Getting Hotter (11 page)

It was actually kind of insulting, evoking a prickly and defensive reaction that only got worse when Miranda swallowed her last bite of chicken and said, “Wow. That was great, Seth. I still can’t believe you cooked dinner.”

All the shit he’d gone through today was finally beginning to get to him, weighing down on his chest and bringing an edge to his tone. “I’m not some helpless case who can’t take care of himself, Miranda. I’m fully capable of cooking my own food. I also know how to do laundry and mop the floor and sew a button back on.”

Silence descended over the table.

In the seat across from him, Dylan shot him a WTF look that Seth ignored.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda said awkwardly. “I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

More silence. The rugrats were sitting on either side of Miranda. Their tears had dried up, but both kids looked miserable, which stumped him because they’d known about the flood in the apartment since yesterday, so why the delayed reaction?

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Miranda prompted as she reached for the water glass on the table. She took a small sip, eyeing him over the rim.

“Not from my mom, that’s for sure,” he said gruffly. “Usually she’d already left for the theater when I got home from school, so I learned to fend for myself. Sometimes I’d watch that cheesy cooking channel to figure out what to make.”

Dylan’s laugh resonated with mirth. “Oh, that’s pure gold. I can’t wait to tell the guys that you wore aprons as a kid and pretended to be Julia Child.”

Seth scowled at his roommate. “Do it and you won’t live to see your next birthday.”

Both of Miranda’s kids began to cry again.

Just like that. No warning, no provocation. One second they were sitting there quietly, the next they’d unleashed the waterworks.

Looking concerned, Miranda wrapped an arm around each child. “Guys, what is going
on
today? I know you’re upset that we can’t go home for a few days, but we’ll have fun here, I promise.”

Dylan voiced his agreement. “You’ll get to watch movies and stuff yourselves on cookies and popcorn, and you can tell everyone in your class that you’re having an extended sleepover. Think of how jealous they’ll be.”

Neither Miranda nor Dylan succeeded in calming down the twins, whose faces were red and splotchy and covered with tears and snot.

Seth resisted a groan. Christ, how was this happening? In
his
house? How could he have possibly thought letting Miranda and the rugrats stay here was a good idea?

Miranda murmured words of comfort, but eventually she excused herself and ushered the kids out of the room, leaving the men alone to clean up.

“I can see why you like her,” Dylan confessed, gathering everyone’s dirty plates.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s gorgeous, smart, amazing with those kids. The thing is, I don’t get why
you
like her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He followed his roommate to the sink and opened the cupboard beneath it, where they kept the trash can. Together, they began scraping leftover food into the garbage, while Dylan took his sweet-ass time responding.

“You don’t go for chicks like Miranda,” Dylan finally said. “You only do temporary, and I hate to break it to you, bro, but that woman has permanent written all over her.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem like you do. Let me spell it out for you. That gorgeous, smart woman out there?” Dylan gestured beyond the kitchen doorway. “She’s a mom, and she loves those kids something fierce, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” he said grimly.

“And you, for some unexplained reason, have an aversion to anyone under the age of eighteen.”

“Why does everyone act like I’m auditioning for the role of those kids’ father? I’m attracted to Miranda, plain and simple. I want to sleep with her, not marry her.”

Dylan started running the plates under the tap before shoving them in the dishwasher. “Well, she ain’t gonna sleep with you,” he said bluntly. “She’s not the type for a casual fuck. Anyone can see that.”

Seth couldn’t even argue, because he knew Dylan was 100 percent, categorically
right
. Miranda herself had made that loud and clear only hours ago. So why the hell couldn’t he bring himself to abandon the cause? Why was he chasing after a woman who didn’t want a fling? And even if he
did
succeed in wearing down her defenses, she’d said so herself—she didn’t do casual. She would want more from him.

He wasn’t ready to give anyone that
more
. The only commitment he wanted in his life was the one he’d made to the United States Navy SEALs. He was a soldier first and foremost, and he had plenty of solid ass-kicking, world-saving years left in him.

Truth was, no matter how many successful ops his squad had carried out, he still didn’t feel he’d scraped even the tip of the iceberg in terms of making a difference in this sorry world. Not that he was some tree-hugging do-gooder, but he did feel the need to be doing something worthwhile. Something that had value. Something that gave
him
value.

“Ugh,” Miranda’s voice came from the doorway. “I calmed them down, but they still won’t tell me what’s freaking them out so bad.” She headed for the kitchen table and began clearing the remaining items.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dylan called from the sink.

“Yes, I do.” She handed him the empty water glasses, then grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the counter. As she wiped the table, she let out a sigh and said, “Hopefully Soph and Jase don’t cause too much trouble when I’m at work tonight. They’re acting so damn weird.”

Both men froze, exchanging panicked looks.

Seth attempted to sound casual. “You’re bartending tonight?”

As in, leaving the rugrats here with him and Dylan? The mere thought of it sent a jolt of terror through him.

“It’s Monday. I told you I’m working at the club tonight.” Her hazel eyes narrowed in understanding. “Oh, for the love of God, you two. I’m not forcing you to babysit my kids. I have a regular babysitter who watches them on club nights. Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday—though I doubt I have to tell
you
that, do I? You have my schedule memorized.”

Seth ignored the sarcastic jab she lobbed his way and dried his hands with a dish towel. Next to him, Dylan looked equally relieved. On the entire drive home from the base earlier, Dylan had been moaning about how the only thing that would ease his aching muscles was lying on his back while a hot chick rode him like a cowgirl, and no doubt the guy had been horrified to think he might have to spend the night babysitting instead.

“What time do you start?” Dylan asked.

“Nine,” she replied. “Why?”

“Maybe I’ll catch a ride with you. I’m meeting a few guys downtown tonight, right near your club. I’d take the Jeep, but I plan on getting hammered.”

“Sure, no problem. Oh, and if you’re interested, all domestic beers are half-price tonight, between ten and midnight.”

Dylan looked incredibly intrigued by that. “We might have to stop by then.”

Miranda finished cleaning the table and walked over to throw out the paper towels. Seth was standing two feet from the sink, and when she got near, her feminine scent filled his nostrils and sent a dizzying rush of lust through him.

To make matters worse, all she ever wore was leggings. Super tight ones that clung to the contours of her shapely legs. She had a dancer’s legs—long and lean, not heavily muscled, but radiating strength. And grace. Damn, the woman was graceful. Sometimes when he watched her work the bar, it was like witnessing a damn ballet in progress.

“I’ll be at the club tonight too, so you may as well ride with me,” Seth told Dylan as he moved away from the counter to place some much-needed distance between himself and Miranda’s sexy body.

Her expression displayed sheer frustration. “No, Seth, you promised you wouldn’t bug me at work anymore.”

He had to laugh. “I made no such promise, babe. Wishful thinking on your part, maybe?”

She grumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked sweetly.

“Nothing.” With a frown, she drifted to the doorway. “I’m going to hang out with my kids until the sitter gets here.”

Both men watched her go, and then Dylan turned to him with a perplexed look. “What are you hoping to get out of this, bro?”

The question gave him legitimate pause. He took a moment to consider it, to ask himself, what
did
he want from Miranda?

Her delectable body?

Her submission?

Her…approval?

No, the latter was so preposterous he fought a laugh. He didn’t need Miranda’s approval. So what if she viewed him as nothing more than a sexed-up bad boy with all the depth of a birdbath?

He
was
a sexed-up bad boy. Though he did have more depth and substance than anyone suspected. He just kept it to himself. He had nothing to prove to anyone, anyway, seeing as how he’d stopped caring a long time ago what people thought of him.

But you do care what she thinks. You care a lot.

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning away from his roommate’s inquisitive stare. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I’m hoping to get out of it. No fucking idea.”

Chapter Seven

Something was going on with Seth. Dylan couldn’t figure out what, and he knew there was no chance in hell his smartass jerk of a roommate would shed any light on the matter, but it was easy to see that Miranda Breslin had gotten under the guy’s skin. Like
really
under the skin, burrowed deep like a tick.

He’d never seen Seth so rattled before, and he had no idea what to make of it. Out of all his teammates, Seth Masterson was by far the toughest. Not necessarily the biggest—at six-five Jackson had him in height, and Becker definitely outmuscled him—but Seth was unquestionably the most lethal. He possessed an eerie sense of calm in the face of danger, always the first one to enter a hot zone and the last one to leave.

Nothing scared Seth Masterson.

Except, apparently, two cute little six-year-olds and their sexy-as-sin mother.

Sighing, he turned away from Seth’s stiff, gloomy profile and focused on the storefronts whizzing past the Jeep’s passenger side. It was getting dark out, and most of the shops were closing up for the night. Good. That meant all the cute salesgirls would be done with work and heading to the city’s bars and clubs to unwind.

Shit, he definitely needed to get laid tonight. Earlier this morning during that training op, a wave had slammed him into the side of the boat, and now his shoulder ached like a motherfucker. He could hardly be considered injured, but the CO had ordered him to take a day to rest the shoulder, so Dylan had tomorrow off. Meaning there was nothing stopping him from getting drunk tonight. And laid. Yup, he had the green light for that too.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” Seth asked, his hands moving over the steering wheel to make a left turn.

“O’Connor, Rhodes and a few ensigns from the base.”

Seth slowed down as they reached the heart of downtown San Diego, scanning the street for parking. “What about Cash and Texas?”

“Cash is chilling at Jen’s place. Jackson pled exhaustion.”

And although he wouldn’t say it out loud, Dylan was much more troubled by the former than the latter. Up until six months ago, Cash had been his wingman, but nowadays, he was in a relationship with a woman he adored. Dylan couldn’t even fault the guy—he adored Jen too, and why wouldn’t he? She was not only beautiful, but funny, sweet and way too kindhearted for her own good. She kept trying to find ways to “include” him, whether it was dinner invites or movie nights or swimming over at Cash’s place. He totally appreciated the effort she was making to ensure he and McCoy didn’t drift apart—bromances were common casualties of committed relationships—but the thing of it was, Dylan wasn’t worried about losing Cash.

The reason he was allowing this distance between them to grow was because seeing Cash and Jen together made him…yearn.

For what, he had no clue. A relationship of his own? A woman who loved him?

Whatever it was, it freaked him out, because that strange yearning was always accompanied by a vise of self-doubt that squeezed the living shit out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to face the fact that maybe he wasn’t cut out for what Cash had. And because he hated hearing that nagging voice in his head, the one that reminded him of everything he was.

And everything he wasn’t.

“Somebody’s pissed off.”

Seth’s voice, half-taunting, half-amused, jolted him from his disturbing thoughts. “I’m not pissed off. I just spaced out.”

“Oh really, so you’re not sulking about McCoy blowing you off again?”

“Like I said yesterday, I’m happy for him.” He paused. “Hey, did I tell you my brother’s getting married?”

“Seriously? Mr. Boring’s getting hitched?”

Dylan didn’t bother being offended on Chris’s behalf. It was true—Chris definitely had the tendency to be boring, but then again, didn’t that go with the territory when you chose to be a lawyer? Fortunately, Chris
was
capable of letting loose every now and then, usually after a few beers and some extra convincing on Dylan’s part.