To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (14 page)

Dante planted his boots in the sand, placed his hands on his knees, and glanced up at the friend and teammate who outranked him. “What the hell, man?” Dante said. “I was finally hitting my stride and you—”

“Do you trust Chrissie?” the redheaded SEAL demanded. With his hands on his hips, wearing camo pants and black steel-toed boots that matched Dante’s, Ronan looked every inch a Navy SEAL officer.

“Yes, sir.” The words slipped out. And Dante realized he didn’t have to give it a second thought. He had faith in Chrissie. No internal debate needed.

Ronan raised his eyebrows. “You believe she won’t cheat on you? How can you be sure?”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “She’s different from my ex. Chrissie understands my call to serve. Hell, listen to her lyrics, man. It’s part of what she likes about me.”

“A lot of women like SEALs,” Ronan challenged. “They’re drawn to the idea of the superman. They want to be the one to bed the hero.”

“Not Chrissie.” Dante stood tall and faced his friend. “I mean she likes the SEAL stuff. In the beginning, she wanted SEAL lessons.”

“Spare me the details,” Ronan said dryly.

“Self-defense lessons,” Dante said, and he was about to call his teammate out for his dirty mind. But looking back on where those lessons had ended up, and yeah, best to leave that one alone.

“Sure, Dante. But do me a favor and don’t mention your ‘SEAL lessons’ to the guys. I don’t want to hear about the young newbies hitting up the local bar and offering special SEAL sessions to the women.”

He wouldn’t breath a word to anyone. But still, he wanted Ronan to understand. “Chrissie respects what we do, man. And she gets why I want to serve my country not just for a few years, but as long as I can. She understands me in a way… Hell, I never thought a woman would accept my drive to be in the Navy. But she does.”

“I know,” Ronan said, and his tone shifted back into serious mode. “I’ve heard her music, too.”

“And talk about loyal.” Dante looked down at the sand. “She stands by her family and her fans. She gives and gives to them, never expecting anything in return.”

“Let me see if I understand,” Ronan said. “You found a beautiful woman whom you trust. By some miracle, she welcomed your crazy ass into her bed. And you’re standing here, with forty-eight hours left of medical leave, running on the beach in your boots, and she’s…”

“In Nashville,” he said. “She has a concert tonight, recording tomorrow, then she ships out for New York City.”

“Does she give bad head?” Ronan said.

Dante took a step back. The SEAL officer sounded like he was channeling one of their other teammates. Ronan wasn’t crude. “She…”

Gives custom blow jobs.

“Chrissie’s great in bed, asshole,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who loves me like she does.”

Because she listened to him. He told her what he wanted, and she didn’t toss aside his words. As long as they talked to each other—in bed and out—they’d been able to communicate their needs.

“Then what are you doing here?” Ronan asked softly.

Dante took off, his boot-covered feet chewing up the sand. He hadn’t run this fast since his accident. But he had to get to Chrissie. He couldn’t wait another minute. He had to talk to her. And this time, he’d make it clear that he wanted to find a way forward. He trusted her. He loved her. They could work out the details from there—as long as they just kept talking.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dante scanned the security team outside the Nashville venue. Compared to the Vegas hotel auditoriums or big city arenas, the Bluebird Café held a couple of dozen people. And at first glance, he thought he had the wrong address. But then he saw Moira the Marine giving instructions to the bouncers.

“Moira,” he called as he rushed to the front door.

She turned to him, her expression like stone. “Raske. I was told you’d reported for duty.”

“I have forty-eight hours, ma’am.” He stopped in front of the former Marine and assumed a parade rest position. “I’m here to see Ms. Tate. She’s performing here tonight, right?”

Moira nodded. “She takes the stage in fifteen. You can see her after the show.”

“I’d like to speak with her now,” he said firmly.

Chrissie’s bodyguard shook her head. “After. She’s nervous right now. Representatives from her label are here. No visitors are allowed—including family and friends—until after the show.”

“Did Mason tell you that?” he demanded. “I bet her manager intended to keep her parents away. Not me.”

“The rules aren’t open to interpretation, sir.”

“I’m not an officer,” he said. How the hell was he going to get around Moira? “Is Mason around?”

Moira stared at him. “He’s dealing with a ticket crisis right now. You’ll have to
wait.
”

“I’ll buy a ticket,” he said.

“I have orders. Ms. Tate cannot be distracted tonight.” Moira marched over to the bouncer collecting tickets. “Don’t sell this man a ticket.”

Then she turned on her heels and disappeared inside.

Dante glanced through the open door and spotted a handful of empty tables. Most of the men had removed their cowboy hats and rested them on the table. But one glance around at the variety of boots and fitted jeans…he’d bet this crowd appreciated a song about a tractor. Still, they all looked clean and ready for a night out. And some wore suits with their boots, suggesting that this was a working night on the town.

He looked down at his clothes. He still wore the ripped, sweat-stained T-shirt he’d been running in before he’d headed to the airport. He hadn’t stopped at home to shower and change. With forty-eight hours left until he reported for duty, he’d wanted to get to Chrissie. He’d grabbed his go-bag, a duffel with a change of clothes, and some gear, and he’d boarded the next flight to Nashville.

“How long before the show starts?” he asked the bouncer, an idea taking shape in his mind. He’d been trained to find a way around “no” and to think outside the box. And he didn’t give up easily.

“Not long now,” the large man guarding the café door replied. “Listen, if she says I can’t let you in, I can’t let you in. That woman will have my balls if I don’t follow her orders. Come back when it’s over, buddy.”

Dante nodded. “I’ll do that.”

He turned and headed back to his rental truck. Then he looked up open stores and programmed his GPS. It might take him half the show, but he’d find a way in.

Forty minutes later, he pulled back into the Bluebird Café lot. He’d switched to cowboy boots, added a Stetson, and traded his cargos for a pair of Wranglers. And a button-down plaid shirt covered his T-shirt. Sure, he could still use a haircut. His dark curls weren’t close to military short. Not that it mattered for his missions. He found it easier to blend in if he didn’t look like the other boots on the ground in the Middle East. But without the hat, he still looked more southern Italian than American cowboy. Still, he approached the door ready to play the part.

He reached the bouncer. “One ticket for Ms. Tate’s show,” he drawled in a Southern twang that would have his Italian ancestors rolling in their graves.

“A hundred dollars,” the bouncer said. “All proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project. But I should tell you, she sang ‘How Do I Remember You’ already.”

“That’s not the song I came to hear.” Dante handed over the cash, the first obstacle removed, and walked into the café.

He found a seat at a corner table set for two. Then he turned his attention to the woman on the stage.

Chrissie had traded her sequined tops for an
I Love Nashville
T-shirt and jeans. She looked at home on the smaller stage as she picked up an acoustic guitar and took a seat on a high stool.

“Sing it, Chrissie!” Someone close to the front called out. “Play ‘When Love Comes Second’, Chrissie!”

He’d grown accustomed to the thunderous applause she received in the larger venues. In this intimate setting, with small groups of people gathered around tables, the polite cheering seemed out of place.

She played the first few chords of her new chart-topping single. Then she stopped, and her smile faded. “I know you all came to hear my new hit. But tonight, I can’t sing that one.”

A chorus of “what?” and “you’re kidding” rang through the café, accompanied by murmurings.

“I can’t perform it for you tonight,” she continued. “Because I think I got the words all wrong.”

The crowd fell silent.

“Having the opportunity to sing for you all, it’s meant everything to me for so long. I love getting up onstage night after night and sharing my songs with you. I write from the heart. And I think you all know that by now. My lyrics are about my family, and at the same time, my music supports them. I’ve kept my eye on the prize for my family and for my fans. More songs written straight from my heart.”

“You delivered!” a voice from the crowd shouted. “Sing ‘When Love Comes Second’!”

“But that’s just it,” she said with a woeful smile. “Love shouldn’t come second. Especially not for the men and women serving our country.”

Dante was on his feet and heading for the stage as soon as the words crossed her lips. As he headed for the stairs leading to the raised section, he called out, “Are you saying love comes first, Ms. Tate?”

She turned her head to him, and her eyes widened. Judging from the surprise in her big blue eyes, Moira hadn’t told the talent that her former bodyguard had dropped by and tried to get into the show. But the former Marine was on to him now. Chrissie’s new hired muscle had abandoned her post stage right and was heading for him.

“I’ll handle this,” Chrissie called to the former Marine.

Moira stepped aside and let him slip past her. He climbed the two stairs to the stage. No doubt the Marine had seen through his disguise, too. Maybe the rest of the crowd had as well.

Either way, he was walking up there dressed as Dante the cowboy. He’d never felt so unprepared. Sure, he’d worn disguises before. But he’d never tried to win over the woman he loved while hiding behind a costume. There was a chance she’d break his heart all over again, and in front of this crowd of bona fide cowboys.

“Are you sure?” Moira asked as Chrissie raised her hands.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze fixed on him. “Don’t worry about me. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat by a Navy SEAL.”

The crowd laughed as if this was all part of the show. And maybe for her it was. Maybe she’d been lying about changing the lyrics to her new hit. Hell, for all he knew, it was a marketing ploy set in motion by his old pal, Mason. And there was only one way to find out.

“Planning to take me down, ma’am?” he asked.

Chrissie nodded and set her guitar in a nearby stand. “And you should know,
cowboy
, that I hit hard. So unless you plan to haul ass—”

“I’m not running away,” he said firmly. “Not this time. And not ever again. Because honey, love doesn’t come second in my world.”

“Well, I warned you,” she said, grinning at him as she stepped closer. And this wasn’t the fake grin she wore for her fans. This was the real deal.

He blinked under the bright lights and she took aim at his windpipe, her palm flat. His training kicked in before his mind processed the situation, and he caught her wrist. But she just kept smiling as if she’d ended up exactly where she wanted to be.

She closed the space between them and raised her free hand to his jaw. “Now it’s been a while since my last training session with a SEAL, but if I remember right, when I end up here, I do this…”

She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chrissie ran her fingers through his hair and knocked his cowboy hat to the ground. He’d come all this way for her. Her audience could take a backseat to him for tonight. She’d always performed from the heart, and tonight was no exception. And her heart belonged to the SEAL standing before her.

“Chrissie,” he murmured, breaking the kiss but keeping a hold on her wrist. His other hand had found its way to her cheek. “Honey, you’re ruining my disguise.”

“You don’t need one,” she said. “Not with me.”

“I wasn’t planning to do this here,” he said. “Like this.”

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Then toss me over your shoulder, sailor, and carry me away. We can do this anywhere you’d like.”

He looked out at the crowd. She followed his gaze, and the audience stared back, eyes glued to the stage as if someone had switched the channel from concert to live celebrity gossip.

Then he stepped back but kept a hold of her hands. “No, I’m not walking away until I say what I came to say. I love you, Chrissie Tate. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.”

“Even after I told the world that there are things more important than love?” she said.

He smiled. “Well, you’ve already admitted you were wrong about that.”

The audience laughed.

“I was,” she said.

“We can make this work with the time we have,” he said, his expression taking a turn toward serious. “I’ll fly to meet you wherever you are when I have leave. I’m not much of a writer. Not like you. But I swear, I’ll send letters or emails every damn day. It doesn’t matter where I go. And afterward, I’ll always come home to you. It won’t be perfect. But I’ll give you all I have to give—my heart, my trust—and I swear I’ll be as loyal to you as I am to my team and my country.”

“We’ll make it work,” she affirmed. “I know we will, because I won’t let you take a backseat to my career. You’re in my heart now, a part of my life and my music.”

She paused and turned to the crowd. Raising her voice, though she knew that everyone in the famous café had caught every word, she called, “Now, I know many of you don’t recognize him with his clever disguise, but I’d like to introduce you to my former bodyguard, Dante Raske, a proud member of the U.S. Navy SEALs.”

The audience applauded, and at least one person called out a heartfelt “welcome.”

“Now, I have a secret to share with you all, that I’m guessing will be out there on Twitter and all soon,” she continued. “My former bodyguard taught me a lot more than self-defense.”

A woman in the back of the intimate performance space let out a loud “woot!”

“That’s exactly how I feel when I’m with him.” She stole a quick glance at the man who was watching her as if the audience didn’t exist. He looked like the man who’d reluctantly stepped into her music video in those jeans and boots. But she could see past the clothes to the man she loved. “Because this man taught me how to open my heart to love. I got it wrong the first time I penned a song about him. But Dante, if you let me, I promise you, I’ll get it right the second time around.”

“Oh, I’ll let you, honey.” He pulled her into his arms. “You can write as many songs as you want about me. On two conditions.”

She raised an eyebrow as the crowd fell silent again. They were probably just as eager to hear his demands.

“First, no tractors in the songs you write about us.” His hands ran down her back. He held tight to her hips, drew her close, and dropped his voice. “But I’m happy to serve as your muse for the sex and love songs.”

She nodded as someone in the front row gasped. “No tractors. I can do that. And the second condition?”

“Honey, there are three little words I’m still waiting to hear,” he said, staring down at her.

She saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty lingering in his dark eyes, and she knew what to say. She ran her hands over his chest and up to his face. “Dante, I love you. No matter where you go, know that I’ll be waiting at home for you. Always.”