To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (13 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“How do you plan to keep her safe in New York?” Dante tossed the three-page, meaningless document on the folding table in Mason’s office. “And in Boston? Nashville? This ‘security plan’ reads like it was written to placate the suits—”

“It was,” Mason admitted. “I wrote it.”

“But how are you going to keep her safe?” Dante demanded, placing his palms flat on the table and glaring at her manager.

“I was hoping you would help with that,” Mason said, not even flinching at the way Dante hovered over him. When they had first met, the manager would have whimpered with fear if Dante encroached on his space. But now the man in the designer jeans looked as if he’d expected this.

“I’m leaving,” Dante said flatly as he sank into a folding chair across the table from Mason. He couldn’t go with her. Staying at her side, loving her and hoping like hell she’d love him back—that wasn’t going to happen. “You should ask Moira, or the fancy company she works for.”

“I did,” her manager said. “And they’re putting together a plan. Yours would be better.”

Dante nodded. He’d grown accustomed to the respect that went hand-in-hand with being a SEAL. But this moved beyond his training.

He’d professed his love for Chrissie Tate last night while buried inside her. He’d wanted to stay right there, clinging to the remains of the “his and hers orgasms” he’d promised her. And wait for her to tell him she loved him back.

Instead, she’d gently slid out from underneath him and climbed off the bed. Then she’d turned to him and said three little words that sank his hope like a damn anchor.

Thank you, Dante.

He hadn’t wanted her gratitude then any more than he wanted it now. He wanted her heart, her love, and her promise that this was it—forever. He’d wanted to stay up late figuring out how the hell they’d make this work when they barely stood a chance at being in the same city at the same time.

I should have left last night.

Yeah, he should have run back to Coronado and his team. He should have walked out of her room and jumped into his truck. But loyalty and love packed one helluva punch. And he couldn’t go yet. He loved Chrissie Tate, and he’d said he would stay for her Vegas show. One more night in the crazy city that had brought them together.

And while he waited for her to take the stage, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe while he served his country. Then, he’d hit the gym like he did last night. He’d climbed out of her bed, said a hurried good-bye, and gone to the hotel weight room. He’d pushed himself, trying to make his knee hurt.

He’d known then that he should leave. But instead, he’d reported for duty this morning even though he wasn’t on the payroll anymore.

“While I’m here,” Dante said, making a note about potential exit strategies at the Washington, D.C. venue. “I want to see her fan mail. Any suspicious pieces?”

“I set aside two for Moira’s review.” Mason pushed back from the table and headed to a stack of papers.

“Why didn’t you show me when I got back last night?” Dante demanded.

“Chrissie said you had plans.” Mason tossed two envelopes on the table.

“Interrupt. This is more important. I know you work for her, but you need to take her security seriously.”

“She told them she wouldn’t finish the new songs for the album if I bothered her last night,” Mason said, sinking back into the folding chair across the table. “She said I wasn’t to disturb her, or you, under any circumstances. And Dante, these letters aren’t that suspicious. Probably just overexcited fans.”

“I’ll judge that,” Dante said. Yeah, he loved hearing about how she’d set aside last night for them. But that didn’t change the fact that Mason needed to focus on her safety.

And last night had led to a dead end.

He scanned the letters. One fan wrote about joining her on the road and waking up with her every morning. He claimed to love her. Dante tossed it across the table to Mason. “Might want to flag that one for the cops, too.”

The second one was a long, crazy poem. The dude who’d written it sounded unhinged, but unlikely to pose a specific threat. He didn’t express a desire to meet her, touch her, or even be in the same room as her.

“I wouldn’t worry about this one,” Dante said, sliding the second letter across the table. “But I’d hold on to it. Anything else?”

Mason nodded and pushed an envelope across the table. “Chrissie asked me to give you a front row ticket to this evening’s concert.”

“I can watch from the wings,” Dante said, shaking his head.

“She wants you in the audience tonight.” Mason leaned back and folded his arms in front of his Chrissie Tate T-shirt. “She told me to make you take the ticket if I had to.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “How do you plan to do that?”

“I’m banning you from backstage,” Mason said, his voice firm as if he knew Dante wouldn’t beat him up. “If you want to see the show, you’re watching from the front row.”

Dante stood and swiped the ticket off the table. “Fine.”

…

Hours later, after a punishing workout, Dante stood shoulder to shoulder with Chrissie Tate’s adoring fans, stared up at the stage. He always watched her concerts from the backstage area. But if she wanted him here, he’d follow her orders. Hell, he wasn’t here to play bodyguard tonight.

Damn right I’m not.

He was here for
her.

He glanced around at the eager crowd. Men and woman staring up at the stage as their favorite country star finished “Rush of Love
.
” She belted out the lyrics that went hand in hand with the music video they’d shot.

Yeah, I’m here for her like every other fool in this place.

But no one else in this concert hall—in this whole freaking hotel—had professed their love to Chrissie Tate last night while buried inside her.

His jaw tightened as he turned his attention back to the stage. Chrissie stood in the center of a pool of light. A microphone was positioned on a stand in front of her, and she had her acoustic guitar over her shoulder.

“Tonight I want to perform a new song for you all,” she said.

The crowd roared with approval. Out of the corner of his eye, Dante saw the man to his right, who looked like a linebacker, dancing with glee in front of his seat.

“I finished writing the words this morning,” she continued. “But this is one that I’ve been thinking about for a while. My band hasn’t heard it yet, so I’m going to give them a break.”

Behind her, the drummer set aside his sticks and prepared to listen. The others stepped back, giving Chrissie the stage.

“And for the record,” she added with a playful smile, “I didn’t run this by my manager or my label. You’re the first ones to hear it.”

The linebacker was close to knocking over everyone in their row with his happy dancing. But Dante maintained his position, his attention on the star of the show. And he swore she was looking right at him.

Wishful thinking. Like hoping she’ll promise to love me after a few weeks on the road together and a helluva lot of sex, some kinky, some not-so-boring.

Chrissie played a few chords on her guitar, and the Sin City theater fell silent. She leaned into the mic. “This one is called ‘When Love Comes Last.’”

Fuck.

Dante took the hit. Those words felt like a swift uppercut, and he braced for the lyrics, knowing it would be like a series of jabs. But he’d stand tall and listen to her sing.

Because she’s right. Sometimes love takes second place.

He’d known that from the start of his first marriage. He had loved his ex-wife, and he’d remained loyal to her. But sometimes, his country came first.

The first verse of the song washed over him. And the message was pretty damn clear. Love needed time and space to grow. Holding hands, long kisses under the moonlight—she’d incorporated the tried and true elements of a country love song. But then she reached the chorus.

He watched as she hesitated, repeating a chord or two as if she’d lost track of the song. Instead of staring out into the lights, she appeared to be scanning the front section. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

But then, she seemingly summoned her courage and sang.

With every kiss, I steal you away from someone who needs you more…

He closed his eyes and pictured the hostage, the scarred half-starved American woman who’d been capture by terrorists. He’d saved her life. Sure, he’d only been one piece of the team that had busted in to rescue her. But if he hadn’t gone, if he’d stayed home and held tight to the woman he loved…

No, that wasn’t an option. He couldn’t let the bad guys win. As long as he was physically capable of fighting people dead set against destroying the things he believed in, the promise of freedom that had pushed his grandfather to resettle in this country, he had to go.

If you stay, you wouldn’t be the man I know. The man I love…

He opened his eyes and, from his position in the front row, he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. She’d cried onstage before while singing the song about her brother. But she’d never wept like this, the tears washing away her makeup and revealing her freckles.

She looked so damn vulnerable up there. But it was a disguise. A mirage. She was strong. Hell, she’d even learned to fight like a Navy SEAL. She could take care of herself and her family.

And if she quit, if she pulled back from the career that demanded she move from city to city, well hell, she wouldn’t be the woman he’d fallen in love with, either. Her family needed her right here, on this stage and the one after that.

When loves comes last to another’s hopes, when love comes last to a child’s dreams…

Dante filled in the blanks as she played a guitar solo. When love came last, when it needed to take a backseat to something so much more important—like holding a family together—then that love didn’t belong in the present.

He turned and pushed his way to the aisle. He muttered apologies as he went, but he knew he had to leave. Now. He couldn’t wait until the end of the show. He couldn’t walk up to the woman he loved and congratulate her on writing a song that would hit number one on the damn charts.

The lyrics bombarded him like a rapid-fire attack, and their message cut as if he’d been hit. Hell, he couldn’t fault her for hiding her thoughts. Now, she’d mastered communication, all right. She’d even offered an easy out. No messy good-byes or what-ifs, just a front row ticket to her heartbreak.

And his.

He paused at the door that connected the auditorium to the Sin City hotel. Behind him, the audience rose to their feet and clapped. He glanced over his shoulder and took one last look at the woman on the stage. He couldn’t see her tears from here, but he knew they were still there. She clutched her guitar as if it were her lifeline.

What if he rushed the stage, overtook her security, and smashed that damn instrument to pieces? He could go up there and fight—not for a hostage or peace in an unstable part of the world, but for a future that felt so far out of reach.

He turned away and pushed through the door. He felt tears threatening to fall. There was no point in chasing heartbreak. He’d already suffered his fair share and then some, leaving him feeling like half a fucking SEAL. Now, he needed to walk away and focus on safeguarding his heart again. And then he needed to turn his focus to his career.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured with one last glance at the now-closed doors. He could hear the audience on the other side applauding her performance. “I can’t stay, because you’re right, our love belongs in the past.”

Chapter Twenty

Chrissie stared at her manager and tried to determine if she should hit hard or haul ass.

I can’t break Mason’s nose for delivering good news.

Still, she was having a hard time holding tight to logic since Dante left. He hadn’t said good-bye. He’d just vanished. She’d panicked after the show when he didn’t reappear. And she’d tried calling his cell. But he hadn’t picked up. Not once.

By three in the morning, she’d dragged her new bodyguard on a wild search to find Cassie, the lead singer from her opening act. And she’d demanded that other singer call Ronan, her boyfriend, and find out if the SEALs had gone wheels up.

Cassie had done as she’d asked. The SEALs were in Coronado. For now. The next morning, Ronan’s girlfriend had told her that Dante was back at the base. He’d gone for a run with the guys that morning.

And Chrissie had tried to be happy about the news. She’d smiled for her fans at the airport as she boarded the private jet headed for Nashville. On the flight, she’d played card games with her little sister, followed by dolls—anything to avoid talking to her mother or her manager about the song she’d performed last night.

But now, back in the Nashville recording studio, she couldn’t hide from her manager anymore. She couldn’t haul ass and hide behind the pretense of needing to play another game of Go Fish with Melissa.

“Did you hear what I said, Chrissie?” Mason stood in the recording studio’s writing room. It held two couches and a baby grand piano. “The live acoustic version of “When Loves Comes Last” is number one on iTunes.”

Chrissie nodded and forced a smile. “I heard.”

“The label wants you to record your new hit with the full band,” he added.

She nodded, half listening as her manager rambled on about future plans for the song and her label’s requests.

“Congratulations,” Mason said. “There’s no chance you’ll be a one-hit wonder. Not anymore. And if “Rush of Love” takes off—”

“It won’t,” she said. Because she hadn’t written that one from the heart. When she’d penned those lyrics, she didn’t have a clue how it felt to fall in love. And she hadn’t experienced heartbreak.

But now…

“‘Rush of Love’ won’t hit number one, and you know it, Mason.” She picked up the pen and paper on her lap. “But my next love ’em and leave ’em song will.”

Her manager leaned his shoulder against the door. “Chrissie, you’ve had a couple hits, and everyone’s thrilled with “When Love Comes Last.” But you need something fun and upbeat. If you want to keep going in this business—”

“I do,” she said firmly.

“Then you need a hit song that isn’t tied up with loving and losing a soldier,” he said.

“Sailors. They’re sailors.” She turned her attention to a pad of paper in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her cell phone lying on the wooden table, nestled between the couches. Should she try Dante again? Just to make sure he was all right?

No, he’s out there doing what he’s supposed to be doing—saving the world.

And she needed to stay here and pour her heart into her music. She couldn’t let her mind wander and wonder if she’d made a mistake.

She heard Mason leave, the door clicking shut behind him. She needed to write. Her songs were the only pieces of her life that had always been there for her. But, as she put pen to paper, she couldn’t escape the nagging doubts.

What if I made a mistake? What if I messed up, placing my career and my success first? What if Dante’s more important?

But even if she said yes to her heart, even if she walked out of this recording studio and boarded the next flight to California, he’d still ship out.

“Chrissie?”

A knock accompanied the familiar voice, and she looked up as the door opened. Her mother stepped inside.

“I’m writing, Mom,” she said, waving the empty paper. “And I don’t want to talk about last night. Mason’s already stopped by to share the good news. The song is number one.”

“That’s great.” Her mother claimed a seat on the opposite couch. “But I’m not here about the song.”

Chrissie looked at her mother. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Chrissie, this has nothing to do with you. But I’m going to leave the tour for a while,” her mother said. “I need to spend some time in Florida.”

Nothing to do with her? Her success had shredded her parents’ picture-perfect love.

“Dad can handle things at home,” Chrissie said, rising to her father’s defense once again. “You can trust him.”

“I do.” Her mother glanced down at her entwined fingers. “And I still love him. But if we have a chance of making our marriage work again—”

“You need to stay away from my tour. My career. This crazy, fast-paced industry that…that feels like poison when it comes to relationships.”

Her mother’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. The blue eyes mirrored her own. Her mom abandoned her place on the couch, crossed the small sitting area, and claimed a seat beside Chrissie.

“No,” her mother said. “Your father and I—our problems go back a long time. I heard your song last night, Chrissie. And you’re right, sometime love comes second to kids and work. For us, we didn’t have a choice. We needed to prioritize work to keep our family together. But underneath it all, driving us, was love. For you, your brothers and sisters. And for each other.”

“Mom, I’ve heard you fight,” she protested. “You never used to scream at each other.”

“Not in front of you,” she said. “And when things started falling apart, well, we learned after the twins were born that we needed to seek help. We started seeing a marriage counselor. We went back after Joe died. But then your career exploded, and we wanted to support you, honey. We did our best—”

“At the cost of your marriage,” she said.

“Along the way, we forgot to put love first. It’s still there. We just need some time together to talk things through.” Her mom patted her knee. “And I know you have your music under control. You’re doing great, Chrissie. But don’t forget to take some time for yourself, too. You can’t put your job first forever.”

“I need to write this album,” she said, still reeling from the revelation that she hadn’t destroyed her parents’ marriage with her climb to country stardom. She wasn’t to blame for their problems. It wasn’t a simple choice between her success and their love…

Of course it wasn’t. Love didn’t arrive in a neatly tied package, waiting to be unwrapped at the perfect time. And it couldn’t be stuffed back inside on a whim.

“That song’s all wrong,” she muttered.

Her mother stood. “Chrissie, it was honest and heartfelt. That’s never wrong. But please don’t stay in that place forever. If you love him, your bodyguard, find a way to make your relationship a priority.”

“It’s too late,” she said. “He left. He didn’t even say good-bye.”

“I’ve been married to your father since I was eighteen. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ve always found our way forward together. Trust me, it’s never too late. I know you can find a way if he’s what you want.”

“He is. But Dante’s a SEAL.”

“Even SEALs can fall in love.” Her mother reached down, took her hand, and pulled her off the couch. “Don’t walk away from him because it feels impossible. Or at least, that’s my advice. You need to do what’s right for you.”

Chrissie held tight to her mother. A relationship with the SEAL she loved looked like a deadly obstacle course. He’d deploy to a terrorist hot spot. She’d fly from one American city to the next. When would they have time to be together and make sure their love didn’t crumble?

Never.

But the only other option, not touring and waiting for him in Coronado, being there when he came home…could she give up her career for Dante?

Maybe.

She glanced at the door. She wanted to run to him. But it felt selfish. Her family had so much more now. And she could keep providing for them—if she stayed.

She pulled away from her mother’s embrace. “Say hi to Dad for me. And the twins.”

“I will,” her mother promised. She headed for the door, gave one last wave, and then she was gone.

Chrissie sank down on the sofa. Time to write a fun, upbeat love song. Her pencil hovered over the page, and her mind stumbled back to the first time she’d walked out of her hotel bedroom wearing a French maid outfit, or when she’d walked into his room in her short skirt and boots. The heat in Dante’s eyes…

Take it off…

You’re mine tonight…

The words flowed. And so did the tears. Because she didn’t want the memories. She wanted Dante.

Don’t walk away from him because it feels impossible.

Her mother’s words echoed in the empty room as if they wished to override her upbeat lyrics. Maybe her career wouldn’t prove a dead end. She’d been so certain her fame had destroyed her parents… What if she was wrong again? About her and Dante?

If she was willing to try a long-distance relationship, if she promised to do whatever it took—long flights from her latest concert to California, fewer tour dates, less recording time…

The odds were stacked against her. Chances were they’d never be able to make it work. But as long as he was alive, as long as he loved her, she had to try.

“Mason,” she screamed. She was on her feet and at the door, pulling it open. She found Moira, her silent and always-present bodyguard outside the door. “Mason!”

Her manager rushed down the hall. “What’s the matter?” he demanded.

“I need to go to California,” she announced. “I have to find Dante and tell him I was wrong.”

“Chrissie.” Mason raised his hands, palms flat in surrender. “You have a concert at the Bluebird in a few hours. Your fans are expecting to see you on that stage. And you demanded that all the money from this one go to charity.”

Go anyway,
she thought.

But she couldn’t do that to the fans who’d given her so much. Without them, she would still be writing songs during her breaks from scanning groceries. She’d be playing bars and small-town fairs. And she’d have never met her guard SEAL.

Plus, she’d have to refund the ticket price, and the charity would lose out because of her love life. And if she was wrong about Dante… If he didn’t want to try…

“After the show,” she said firmly. “I want a plane at the airport, waiting to take me to California. I don’t care where he is. If he’s out in the ocean or running those crazy fast miles with his team. I’m going to find him.”

…

“What the hell, man?” Ronan called as he ran up to Dante’s side and matched his pace. “This isn’t a peaceful sightseeing jog down the beach. You need to run like your life depends on it. Or my life.”

Fuck you, sir.

But he didn’t dare say those words out loud. Instead, Dante charged forward and kicked up sand as he went. This wasn’t an official training exercise. He still had forty-eight hours before he reported for duty. But Ronan had agreed to run with him and help kick his ass into gear for when he returned to base.

“Did all that standing around, guarding a cute piece of ass—”

“Fuck you.” Yeah, this time he didn’t hold back. No, he stopped and turned to face his friend and teammate, fists raised and ready to fight.

Ronan jogged in place and raised his hands in the universal signal of surrender. “Relax, Dante. I’m just giving you the kind of shit the guys are going to dole out when you get back. And you know you need to turn around and walk away when they do.”

“No fucking way,” he shot back. “Would you just stand by and take it if Cade or Jack called your girl ‘a piece of ass’?”

“No, but I’ve made it clear that she’s not a one-week or even one-month distraction,” Ronan said as he turned and started running again.

Dante followed, matching the punishing pace. “Chrissie wasn’t just a distraction. I love her.”

“And yet you’re spending your last few days of medical leave running with me.” Ronan shook his head but didn’t slow down. “I’m sure your girl is feeling the love right now.”

“You heard that damn song.” Dante growled. The words he knew she’d written for him had played over and over on the radio. And to rub salt in the wound, they repeated a recording of her live acoustic performance in Vegas. “She’s tied to her music career, sleeping in a different city every night. And you know we’re going wheels up soon. I was on the base today, and I heard rumblings about Syria. Who knows how long we’ll be there? It’s not like their civil war will end tomorrow, the terrorists will move out, and everything will go back to being hunky-dory.”

“Be nice if it did,” Ronan said. “But yeah, I’d say that’s a fantasy.”

“Relationships take time. Hell, look what happened to my last one. All that waiting and worrying takes a toll. Never mind the fact that I can’t say a damn word about where I’ve been when I return. And if I can’t even see Chrissie when I’m back in the states?”

“Who says you can’t?” Ronan asked. “I’ve managed to see Cassie. She flies to San Diego when I’m here. And we keep in touch. Email, letters. You know Jack and Cade do the same. Jack wrote to Natalie every day on our last deployment and the one before that. He’s probably penned a book by this point.”

“But…” Dante panted, pushing himself to run faster. Because dammit, Ronan wasn’t even breathing hard.

“But this is about your ex, isn’t it?”

“I loved her,” Dante ground out. “I gave her everything I had to give. And still our marriage broke. We stopped talking about damn near everything. And after that, her loyalty went down the drain.”

He’d spent a lot of time looking at how “till death do us part” had turned into “till I start screwing the plumber.” And yeah, that particular trip down memory lane had always left him bitter. He’d felt like a failure, incompetent when it came to love and happily ever after. But now? Looking at the past made him sad. Still, there was also a sense of relief that it was in the past. And maybe the sense of hope that he could make different choices this time. That Chrissie wasn’t his ex, and happily ever after could be his—
theirs
—if he had the balls to claim it.

“Stop,” Ronan barked.