Not enough lust or too many bruises. Either way, he wasn’t up for dancing.

Dammit.

“You interested in buying me a drink? I’ll fill you in on some of my specialties.”

The only reason the Castillo clan had vacated the club was because it’d been last call. Which meant the drinking destination Lotta had in mind was hers, his or of the rent-by-the hour variety.

Dominic loved women. Strippers, dancers, teachers, nurses. He’d dated them all. His only requirement was that the woman take the relationship as light and easy as he did.

He’d heard plenty of times that his sex life was better than most guys’ fantasies.

But if he had one particular weakness when it came to the fairer sex, it was for dancers. Ballet, jazz, exotic, tap. It didn’t matter. There was something about a woman who knew how to make the most of rhythm that drove him wild.

But even if his body had screamed otherwise, he just wasn’t in the mood.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said sincerely. “I’m not drinking tonight. Doctor’s orders.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly wondering if that was a euphemism. Then she gave a good-natured shrug.

“You ever get released from those orders, you come back. I’ll do a dance just for you.” She skimmed her fingers up his chest, giving him a smile that promised that it’d be a dance to remember. Then she tapped her palm against his cheek and turned to go.

Dominic leaned back on his heels, his own smile turning a little cocky. He didn’t get guys who bitched that women were a pain in the ass. Himself, he’d never met a woman who wasn’t a pleasure, in or out of bed. All it took was a little charm and a friendly smile.

He watched the stripper walked away, her hips swinging a hot rhythm beneath her short skirt. For one second he regretted saying no. Then, as he shifted his weight, his body sang out a protest.

A part of him, mostly the part cozied up behind his zipper, wanted to call her back. Not out of undeniable lust or anything crazy like that. More to prove he could still make her see stars and sing hallelujah, even if half of his body was bruised and the other half a step up from numb.

As far as Dominic’s dick—and admittedly, his ego—were concerned, he was a man with many talents, all of which made women sigh with pleasure. He was better at sex when he was half-asleep, totally drunk and/or straight off a ten-day mission from hell than most guys managed to be even in their wildest dreams. He was damned good-looking—a blessing owed more to the fine Castillo genes than any effort on his part. He was a formidable SEAL, a savvy sailor and a weapon the U.S. Navy should be giving thanks for on a daily basis. Okay, weekly. He was wise—the team always looked to him for advice, hence his call sign, Auntie. He was smart and good with money.

All but the first were characteristics his own sainted mother recited to any single woman she found worthy. And all, including the former, were reasons Dominic saw as vital to his goal of staying single. When a man was as blessed as he was, it’d be cruel to limit his gifts to just one woman.

He watched Lotta slide into her Miata and frowned.

Maybe a good time was just what Auntie ordered. A hot ride would be a nice distraction.

It only took him a second to brush it aside.

Resigned, he watched her headlights fade into the dark night and sighed. It wasn’t his bruises or irritation that made him a bad bet tonight, he realized. It was the same nagging feeling that’d been dogging him for the last couple of months.

Dissatisfaction.

What the hell was up with that?

Dominic was a man who made a point to be satisfied. In every way, every chance he got. Some might say he specialized in it.

So why the hell was he so damned bored?

Bored, discontent and frustrated.

All new emotions, and not one of them welcome.

Needing to move, wanting the rush of speed, Dominic straddled his Harley, tugged on his helmet and rode.

In the next three hours, he covered most of Sonoma. The wine country had a special beauty in the moonlight, but even that didn’t help clear his mind. Finally, annoyed and still clueless over what he wanted to do, Dominic headed for the Castillo Ranch and home.

He cruised through the wide gate, its bronze
C
and
R
woven around the image of a horse, and throttled back. The sun was just making its appearance, casting a golden glow over the fields on either side, which meant the family was probably rising. Still, his nana slept late and her cottage was just around the bend.

The ranch housed thirty family members and a handful of hands and provided homes for a few, like Dominic, who needed their own place but didn’t live there full-time. He came to a dirt road that cut through the emerald expanse of grass before curving behind a hill. His cabin was a few miles back. Remote, the way he liked it, and private. He spent most of his life sharing quarters. First with his brothers, now with his SEAL team. When he was home, he liked his space.

But he didn’t take the turn. Instead, he barreled straight on down toward the main house. Ranch-style, it was big and sprawling, surrounded by gardens and manicured lawns. Lights glinted in the windows, especially, he noted, in the kitchen. Good. That meant Rosa was up, and likely making pancakes.

Dominic swept his motorcycle back behind the house to the wide driveway. Before he could cut the engine, his brother flew out the back door.

“Where the hell you been?” Lucas snapped, looking as if he was going to reach over and grab his younger brother right off the bike.

Just to be contrary, Dominic took his time slipping off his helmet and ran his hand over the stubble of his military haircut. He hooked the helmet over the handlebar, then swung his leg off the bike, shoved both hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.

“What’s up?” he asked with a half grin. “I miss curfew?”

“Don’t you answer your phone?”

“Not when I leave it on my dresser by mistake,” Dominic said with a shrug. He didn’t carry a cell phone on duty, and he spent most of his life on duty. So unlike his brother, he didn’t hyperventilate without an electronic leash in his pocket.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last couple of hours.”

“Here I am,” Dominic pointed out. “You can reach me now.”

“Before me, your buddy Brody was trying to reach you.”

“Brody?” Brody couldn’t have called. Petty Officer Brody Lane was on day two of a mission in Guatemala, taking down a drug lord who was pissing off the good ole U.S. of A. Lucas had met Brody a few times when he’d visited Dominic in Coronado or when Brody had tagged along on leave to the Castillo Ranch. “Dude, you want to play games, play them when I’m awake.”

“No game. Your buddy called. He has a problem.”

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Maybe if you carried your phone, you’d know.”

“Cut the crap and tell me what’s going on,” Dominic snarled, worry tight in his gut. Brody wouldn’t call unless the issue was major.

Chest to chest, the brothers glared at each other. Then, with a look that said he was doing his little brother a favor, Lucas stepped back.

“A mission went bad. Your friend didn’t say that. He didn’t offer any information except for you to call him as soon as you got back, no matter what time it was.”

Crap. Hell, damn, crap.

Dominic paced, his boots kicking up dirt as he stomped from one end of the bike to the fence and back.

“How do you know he’s on a mission?” he asked finally. “It could be anything. Hell, Brody might be calling for bachelor party advice, seeing as he’s getting married next month.”

Yeah, that was lame. Lucas didn’t roll his eyes, but he looked as though the effort cost him. Instead, he gave a jerky one-shouldered shrug and glanced away for a second. Just one, but it was enough to make Dominic growl.