Saved by the SEAL (19 page)

I nod, leaning into his palm. “You and me.”

He breaks out into one of his beautiful grins, the skin around his mouth creasing like parentheses. He sweeps his lips across mine once, twice, three times before he rises to his feet and turns for the kitchen. “Close your eyes. I'll be right back.”

Totally mystified, I settle back on the couch and close my eyes. I can hear Grisham walking through the kitchen to the little mudroom that leads to his carport, and I can hear the scraping of metal and lots of rustling. Then I hear him padding back toward me, and I'm itching to open my eyes and see what he's doing.

“Okay, Grits,” he announces. “Open.”

My lids fly open and then I raise both hands to my lips too late to cover my gasp. “Oh, my God, Grisham! You got a puppy?”

He comes closer and dumps the warm and wiggling little bundle of fur on my lap. It's a fawn-colored boxer puppy with an adorably sad-looking face and huge brown eyes. The top of his head is dappled with white spots, and his feet are white, too. He's staring up at me while his little body fights furiously to get closer to my face. I cuddle him to my chest, nuzzling his fur, and then he's licking me everywhere he can reach.

Giggling, I glance over at Grisham. He's sitting beside us, smiling like he just won an enormous prize.

Like
I'm
his enormous prize.

“No,” he corrects me. “
We
got a puppy. And please tell me I made the right decision, and that you are a big dog person. Because this little guy is gonna grow up to be about seventy pounds.”

The puppy takes this opportunity to squirm out of my arms and leap onto Grisham's lap, jumping up to lick his face before racing around the couch like an Energizer doggie.

I climb onto Grisham's lap, straddling him. His eyes immediately go dark as he stares at me. “This is the most perfect gift. Thank you.”

A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “You take care of everyone around you, Grits. Your friends, your mom, and your sisters. I thought we could add this little guy to the list.”

The puppy gives a short, sharp bark, as if he agrees with this sentiment completely.

“What are we going to name him?” I look lovingly at the puppy as he turns in a circle and flops down against my thigh.

Grisham takes my face in his hands, bringing it to within an inch of his, and I immediately forget what question I just asked him. My breasts push against his bare chest and my nipples instantly peak. His hands drift up my back, and he whispers just before his lips meet mine.

“We'll have to figure that out later. Right now, you're too much of a temptation.”

T
he following morning is Sunday, and when I wake up I find Grisham sitting on the floor in the kitchen with a tumbler of coffee beside him. He's pulling on one end of a frayed multicolored rope, and our new addition is savagely tugging on the other end. Frantic little growls are emitting from his tiny furry body, and I burst into ecstatic giggles at the picture they create.

Grisham looks up, and the smile he gives me is like the reward for something good I did but can't remember.

“You laughing at us?” He points at me and throws the rope at my feet. “Get her, boy.”

Our puppy rocket-launches himself in my direction, his little paws skidding on the hardwood kitchen floor. I bend down to scratch him on the head, and he rolls over onto his back to beg for my attention on his belly instead.

“Aw, come on, man! You are such a sucker,” Grisham playfully chides the puppy.

I raise a brow. “You're not a sucker for a good rubdown?”

The teasing grin freezes in place on his face and his eyes narrow dangerously. “I am a complete sucker for you rubbing anything on my body.” He stalks toward me, and my insides turn to molten lava. When he's close enough to reach out and grab me, the puppy darts between our legs and begins jumping up, nipping at Grisham's and my bare toes.

“Cock-block,” mutters Grisham.

I gasp and slug him in the arm.

“We have to name him,” I remind Grisham as I begin pulling out pots and pans to make breakfast.

He watches me for a moment as I begin preparing his now-favorite breakfast item: cheese grits. “Hey, what goes perfectly with grits?”

I play along. “Um, eggs?”

He nods, a knowing gleam lighting up his eyes. “So, haven't we just named our puppy?” He slowly points between me and the dog. “Grits…and Eggs.”

I turn the name around in my mind. Then I grin. “Eggs is perfect.”

He climbs onto a barstool to watch me cook. “Hey…I've been thinking.”

My hand falters in my stirring before I pick up the pace again. You never want to hear your boyfriend say “I've been thinking.” It's terrifying.

“About?” My tone is cautious, and I keep my eyes on the mixture of grits, milk, and cheese in my bowl.

“You can look at me, angel.” His tone is gentle. “It isn't anything bad.”

I glance up at him. I was able to fall asleep in his arms before the thoughts of last night's attack reared their ugly heads. I was able to find shelter in his strong arms, from everything and anyone who wanted to hurt me. This morning, the lurking fear is back. I have to face the facts. I have a stalker. This person is unknown. I now have an open case file with the police department, and I've been labeled a “victim.” The thought turns my stomach.

“I want to skip your regular training this morning.”

I start to protest. “My arm is fine, Grisham, really. Training with you is going to help me—”

He interrupts, holding up his hand. “We're going to do a different kind of training. I mentioned it to your dad last night, and he thinks it's a good idea. So…we're going to buy you a handgun.”

I drop the spoon, staring at him.

I grew up in a house with a gun. My father even made sure my mother knew how to use it when he was gone. So guns are nothing shocking or alarming to me.

But what was stopping me cold was the reason behind my needing a gun. Grisham must think that I could be in serious danger.

“You really think I need one?” My voice comes out as barely a whisper.

His eyes go soft, and he pushes off the barstool, coming around the counter to pull me into his arms. “It's a precaution. I need to know that if I'm not there…you're protected.”

I nod, absorbing the tenderness I feel emanating from his embrace. “I already know how to use a gun. My father taught me years ago.”

I feel his nod. “That's what he said last night. But you don't own one. So we'll go to the shop today and pick one up, and then we'll take it to the range for some practice. How does that sound?”

I look up at him. Staring into his eyes, I see confidence and empowerment as he gazes down at me. He believes that I can handle this.

So I will.

“It sounds like I'm getting a gun today.”

After a lengthy morning at the local sheriff's office, applying for a handgun, and having my background check and fingerprints scanned, Grisham escorts me gun shopping.

He takes my hand as we walk inside POW Shooting Sports. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he grins. His smile parentheses make me feel giddy, because he's obviously enthusiastic about this adventure.

“Don't knock the name,” he suggests. “It's awesome in here.”

The place is enormous, boasting a retail gun store in addition to a full shooting range and gun classes. Grisham pulls me up to the gleaming sales counter where there are firearms hanging on the wall behind the clerk and also locked in glass cases before us.

Telling the burly man behind the counter why we're here, he begins pulling out handguns at Grisham's instruction. Soon, there are three guns sitting on the counter. Grisham points them out by name: a steely gray 9 mm Glock, a shiny silver .38 Special, and a flat black Sig Sauer.

I stare at the firearms, trying to decide which one I'm supposed to like best. Grisham gives me a gentle nudge with his arm. “Pick each one up, Grits. Test it out, hold it in your hands. Feel the weight of it to see what's comfortable.”

At his encouragement, I nod and begin picking up each weapon one at a time and doing exactly as he said. I find all three have a very different feeling in my hands.

Grisham leans into me, his voice tickling my ear as he looks at the selection through my eyes. “Which one of them feels like something you'd feel comfortable using to defend yourself?”

I toss him a quick, startled glance. His expression is somber, like what he's saying is a matter of life and death.

It may be.

“You aren't just purchasing a firearm to practice with, Greta. If you own a gun, you need to be prepared for the day you'll have to use it. It's a serious thing. I want you to think really hard about it.”

I nod and then look at the three weapons again. All I can do is go with the one that I felt an immediate connection with when I held it. The Sig Sauer had felt hefty in my hands, but comfortable. Like I could wield it as an extension of my own body.

“I want that one,” I say softly, pointing to the black pistol.

Grisham gives me a smile full of pride, and then he nods to the clerk. Pulling out a credit card, Grisham starts to slide it across the counter.

My eyes widen, and I grasp Grisham's arm, halting his progress. “That pistol costs nine hundred dollars,” I hiss. “You're not buying it for me!”

The corner of his lips quirk as he gives me an amused expression. “Your safety is at risk, Greta, and I'd damn well buy you ten guns if it were going to help keep you safe. But this one”—he indicates the credit card—“is on Night Eagle. Work expense.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I release him.

After I fill out the required paperwork and the clerk tells me that I can pick up my gun in a few days pending approval, Grisham leads me to the shooting range.

POW has an indoor practice range, a massive space where target practice commences. Armed with a pistol similar to the one I just purchased, I stare at the man-shaped target standing thirty feet in front of me. As I peer at the targets, a shiver rockets through me from head to foot. Grisham, noticing, moves to stand behind me. With his arms around my waist, he leans in to speak calmly in my ear.

“It's okay. No one is going to hurt you. You're just here to practice. To get better at using your firearm. You can do this, Grits. You're the strongest woman I know.”

I allow his words to wash over me like a salve, soothing all the scared bits and pieces in order to make me feel like the brave person he believes I am. I close my eyes, and then when I open them again the tremors are gone.

“I'm ready,” I say clearly.

Grisham places a set of protective gear over my head for my ears. Then he steps back and stands by my side. When I glance at him, his eyes are on the target. Waiting.

It's like riding a bike. There's no safety mechanism on this gun, only a hammer and a trigger, and both must be engaged in order to fire the weapon. The training sessions I had with my father years ago roll through my mind like a slide show, and I aim for the chest. I steady the gun and keep my eyes wide open.

Focus, Greta. Focus on the target, eyes wide open, squeeze…

The shot resounds off the walls and rafters and a hole opens up in the chest of my target. A satisfied smile settles onto my lips. When I look at Grisham, he's grinning at me. He gestures toward the headpiece, and I pull it down around my neck.

“You were holding out on me,” he says. “You're a good shot. What aren't you good at?”

I shrug. “It's been awhile. I wasn't sure I'd remember what to do. But I did.”

He shakes his head, staring at me with wonder in his eyes. That expression will never, ever get old. I want to put it there every single day. For Grisham to look at me like I'm something special, like I'm important, makes me feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.

And he just gave me yet another gift: confidence. I know that if I ever have to use a firearm to defend myself, I'll be able to do it. But I don't want it to have to come to that.

“I want the police to catch this bastard so I'll never have to use this gun.” My tone is flat and hard.

Grisham places his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. I set the revolver down carefully on a metal rail beside me and then place a hand on Grisham's chest.  “Me, too. In the meantime, you're going to have to be extra careful, Greta. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself. If I have to, I'll be your shadow.”

I smile. “You can't be my shadow. You're still working at the base until December.”

He frowns. “Halloween is next week. We don't have much longer until the end of the year. And then I'm all yours. Until then, make sure you let Mea know that you two need a buddy system going. And the guys will walk you to and from your car at work every day. I want you to stay with me at night.”

My ears perk up. Grisham wants me to stay with him at night? As in…

“Grisham, I really don't want to hear this wrong. You want me to stay at your house every single night? Wouldn't that mean I'd need to keep my stuff there?”

His lips curl upward. “Would that be a problem? I kind of like your stuff. And Eggs needs a mom
and
a dad.”

I just gawk at him, mouth agape.

He sighs, then patiently spells out his request. “Greta…I want you to move in with me.”

The first emotion I feel is shock. It threatens to knock me off my feet. Then elation buoys my spirit, lifting me so high I feel like I could become airborne at any moment.

Holy hell. He just asked me to live with him. Grisham Abbot wants me in his home…all the time.

Then I think of Mea. She's my best friend, not just my roommate, and I don't want to leave her hanging.

“I want to live with you and Eggs. I really do. But I can't just leave Mea hanging without any notice or without knowing what she'll do next about a roommate. I'll talk to her about it and maybe we can figure it out. But I'm not saying no.”

God, I'm definitely not saying no.

He nods resolutely. “Okay. Talk to Mea and then get back to me. Because I want you all up in my space, Grits. Not just because I want to protect you. But because you're mine.”

I'm yours.

My eyes are moist as I gaze up at him. I've never lived with a boyfriend before, and I realize with a jolt of surprise that I want nothing more than to share a home with Grisham. Share a life with him.

It could have happened when I woke up to see him staring down at me on the beach that day. Or maybe it happened when he stayed with me the night I had a concussion. Hell, it could have even been when he made love to me for the first time.

It doesn't matter. At some point in this roller-coaster ride with Grisham Abbot, I'd gone and fallen in love with him. There is no question about it; it's just a true and simple fact. And now he'd bought us a puppy and he wants me to move in with him. But the
L
word hasn't yet come into play.

Am I alone in my amorous feelings for this sexy Navy SEAL who saved my life? Or is he falling for me, too?