To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (6 page)

“He had a knife.” The country star kept her wide-eyed gaze on him. “And you slapped him. You…” She raised an eyebrow. “You hit like a girl.”

Dante shook his head as the adrenaline rush faded. “Most of the women I rescue say thank you.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice open, honest, and so damn sincere. She drew Melissa to her side and ran her hand over her sister’s long blond hair. “I froze when I saw him. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”

The little girl’s crying subsided as her grip tightened around Chrissie.

“If someone gave me a microphone and pushed me out on the stage, I couldn’t sing a note,” he said, withdrawing his cell from his pocket. Now that she was secure, he needed to contact Ronan. He wanted his teammate out there, dealing with the police, with Mason, and making damn sure they knew this guy had been stalking Chrissie.

“But then you hit him with your hand,” she said again, and he glanced down at her. “I think I could do that. With a few lessons.”

Dante heard the implied
from you
. Now wasn’t the time to crush her confidence. She should know how to defend herself. But he felt like he’d landed himself back at the music video shoot or on the loveseat in her hotel room. And dammit, he wasn’t the answer to all her problems. Maybe this one. But…

He didn’t want to get involved. No flings. No heartache. He’d already given her one orgasm. Another would cross the line. He needed to strengthen his knee and get back to work. He had a job he loved. And it didn’t involve training drop-dead gorgeous country music stars to fend off stalkers.

“Yes, you could,” he said.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” she said, her voice strong, as if the thought of learning how to break a man’s nose had extinguished her fear. Hell, maybe it had.

“I’m fired, remember?” he said.

“I’m rehiring you,” she said. “And offering you a contract extension. Come on tour with me.”

“I have a job.”

“I know. But until your knee heals, you can’t do it, can you?”

Dante gritted his teeth. Why the hell did those words sound so emasculating? He’d hurt himself during a freaking rescue. And tonight, he’d saved her ass.

“I should be cleared for duty in a few weeks.”

“Come on tour with me,” she said again. “As soon as your knee is better, go back to doing what you love. Until then, you can teach me to fight like a SEAL. When you leave, you’ll know that I’ll be able to take care of myself, because I learned from the best.”

“Flattery won’t help, Chrissie.”

“Please.” She glanced at the door and tightened her hold on her sister. “I need you.”

Ah, hell.

“Fine, but—”

“Your rules,” she said with a triumphant smile. “I know.”

Which includes steering clear of your bed.

If he didn’t, if he ended up back in her room and spent another night on her freaking loveseat, he couldn’t guarantee his heart would survive this mission. And he couldn’t protect the people who needed him—including America’s country sweetheart—if he was distracted by desire. The job had to come first. Always.

His phone rang. He looked down at the screen and saw Ronan’s name. He answered the call and started talking, filling in his teammate. Mason burst into the room moments later, followed by a member of Las Vegas’s finest. And Dante didn’t have another minute to focus on the fact that he’d agreed to spend the rest of his leave teaching a country starlet how to fight like a SEAL.

Chapter Eight

I’m not going to die of boredom, that’s for damn sure.

Dante stared into the hallway, his brain temporarily misfiring. Part of him wanted to drag the woman on the other side of the door into his room. And the other…hell, he wasn’t sure if his common sense had made the trip to Portland.

The Chrissie Tate tour had packed up and left Vegas yesterday. Dante had flown with the star herself and Mason, her manager, to Oregon for the next show. The crew would follow with the gear, arriving in time for tomorrow night’s concert. And against Dante’s recommendation, Chrissie’s mother and little sister would also be joining them for not only tomorrow’s show, but for the rest of the West Coast leg of Chrissie Tate’s national tour.

Dante had been in his hotel room for all of ten minutes before he heard a knock. And then he’d opened the door…

“I thought I told you to stay in your room.” He growled at the woman determined to drag him around the country. But hell, if she showed up dressed like this at every stop, it might be worth it. If he wasn’t responsible for her safety, he’d probably welcome her in and toss aside his plans to avoid flings—in Vegas or anywhere else.

“Don’t worry.” Chrissie brushed the strands on her Morticia Addams wig over her shoulder and walked into the room. “No one recognized me.”

But he’d bet damn near anything they’d seen and remembered her. Because, instead of matching the long black-haired wig with a conservative dress, she’d opted for a black tutu, a skintight off-the-shoulder black shirt, fishnet stockings, and knee-high black patent leather boots with skyscraper stiletto heels. A worn black backpack completed the outfit.

Country music’s current sweetheart looked like she was dressed for a stripper’s funeral. Sure, it covered more of her gorgeous body than the maid outfit, but not much.

“How many people saw you like this?” he demanded.
And were they male?

“A couple of guys in the elevator.” She shrugged. “They didn’t even give me a second glance. This is my punk rock disguise. And that’s big here.”

Dante didn’t give a damn what she called her outfit. It was sexy as hell. Those guys in the elevator? They were probably dreaming about her boots—while stroking one off.

“So you rotate through these getups?” he said. If she’d worn that maid outfit beyond her hotel room…

“Don’t worry,” she said. “The French maid outfit was just for you. The other night, well, I thought you were leaving. And before you went…”

“You wanted to try your hand at seduction?” he supplied.

“Yes. But I lied about needing help with disguises. Ever since the tour launched, I’ve been using different wigs and outfits when I don’t want to deal with fans. It doesn’t help when they run at me with a knife. But in an elevator? The wigs work like a charm.”

He closed the door and silently swore he wouldn’t fantasize about her boots, her legs, or any other piece of her after he returned her to the hotel’s presidential suite.

But, as soon as he turned to face her, he knew he’d break his own promise. Chrissie was perched on the edge of his bed, bent at the waist as she unzipped her right boot.

“Chrissie, what are you doing here? If you needed me, why didn’t you call?”

“I want to start our lessons.” She kicked off the first boot and began unzipping the second. “Your room is better than mine. People are always knocking on my door. This way we can focus.”

She stood and pulled off the wig. Her long blond ponytail unraveled and fell down her back.

“Lessons.” Dante took in the walking, talking fantasy in his room. Short skirt. Stockings. All-American freckles dotting her face as if she’d spent the day out in the sun before dressing to drive him insane. And yeah, he was hard as a fucking rock. The only lesson he wanted to give involved her skirt around her waist and the bed.

“My Navy SEAL lessons.” She picked up her black backpack. “Let me change, and then we’ll start.”

Dante nodded. If he opened his mouth, he’d probably ask her to keep on the skirt and stockings. He’d never met a Navy SEAL who trained for hand-to-hand combat in fishnets, but…

The bathroom door clicked shut, and he stared at the brass knob. He began counting backward from one hundred and hoping like hell his physical reaction subsided before she opened the door. He hit fifty, his dick still begging to be released from his jeans, when the door opened.

She’d traded the off-the-shoulder shirt for a fitted tank and sports bra. And in place of the skirt? Running shorts. It didn’t come close to a fantasy getup. But Dante had a feeling his X-rated daydreams were about to change.

And teaching Chrissie to fight? That gave a new definition to the term “Hell Week.” Because the minute he touched her again, the second he felt her bare skin, he would harden. By the time he had transformed country’s version of a Disney princess into a SEAL, his balls would be blue.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him wearing a mask of freckle-faced determination. “Where do we start?”

Change back into that outfit with the fishnet stockings and climb on the bed. Let me lick you again…

Dante crossed his arms in front of his chest and forced himself to focus.

“There are two basic rules in hand-to-hand combat. Hit hard and haul ass.”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

“Can you?” He raised an eyebrow. He’d witnessed sailors entering BUD/S, the elite Navy SEAL training program, who held back when sparring with an “attacker.” And nine times out ten, they lost the fight. “When you strike another person, you need to commit to it. Aim for a vulnerable spot, and don’t hold back.”

“I won’t,” she assured him. “Tell me where and how, and I’ll hit you hard.”

The blood powering his train of thought headed south. He knew she hadn’t meant those words as a come-on. But the thought of her pressing him up against the wall, taking a swing at him, yeah, it turned him on. Any excuse to touch her…

“It’s your right,” he continued, struggling to regain his footing in the lesson. “Not to be attacked or hurt by another person. Remember that and hit hard. Then, if you see an opportunity, haul ass. Hell, if you have the chance to run before your opponent attacks, take it and—”

“Haul ass. I got it.”

“But if you do need to strike,” he said, moving his feet hip width apart and preparing to launch at her. “Focus on the face and neck. The nose and windpipe are always safe bets.” He took a step forward. “Now come at me.”

She launched across the room, and her fist connected with his neck. Not hard. She’d held back. And it helped that he hadn’t put up much effort to fight her off. Most of the men likely to attack her wouldn’t have his training or ability to play defense. So he’d let her land the hit before catching her right wrist in his hand.

“Not bad,” he said, gasping for air. “But you could try harder.”

“Harder?” she repeated, stepping back and pulling free from his hold.

He nodded and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. She caught on fast, and he didn’t want to make this too easy for her. Plus, he was rested and ready for a little PT. Ronan had taken over protection duty for the past twenty-four hours. Then his teammate had driven back to Coronado. And Dante, still on freaking medical leave, had boarded a plane to wet, rainy Oregon.

But right now medical leave isn’t looking so bad.

Chrissie came at him again, and this time he caught her fist before she landed a jab on his windpipe.

“Better,” he said, holding tight to her hand. He wanted to keep her close, and his reasons didn’t have a damn thing to do with SEAL training. “But you should try hitting like a girl.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re a fully qualified SEAL?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Remember the way I broke your stalker’s nose?”

She nodded, and her muscles relaxed. But she didn’t withdraw her hand.

“A powerful hit with an open palm hurts like hell,” he continued. “Your hand contains the densest bone in your body. Now it might not have as big an impact when slapped against your thigh, but—”

“Like this?” she murmured smacking her hand against his uninjured leg.

It was a playful swat, delivered close enough to his groin to send an altogether different message. His cock perked up and rose to attention as if she’d issued an invitation.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “But harder.”

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Harder?”

“Unless you’re hauling ass, yeah it is.”

She stepped closer. “I’m not running away. I want to try again.”

“I should warn you, I’m going to defend myself,” he murmured.

She nodded and stepped back again.

I can’t take much more of this.

He wanted to pull her close, kiss those full lips, and take her to his bed. He wanted to touch her, taste her, and bury himself inside her—

“Shit,” he said, capturing her wrist a split second before she landed a powerful hit against his windpipe. Instead of mentally stripping off her tank top and sports bra, he needed to pay attention or risk an injury that might sideline him for the night.

“That was close,” he murmured. “Someone else, with less training, would be on the floor fighting to breathe. And when that happens, you—”

“Haul ass.” She smiled. “I know. But if I end up here, caught by my opponent, am I supposed to do this?”

She shifted her body closer and raised her free hand. Her palm brushed his jaw. Her touch was soft, sweet, and unlike any assailant he’d ever encountered. She moved her fingers through his hair. She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Then, maintaining her hold on him, she drew back.

“No, honey,” he said, his voice rough with wanting. Another hit, another touch, another kiss—he’d take it all. “Do that and you’re asking for a whole world of trouble.”

…

Chrissie stared up at her combat instructor. She wanted to learn self-defense. She’d been glancing over her shoulder ever since the incident after her concert. Knowing she would find a way to come out on top, that a U.S. Navy SEAL would train her—while also watching out for her—was the only thing that had helped her through the long interview with the police.

Her mother had arrived on the scene not long after her manager. Her momma had made a fuss, demanding more security, more from the police, more, more, more. Ever since Chrissie started making money, her mother had developed a fascination with more.

After listing her demands to anyone who would listen, her mother had led Melissa away. Chrissie hated the fact that her little sister was safer somewhere else, away from her. But facing that sad truth had also strengthened her resolve. She would demand that Dante teach her everything he knew. By the time he went back to the job he loved, she wouldn’t need hired muscle. At least not for her peace of mind. Her manager had made it crystal clear that “bodyguard” would be a line item on her budget moving forward.

Chrissie had walked into the room determined. So why was she sabotaging her first lesson?

Because she wanted another night with the man who’d made her scream with pleasure and then tucked her into bed without asking for anything in return. Her mother wasn’t the only one who wanted more from Chrissie’s fame. But what Chrissie wanted didn’t come with a price tag. His hands on her, his lips claiming hers, his body pressed up against her, his mouth delivering another orgasm…

One kiss on-camera, one failed seduction, a wild rescue, and a few conversations? That was the closest she’d come to a relationship in years. She’d been on the road or in a recording studio giving her music her all. She hadn’t looked for a friend, a boyfriend, or a lover. She’d worked.

And then Dante had walked into her life. He’d given her a treat, a break, a taste of sex, without asking for anything. Everyone needed something from her. But not Dante.

She liked him. She trusted him. She respected him. And she
wanted
him. Plus, he was leaving in a few weeks. The job he loved demanded that he return to duty. They weren’t looking at a potential long-term relationship that would probably implode due to her demanding career. Look at her parents. They barely spent any time together anymore due to the tour schedule and her need to record a new album.

But until he left, until Dante disappeared from her life and returned to his team…

“What kind of trouble?” she asked, stepping closer. She stood with her feet hip-distance apart and straddled his good leg. She rocked her hips and pressed up against the hard length she wanted to feel in her hands and explore with her lips.

Dante stared down at her. “A kiss might give your opponent the impression you want something like this.” He lowered his mouth to her neck.

“I do,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

She leaned her head back and arched her spine—a silent plea for more. His hands obeyed and ran up her sides. But this time, he didn’t brush past her breasts. His fingers glided around the front of her tank top and teased her nipples through her clothes.

Stupid, stupid sports bra!

He pulled back from her neck and stared down at her chest. And she opened her eyes, her lips parted, her body on fire with need. He cupped her breasts in his palms and tested the weight through the layers of clothing.

Oh God, yes…more…

Could she come just like this? Fully clothed? With his hands on her breasts, her hips rocking back and forth against his thigh? Probably not. But she was willing to give it a shot.

He looked up, his brow furrowed, and his hands abandoned her breasts in favor of her hips. His tight grip stilled her needy movements.

I certainly can’t come like this.

“I think we’re moving on to a different type of lesson,” he said. The sound of his low voice rivaled his touch, and she reconsidered her impending orgasm.

“I’m on familiar ground here. Aside from the other night, it’s been a while. A long, long while—”

He gave a growl of approval as if he liked the idea that she’d been waiting for him. Her lips curled up, and she reached for the hem of his gray Navy T-shirt and drew it up to take a peek at his abs.