A Sexy SEAL Novella Anthology (8 page)

Her mind was lost as intense waves of lust
pounded over her, washed through her. She didn’t know when he
released her mouth, she hadn’t even realized he had until she felt
his tongue on her nipple. Licking. Swirling. Teasing and tempting
her higher.

Her breath came in pants. Her fingers
flexed, clenched and flexed again, working his biceps the same way
the muscles low in her belly worked her orgasm.

Sam shifted to her other breast, starting
her on that wild, demanding journey toward her next climax.

She’d be damned if she’d go alone,
though.

She knew her fingers made fast work of
buttons, zippers and fabric but she didn’t know which of them
stripped his clothes away.

“And you say you don’t want me,” he murmured
against her bare skin as he shifted his hands, both under her hips
to angle her higher.

Before Bryanna could respond, before she
knew if she was going to agree or cuss him out, he plunged.

Hard and deep, he slammed into her.

Her body went haywire. Instantly,
uncontrollably, she came. Over and over again.

Lights exploded behind her closed eyes. Air
burned, hot and raspy in her throat as she panted. Sensations
burned out of control, all thoughts disappearing as wave after wave
after wave of pleasure swept her away.

It could have been a minute, it could have
been an hour before she surfaced. When she did, Sam was still
there, still sliding in and out and in again.

“Again,” he growled. “Go over again.”

Sam thrust harder, hesitated, then slammed
into her again. Then, because he had more control of her body than
she did, Bryanna did exactly as Sam told her to do.

He came with a roar, shattering her into
tiny pieces of pleasure. So many pieces. Some, she knew, that she’d
never, ever have again.

Sitting on the side of Bryanna’s unmade bed,
Sam pressed the heels of both hands into his forehead, wishing he
could simply squish the pain away. But the throbbing, aching misery
wouldn’t budge.

God, what a night.

He had no complaints about the sex. Sex with
Bryanna was always amazing. Amazing enough to worry him a
little.

Or a lot.

He didn’t know how much was a morning-after
hangover, or how much was the misery brought on by Eli’s reminder.
Had to give the guy credit. He’d started them out at a freaking
fern bar filled with laughing nine-to-fivers, then after reminding
Sam of a pledge he’d made before he’d even had his driver’s
license, Eli had pulled out the big guns.

He’d shown Sam what his life was going to be
like. They’d stopped by the base to watch a team of SEALs train for
a while, then hit Olive Oyl’s, the famed SEAL watering hole, where
Sam had got to hang out with Eli’s team members. He’d dreamed for
years of being a SEAL. He’d worked toward it, and he was within
tasting distance of achieving it.

But yesterday had opened his eyes to so many
things.

Last night had opened them to even more.

He just wasn’t sure what to do with his
newfound knowledge.

Yeah, he’d been late, he acknowledged as he
carefully bent over, eyes slitted as he reached around blindly,
feeling for his pants.

And sure, the sex had been incredible. Hot
and wild with an edge he’d never felt before. A dangerous edge
that, if he had to label it, was anger.

And that wasn’t good.

Sam rose, slowly pulling his pants on while
testing his body’s reaction. No nausea. The room wasn’t spinning.
Just the headache from hell.

He could handle it, he decided, yanking his
shirt on.

Moving like a ninety-year-old man on a
tightrope, he made his way out of the bedroom. He froze when he saw
the naked tree sitting in the corner, looking deserted but for the
pale blue cloth draped around the base. Next to it was a plastic
bin labeled
Christmas Decorations
.

Oh, hell.

They’d planned to decorate the tree after
dinner last night, hadn’t they? Bryanna loved Christmas.
Decorating, baking, celebrating. She was totally into that kind of
stuff.

How the hell much had he had to drink that
he’d forgotten something like that? Sam pressed his thumbs against
his closed eyes, trying to press the pain away. He wasn’t sure if
it was because trying to remember taxed his alcohol-soaked brain or
if it was the scent of eggs making his stomach rebel. But all he
wanted right then was to go back to bed. And maybe die.

Since that wasn’t an option, he forced
himself to put one foot in front of the other until he made it into
the kitchen.

Her back to him, Bryanna stirred eggs on the
stove, her shoulders hunched beneath a pewter gray jacket. As if
his eyes weren’t burning, he looked her over. Sam frowned when he
saw the jacket was paired with a short skirt and high heels of the
same color. If these were new sex clothes, he didn’t see the
appeal. Maybe it was better from the front, though.

Which was brighter, he wondered, swaying a
little in the doorway. The morning sun beaming brilliantly through
the window, or the vivid sheen of Bryanna’s blonde curls where the
sun bounced off them.

“Toast is on the counter,” she said not
turning around. “Coffee, too.”

“Goody,” he muttered, irritation rising in
reaction to her snotty tone.

“Goody?” she turned, spatula in hand and a
look in her eyes that made him wonder if she was going to use it to
throw eggs at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Might say more after I have coffee,” he
decided. Ignoring the attitude manning the stove, he grabbed the
coffeepot and debated just pouring it directly down his throat.
Telling himself that a little drinking couldn’t bring him down that
low, he snagged a cup instead, filled it, drank half, then filled
it again.

After he’d drained it a second time, he
noticed the dishes piled in the sink. Fancy ones. A casserole
soaked and two silver candleholders sat next to a butter knife as
if someone had been using it to chip away at the melted wax dripped
down their sides. He glanced through the doorway to the small,
gateleg table to see two wine glasses sitting next to a corked
bottle and a small vase holding a single rose.

It flashed through his mind that he’d never
given her flowers. Not in all the years they’d known each other.
All the years they’d been together.

Pushing that thought out was the realization
that she’d gone to a lot of trouble last night. Elaborate dinner,
wine, and he had a vague recollection of fancy lingerie.

He’d ripped it.

Why that made him feel even worse was a
puzzle, but suddenly Sam wished he’d walked out of that bar
yesterday when Russell did. Better yet, he wished he’d ignored
Eli’s call altogether.

But while ignorance might feel blissful, it
was also stupid to wish for.

Still...

“Bryanna, I’m sorry,” he said, manfully
pushing the words past stiff lips. And he really was sorry. He
simply hated saying it. But he figured that after ruining her
evening, he at least owed Bryanna an apology.

While he waited for her to sweetly accept
it, he refilled his coffee, then snagged a cold slice of buttered
toast.

“Why’d you do it?”

“What?”

“Last night. When you stood me up. Why’d you
do it?”

Hadn’t anyone ever taught her the right way
to respond to an apology? Irritation starting to build, Sam jerked
his shoulder. Even as he tried to toss it off, Eli’s words echoed
through his head. A SEAL couldn’t have ties, because those ties
would always rip at him. Always demand more.

At that very second, Sam hated Eli. Not
because the man was wrong. But that his insight had cost them a few
more days of oblivion.

He’d said Bryanna would push until he had to
choose between her and his career.

And he’d been right.

“I don’t have to explain my reasons.” Sam
said sharply as he started to feel like an idiot for not seeing for
himself what Eli had pointed out. “To you, or to anyone.”

“Our relationship makes me think that.” She
threw the words at him, her hands fisted on her hips and her face
tight with more anger than he’d have thought would fit in that sexy
little body of hers. “Two years, Sam. We’ve been exclusively seeing
each other for two years. Have I asked you for anything in that
time?”

“You once asked me to fix your car.”

Before the smart-ass comment was out of his
mouth, her face flashed. He’d never realized she had this kind of a
temper, had never once seen it aimed his way.

Then she hissed.

He ducked just before the skillet hit his
head. As it slammed into the wall behind him with a painful clang,
he credited training for his fast reflexes in the face of a
hangover. Before he could pat himself on the back, though, he had
to brush the bits of egg off his shirt.

Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my
God.

Her eyes so big they felt as if they were
going to fall out of her head, Bryanna gaped at the sight of Sam,
his blue shirt speckled with bits of creamy yellow scrambled egg
and a look of fury on his face.

She’d never thrown anything at anyone
before. Well, there was her brief attempt at softball when she’d
been ten, but she’d spent so much time on the bench she couldn’t
even remember touching a ball. But she’d just thrown her best
copper-bottomed skillet at Sam’s head. Worse, she’d thrown the eggs
she’d scrambled with fresh chive and ricotta.

“What the hell?” As if making sure he didn’t
shoot it right back at her, Sam set his coffee cup on the counter
with a sharp snap. Then, arms crossed over his chest and a glare on
his face, asked, “Want to explain that?”

No. She really didn’t. She couldn’t.

Because even though she was still pissed,
she wasn’t sure that his being a jerk was a good enough excuse to
pellet him with a pan.

But she knew from the look on his face, he
wasn’t going to let it go without an explanation. As if mocking the
drama of this moment, her stomach growled at the sight of the
fluffy bits of egg decorating his shoulder and the front of his
jeans.

Dammit, she’d been starving for those
eggs.

“I made dinner,” she muttered.

“I apologized for missing it,” he reminded
her, looking like he hated sounding so defensive. “And I sent you a
message.”

“Right. A message.” Anger flared again,
burning away horror as she remembered how long she’d waited, how
lousy she’d felt. “A lousy message, in the form of a text from my
idiot brother, consisting of three fucking words. Don’t. Wait.
Up.”

Sam looked blank for a second before the
scowl returned in full force.

“That’d be your fucking brother’s fault,” he
pointed out. “I was going to call and tell you I’d be a little late
but I couldn’t find my phone. He said he’d take care of it. How was
I supposed to know he sucked at messages?”

Not all messages, she’d bet. From the look
on Sam’s face, Eli had been touting all sorts of things. Maybe he’d
even come up with a few more of those nifty pledges of his. Next
time she saw Eli, Bryanna vowed, she was going to punch him right
in the face, just like he’d taught her when she was sixteen.

“Why would you trust my brother with
anything? You know he thinks we should...”

“We should what?” Sam prompted with narrowed
eyes when her words trailed off.

She knew damned well that he and Eli had
talked about Sam becoming a SEAL. And there was no way they’d have
that conversation this close to Sam graduating BUD/S without Eli
mentioning that vow. But just in case...

“This isn’t about Eli,” she snapped, waving
her hand in the air as if she could erase her words. “It’s
about...”

What? It wasn’t like she could say it was
about him dumping her, breaking her heart and leaving her crushed
and miserable.

“You seem to be having some trouble
finishing sentences this morning.” Sam angled his head as if
wanting a better view of the emotions racing across her face. “Why
don’t you tell me why you’re so pissed. Over my being late for
dinner? I’ve been late before. Hell, I’ve missed dates without a
word before when I’ve been called up or shipped out early.”

“That was before.”

“So what’s changed? You’ve never had a
problem with me being in the Navy. But you’ve had quite a few
snotty things to say about your brother being in the SEALs. I
figured that was just some sibling crap between you and Eli. But I
was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“There’s nothing between me and Eli,” she
bit out. “He turned his back on relationships, remember? Can’t have
any of that silly emotion dragging him down while he does his part
to save the world.”

“You say that like he cut the family off,”
Sam ridiculed with a roll of his eyes.

Hadn’t he? When was the last time she’d
spent more than two hours with her brother? He sent presents from
time to time, but kept himself at a distance. He almost always
served overseas, and even when he spent leave here in San Diego he
stayed on base, separate from the family. It was better for them,
he claimed. That way they didn’t ask any inappropriate questions
and, she figured, their very existence didn’t get in the way of his
career.

But Sam knew that.

His brother Noah wasn’t quite as rigid as
Eli, but he was close.

And Sam was going to do the exact same
thing.

“Eli thinks his way is the only way.”

“Eli has a lot of experience and knowledge.
So it’d be stupid to dismiss his input out of hand.”

“I guess that’d be up to you to decide,” she
said carefully, folding her hands together to keep from digging
them into his shirt and trying to shake some sense into him. Not
that it’d work, given that the man weighed twice as much as she did
and no amount of shaking would change his actions.