A SEAL's Pleasure (10 page)

“Not on me, but it's all about the audience,” she reminded him. “Spring break usually means drunk coeds and wet T-shirt contests. Cute and cheesy go hand in hand.”

She paused, and he could easily imagine she was scrunching her brows together as she shook her head, her long hair sliding over that silken skin. His body, already stirring at the sound of her voice, hardened more.

“How can you be so hot and not know these things?” she asked. “I can't believe you are so seriously bad at pickup lines.”

He grinned at the memory of their brainstorming session a few nights ago. She'd rejected every one he'd come up with, finally suggesting that he ask the team for theirs instead.

“I told you once, I've told you a hundred times. I don't need pickup lines.”

“Right. Because the women throw themselves at you,” she teased. “Poor guy, I'll bet you can't even have a nice, quiet night out with the boys without having to climb over the prostrate bodies of your worshippers.”

“It's a rough life,” he agreed. “As I'm sure you know, seeing as you can't have a nice, quiet night out with the girls without having to fend off your own worshippers spouting lousy pickup lines.”

“If they read my next column, they'll have some amazing pickup lines,” she pointed out. “No thanks to you, of course.”

“Hey, now,” he protested halfheartedly.

Her laugh was pure delight, filling him with a weird sort of feeling, like a warm glow in his chest.

“How goes countdown: wedding?” he asked, not really caring but not willing to analyze that weird feeling. He'd taken a few hits to the chest that morning. He'd write it off to internal injuries.

“Oh, you know, a change here, a change there,” she said, the smooth words not quite disguising the hurt and frustration he could hear beneath. “I guess Livi found a different dress, so the ceremony will be a little more formal to accommodate it.”

More formal? Gabriel could feel the imaginary tie choking him.

“What happened to that perfect dress the two of you spent weeks finding?” he asked, remembering her tales of traveling from store to store, town to town, with Livi. That was pretty much the most excited he'd heard her in any discussion about the wedding.

“Oh, boy. Pauline found some table scheme she liked better and wanted to change around a few things. By the time she was done, nothing was the same.”

Gabriel had never understood the whole wedding hoopla. A party was a party, wasn't it?

He'd take a life-or-death mission over planning a wedding any day. And from the sound of it, Tessa probably would, too. If nothing else, he knew he should be grateful that no matter how bizarre, overwhelming and unexpected his feelings for her were, she was as antimarriage as he was. It was like having a fail-safe built into their relationship.

Gabriel blinked at the pitch-black night, his frown sliding into a scowl.

Were they actually in a relationship?

How the hell had that happened?

Maybe he should have stuck with his usual MO. Dive right into great sex, revel in the pleasures, then move on.

But instead, he'd outsmarted himself. He'd been so focused on getting Tessa hooked, on making her want more than just great sex, that he'd somehow hooked himself, too.

Sliding into battle mode, his mind raced as he considered the options and angles. Emotional trajectory was a different field for him, but he didn't figure it could be any more hazardous than targeting explosives. All he had to do was shift his aim by a careful margin and he'd be back on track, avoid the emotional tangles and still achieve his target of incredible sex.

With that in mind, Gabriel slid down a little lower against the back of the truck, let his head fall to rest on the cool metal and closed his eyes.

“Poor baby,” he murmured. “It sounds as though you need something to take your mind off all that wedding drama. If I were there, I'd take care of that for you.”

“Would you, now?” she purred, easily falling in with the sexy talk.

“I'd start with a massage,” he decided. “Hot oil, hard hands, your bare skin. My fingers are magic, you know. They'll find the perfect spot to drive all thought out of your mind, the perfect pressure to send your body into a melting puddle of pleasure.”

“Mmm,” she breathed. “I can't wait.”

“Just a few more days,” he said, the husky growl a promise to them both. A few more days and, somewhere between all the wild sexual positions he planned to explore with her body, he'd find time for a massage. “In the meantime, why don't you hit the spa there at the hotel? Loosen up a little so you're not so stressed.”

Not that he had any doubts about his ability to get her off in record time, stress or no stress. But he didn't like the idea of her being all tensed up until he could take care of her.

“I'm not in Catalina yet. I was called in for an emergency meeting at
Flirtatious
yesterday that's had me tied up at home.”

His smile fell away at the edge in her voice, the easy sexual buzz bursting as concern took its place.

“Did you figure out what's going on with your partner?” he asked. A partner Gabriel planned to meet and assess for himself as soon as he was back on base. The guy sounded like a cross between a boy-band wannabe and a used-car salesman. Gabriel had no doubt that Tessa could handle the guy, but he'd still like to get a look for himself.

“I have a pretty good idea what's up,” she said in a worried tone. Then she cleared her throat and added brightly, “But that's boring. Work drama is no more fun than wedding drama. I'd much rather talk about something sexier...like the fact that you never did tell me what you're wearing.”

Her voice dropped to a seductive pitch, but there was a chilly edge to it that told Gabriel just how upset she was. Tessa used her sexuality as a shield, throwing it out there to push people away.

He understood. A part of him wanted to push her, to accuse her of closing him out, using charm and flirtations to distract him while hiding her true self. Except he'd been on the receiving end of that accusation enough to know how irritating it was to hear, even if it were true.

Besides, he'd decided only minutes ago that this was all about sex. So why did he care that she was making sure it stayed there? He clenched and unclenched his fist, imagining himself crushing the frustration that surged at that choice. Didn't matter. Neither of them were relationship material, so they should focus on what they were best at.

Pleasure.

“All I'm wearing is a towel,” he said. “It's knotted at my waist, but I'll bet nimble fingers could untie it pretty fast.”

“I'll bet a clever mouth could get it off even faster. My fingers would be busy exploring what's beneath it. I'd slide them up your thighs, maybe skim one hand around to see if your ass is as tight and sweet bare as it is in those jeans you wear.”

“As tight and sweet as the hot temptation between your thighs?” he asked, easily sliding into sexy talk while ignoring the chiding voice in the back of his head warning that he was just fooling himself by thinking he could contain something this powerful.

“If you touch me, you'd know that I'm not only tight and sweet, I'm wet and waiting,” she said, her quickening breath audible over the phone. “After I nip that knot open and let the towel fall to the floor, I'd let you touch me. Just one finger, though, and only for a moment. Long enough for you to see how wet I am, to taste my juices.”

“Do you really think I'd stop at one moment once I touch you?”

“You'd have to,” she promised. “Because as soon as you taste, I'll move. I'll shift to my knees again and slide my lips over your rock-hard shaft. I'll lick you like a lollipop, nibbling and tasting every long, throbbing inch.”

Gabriel's own breath was coming faster now. His dick was rivaling concrete beneath his zipper, blood pounding through it like a drumbeat.

“You're killing me,” he admitted with a groan. “You have no idea how hard this is.”

“I'll bet I could make it harder if I could really touch you,” she said with a husky laugh.

“Believe me, I'm more than ready to be touched,” he said. He was pretty sure he'd hit a new record for days with an unrelieved hard-on. It was a small camp, too small for enough privacy to relieve the intense sexual pressure he'd been sporting since he'd started this little game with Tessa.

“A couple of days,” she promised.

He almost threw his phone across the desert when it buzzed, signaling that he'd reached the call limit. His body screaming protests, he clenched his teeth, angled himself upright and took a deep breath.

“I've gotta go,” he said, unable to disguise the frustration in his tone.

“Aww, and just when things were getting good.” Instead of frustration, Tessa's voice was filled with laughter. Not exactly ego boosting, but he was glad the stress and tension from earlier was gone.

“Sucks, but I've hit my transmission limit,” he said, glancing at the phone to see he only had seconds left. “I guess nothing lasts forever.”

Her quick intake of breath was sharp and painful, making him frown through the sexual haze.

“Be safe” was all she said, though. Then the phone went dead. That was it. No recriminations, no begging for assurances he couldn't offer.

Damned if she wasn't amazing.

His forearms resting on his updrawn knees, Gabriel stared out into the desert, the pitch-black canvas offering no distraction as he imagined Tessa's face. He'd planned this with the same care and precision he'd plan a mission. He'd figured romance was just a fancy way to package up sexual foreplay. Another type of game that'd give him the upper hand in this ongoing challenge with a woman he hadn't figured out yet. No big deal, right?

Define your path, stand your ground and never let anyone else's actions define your own.
The basis for every one of his other life rules. Like the one about going it alone as long as he served in the Navy.

He'd defined the path with Tessa by insisting they have a romance, and as hard as it'd been—he shifted uncomfortably at the pun—he'd stood his ground. But her actions, her reactions, the simple sweetness he'd discovered beneath the sexy exterior... All of that had him considering some serious redefining.

He dropped his forehead to his knees, replaying the ricocheting slew of emotions that'd rammed through his system in that seven-minute phone call. He'd never felt these things before. He blew out a breath. Maybe it was time to consider rethinking a few of those rules. Like the one about going it alone...

“Petty Officer Thorne, you got a minute?”

9

G
ABRIEL
JUMPED
DOWN
from the truck bed, a frown curving his mouth. He cast a quick glance around, but nobody else was there but Irish. Since when did Donovan refer to him by his rank when they were alone?

“Sir,” he responded, automatically coming to attention.

“We need to discuss the incident that took place on the field today.”

“Incident?” Gabriel's gut clenched but his blank expression didn't change. Irish hadn't been on the field today. He'd been at headquarters being briefed on the training changes and mission details.

“Oh-eleven-twenty-three, equipment malfunction that resulted in a blow to your chest, sending you flying across the back of a Humvee into a building, the resulting collision possibly offering warning to the natives that unfriendlies were in the area. You made up the loss of those approximate three minutes by scrambling, still managing to detonate the explosive on schedule, hence allowing the rest of the team to complete their mission unencumbered by said incident.”

That clenching in Gabriel's gut tightened to a vicious knot, both at the recital and at the officiously cold stance it was offered in. Then the knot twisted painfully as he realized how Irish must have got his information.

Scavenger? He knew Shane was pissed over Jackrabbit's games, but he'd never have imagined the guy doing an end run around his order to let it go. So who? Mr. Wizard? Bad Ass? Auntie?

Gabriel's belly burned with the embers of betrayal.

“Who's the rat?”

Irish's expression barely changed. A slight shift of his brow, his lips tightened and his shoulder twitched maybe a millimeter.

And just like that, chastisement.

Gabriel gritted his teeth, realizing that was one of the things that made Irish such a stellar leader. The man knew how to push buttons with just a look. Now instead of being righteously indignant at being ratted on like a schoolboy, he felt like a total jerk for questioning the motivation of his teammates.

“Lieutenant Banks is leading this operation,” Irish informed him in that same official tone. “He wrote the book on protocol and follows it to the letter. So much so that he's been known to lead a mission one man short when one of his team sustained a minor injury.”

Still smarting at the unspoken reprimand, Gabriel shrugged.

“Didn't that prove to be a mistake?” he asked, since that particular mission had resulted in Banks being captured.

“Trusting the wrong person proved to be the mistake.”

Shit. Gabriel closed his eyes, rocking back on his heels for just a moment while he tried to shake off the feeling of being an absolute dick. He wasn't privy to the details of that mission, but he'd caught enough rumors to know that Banks had tried to warn command of the potential mole but intelligence had ordered him to proceed as planned.

“Acknowledged,” Gabriel murmured, opening his eyes and nodding to show he was in the wrong.

“Banks will watch the same video that I did as he works through the plan, assessing the team's strengths and weaknesses.” Irish paused, letting that sink in long enough for Gabriel to nod his acceptance of the slap down and the feeling of being a complete ass over the accusation settle. Then he continued, “And he's going to see one very specific weakness that he'd be smart to eliminate.”

“Jackrabbit?” Gabriel seriously hated thinking badly about a teammate, and even worse hated the idea that he couldn't find a way to work with every member of his team. But dammit, he'd be glad to see that whining jerk finally get what was coming to him.

“You.”

If Irish had pulled out his pistol and slapped him upside the head with it before dancing a jig over his prone body while singing show tunes, Gabriel couldn't have been more shocked.

Or horrified.

“Me?” he repeated, hoping he'd heard wrong.

“You.” Irish gave a barely perceptible arch of one brow, waiting for the implication to sink in.

And it did, like a lead weight. Painfully slow, ruthlessly undisputable. His commanding officer, his team leader, his best friend considered him a weakness.

He'd rather be pistol-whipped to show tunes.

Knowing Irish wouldn't continue until that point had been recognized, Gabriel gave a jerk of his chin. His lips pressed tight, he was starting to feel like a bobblehead with all this nodding to acknowledge his mistakes.

“From your expression, and your response, I'm going to assess that this isn't the first incident,” Irish said, lifting one hand to stave off any response. “Which means it's an ongoing hostile situation. Knowing you as I do, I'm going to further assess that you've already taken every means possible to peaceably deal with it.”

“I've considered a few nonpeaceable means,” Gabriel admitted under his breath. Hell, in the past two minutes he'd imagined at least a dozen more that were leaning quite close to straight-up violence.

“Given these circumstances, and the fact that Banks will be on-site at first light, I'm going to give you one last chance to rectify the situation before I take steps myself.”

Steps.

Gabriel scowled. A part of him wanted to ask exactly what those steps might be, but he knew there was a fine line between Irish's friendship with him and his stance as his commanding officer. To ask was to risk insubordination.

Still...

“You'd pull me from the team?” Gabriel challenged—which wasn't exactly the same as asking.

“I'd recommend that you be pulled from this mission. Where it went from there would be out of my hands.” Irish tilted his head to one side. “And that'd be a crappy position to put me in, wouldn't it?”

Guys had been pulled from missions for injury before, every once in a while because of scheduling conflicts. But to be pulled for endangering the mission, which was how this would go down? Yeah. He'd be off the team.

Fury the likes of which he'd rarely felt pounded through his system. The SEAL team was his life. Being a part of it, it was who he was. He'd been fine waiting for Jackrabbit to pull his head out of his ass and realize he couldn't win. Hell, waiting the guy out had become something of a challenge in itself. One Gabriel had been willing to take to the limits to win.

His rage was so intense, he couldn't tell whether he was angrier at Jackrabbit for putting him in this mess, or at the fact that he was forcing Gabriel to concede the win in order to get out of the mess.

It didn't matter. Fists clenched, Gabriel called on the training of his youth to channel every ounce of that anger into his hands, squeezing it tight until it he'd released it completely.

A deep breath through his teeth cleared away the last dregs of emotion, leaving behind a pool of calm.

“I didn't intend to put you, or the team, in a bad position,” he admitted quietly, letting the tension pour out of his shoulders as he leaned against the truck to gesture to the camp. “I just figured it'd blow over, you know. The Navy doesn't let idiots into the SEALs. The guy had to clue in sooner or later.”

“Some guys have an issue with second place,” Irish acknowledged. “That doesn't make him an idiot.”

Gabriel grunted his annoyance.

“The lengths he went to do it, though,” Irish muttered, making Gabriel's lips twitch.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?” Irish asked, scowling as he slipped out of his role as commanding officer to simply be a friend. He relaxed enough to lean one hip against the truck and shake his head. “The guy really is a complete dumb ass. You know I'd have had your back.”

“You've got enough on your plate.” Gabriel shrugged. “This promotion to head up the training programs, a baby on the way, your upcoming wedding. Last thing you need is to be brought up on charges of assaulting a dumb ass.”

After a long stare, Irish gave a slow, pitying shake of his head.

“You're so busy protecting the team, protecting me, that you aren't covering your own ass. I get that brotherhood is priority, believe me. But you're taking loyalty too far. You're letting it make you a victim.”

“The hell I am,” Gabriel snapped, the anger returning with a vengeance as he shoved forward with clenched fists, this time ready for battle. He'd never been a victim. He'd made damned sure of that and nobody, not even his best friend, was going to say otherwise.

“No?” Irish gave him a cool look, obviously not intimidated by Gabriel's threatening stance. “You're playing fair, working for the good of the team. Meanwhile, this asshole is so busy trying to prove you're not invincible that he's going to get you seriously hurt in training. Or worse, killed in action.”

Gabriel's fury drained, leaving him cold. And a little dizzy at the unfamiliar barrage of emotions hitting him tonight.

“You should have reported Jeglinski when this started,” Irish said quietly. “There are channels in place for dealing with exactly this sort of dispute.”

“That's not my way.” Gabriel shook his head. The military equivalent of tattling. “I'm sure there are alternatives.”

“Cut the stoic crap,” Irish snapped with a frustrated glare. “There's a big difference between tolerating rough conditions to accomplish the objective and letting an unnecessary complication fuck up your career.”

Gabriel grinned, amused as always to hear Irish swear like that. He stood by his statement. He wasn't a victim. But if this kept up, someone else might be.

And hell, he'd been considering rethinking his rules to build a relationship with Tessa. It made more sense to rethink them to save his relationship with his team. And yeah, his career.

“Fine. I'll deal with it.”

“You'll file a complaint?” When Gabriel jerked his chin in the affirmative, Mitch gestured toward his quarters. “Good, let's go.”

“Not to you. I'm not bringing you into this. If there's a strike, it's going on my record and mine alone.” Gabriel cast an assessing eye over the camp, knowing nobody had heard a word they said, yet the entire platoon would have all the details within hours. “Jackrabbit isn't going to roll over and accept the charges. He'll fight and he'll fight dirty.”

Gabriel didn't need to explain that whatever measures Irish took with the complaint, Jeglinski would find a way to construe it as favoritism. Gabriel's own refusal to speak out about the other man's actions before would play into his hands, too. Only a bright-eyed optimist would think this was going to go down any way but ugly.

And while Gabriel might be called many things—charming, clever, lucky, talented, among others—he'd never, ever been deemed an optimist.

Mitch shook his head, exasperation glinting in his eyes.

“Seriously, dude. You don't have to protect everyone.”

“Nope. Not everyone,” Gabriel agreed. “Just everyone who matters.”

* * *

N
OTHING
LASTS
FOREVER
.

The eerie way Romeo's words had echoed Jared's was still nagging at Tessa several days later as the helicopter approached Catalina.

It wasn't as if she wanted forever.

But if her whole world was going to turn upside down, she'd like to be the one choosing to change it. Or at least doing wildly outrageous, completely indulgent things that resulted in the changes. That would fit her reputation so much better than this mess.

It wasn't just her friendship with Livi or her career that was changing, either. Even the...whatever it was she had with Romeo was a major change for her. But as incredibly sexy as he was, as mind-blowingly intriguing as she found him and how surprisingly sweet he'd proved to be, all she'd been interested in was sex. But no, he'd wanted romance. And somehow his insistence on romance had turned into this...whatever it was they had between them.

Tessa stared out the bubble-shaped window at the ocean beyond, the water rough and choppy and tipped in white.

Now her life felt like that ocean, and this...whatever between them was the only thing keeping her from drowning. When she talked to Romeo, all the stress fell away. The worries and doubts and feeling of being adrift without having a clue who she was all faded.

He made her smile. Real, from-the-heart smiles that took a while to fade.

He made her laugh. At his silly jokes, at life in general, even at herself.

He made her think. About choices, about life. About them.

And, oh, baby, he made her hot. All she had to do was close her eyes and imagine his smile and her thighs would tremble. If she imagined his hands, too, she'd get wet. His voice was pure seduction, and when he started talking dirty...

Realizing she was trembling, Tessa shook her head as if that'd help erase the thoughts lodged there. It didn't matter, though. Because Romeo wasn't leaving.

She held her breath, her stomach diving into her toes, and not just because the helicopter was landing.

How was it possible that he'd become so important that she felt as though she needed him—not wanted, but really needed him—yet she hadn't even seen him naked? She hadn't felt his body slide over hers, welcomed his hard length inside her. She didn't know if he liked it fast or slow. She could only imagine what his face looked like when he came.

But that was what this weekend was for.

To touch him. To feel him. To revel in the perfection of his body. She took a shaky breath, her mouth watering as she imagined how he'd taste. Oh, his taste. She was going to start at the sharp angle of those gorgeous cheekbones and nibble her way to his mouth. After spending a few minutes—hours, weeks—kissing, she'd lick her way over that chest, down his flat belly and then she'd get to the good stuff.

The thud of the helicopter setting down burst her fantasy. Thankful for the pilot's helping hand, Tessa climbed out of the helicopter on shaking legs.

“You're here!” Livi declared and rushed forward to wrap her arms around Tessa so tightly that Tessa almost fell over.