Protecting Cheyenne (SEAL of Protection Book 5) (8 page)

Dude turned and grabbed one of the plates he’d placed next to the stove and expertly scooped up the omelet and transferred it to the plate. He took a fork, placed it on the plate and brought it over to Cheyenne.

“You didn’t have to cook,” Cheyenne tried to protest.

“I know. Eat.”

“I didn’t have anything in my fridge but salad dressing…You said someone named Fiona brought all of this?”

“Eat, Shy.”

Dude smiled as Cheyenne dutifully picked up the fork and cut into the omelet. He didn’t move from her side until she’d taken a bite and closed her eyes in enjoyment. He went back to the stove and broke more eggs into the still hot pan. Dude divided his attention between Cheyenne eating and his own omelet.

By the time he finished making his own breakfast, Cheyenne was eating her last bites. She suddenly looked at him in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I should’ve waited for you. Jesus, I’m horrible.”

“It’s fine, Shy. If you’d waited, yours would’ve been cold.”

“But…”

“I said it’s fine.” Dude knew he was being a bit harsher than the situation called for, but he couldn’t help it. It was a part of who he was. He was used to being obeyed. It came from being a SEAL and being in situations where obeying was second nature and necessary for survival. He wasn’t into total control and the bullshit that went along with the BDSM lifestyle, but he certainly needed to be in control when he went to bed with a woman.

Dude hadn’t really thought about what that might mean in a real relationship, because he’d had never
had
a real relationship. As most of his buddies had done before they’d settled down, he enjoyed picking up women. He’d take them home and have an excellent time for the night. But after that one night, they were gone. Every woman had known the score and none had any complaints, at least none they’d verbalized to him. They’d all willingly turned over control to him and left the next morning, but Dude had never really thought about how it would work for more than a night.

He shook his head. Dude wanted Cheyenne, and not like he’d had other women. He
liked
her. As he’d told her the night before, she was interesting and fun. Those weren’t adjectives he’d used to describe women in the past that he’d liked. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to get to know any of the women he’d taken to bed before. That probably made him a dick, but he couldn’t change his past now.

Liking a woman and wanting to get to know her before sleeping with her, was new for Dude. He’d also never invited his friends into any relationship, whatever kind of relationship he had with Cheyenne, before. He’d
never
gone out of his way to have a one-night-stand interact with his friends. But here he was, one day after meeting Cheyenne, and he’d voluntarily reached out to his friends for her help. Fiona had been overjoyed to help him out and go shopping for food. Dude hadn’t wanted to leave Cheyenne while she was hurt and loopy from whatever drugs the staff at the hospital had given her, so he’d called Cookie, but gotten Fiona instead. She’d bought enough food for at least a month.

Dude had spent the night on Cheyenne’s couch, waking up at least once an hour so he could pop his head into her room and check on her. She’d been dead to the world. She hadn’t even stirred when he’d stood by her bedside. And the one time Dude had actually touched Cheyenne, she’d groaned and rolled
toward
him, not away from him. It had been harder than Dude had thought to leave her room after that.

Now here he was, bossing Cheyenne around and generally pushing himself on her. Dude knew he should leave and give her some room, but he honestly didn’t want to.

“What were your plans for the day, Shy?”

Cheyenne looked over at Faulkner as he ate. She pushed her plate away and leaned on her elbows. “I hadn’t really thought much about it. I usually just hang out on my days off.”

“Hell, I didn’t even ask what you do for a living. I’m sorry.”

Cheyenne shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not like we’ve really had a chance to chat about our lives. Besides, it’s not that interesting really. I answer the phone when people call 911.”

Dude lowered the forkful of omelet he’d been about to put in his mouth and looked at Cheyenne incredulously. “What?”

Feeling nervous and not knowing why Faulkner was being weird, Cheyenne repeated, “I’m a 911 operator.”

“So you help save people’s lives when they’re in desperate need of someone to help them.”

It wasn’t a question, but Cheyenne treated it as if it was. “Well, I guess, yeah, but it’s actually boring a lot of the time and we get a lot of calls that aren’t emergencies we have to deal with.”

“Don’t downplay it, Shy,” Dude scolded. “You help people through some of the worst times in their lives. You’re there for them when they reach out. That’s amazing.”

Feeling uncomfortable with his praise, Cheyenne just shrugged.

Dude tilted his head and looked closer at her. He’d been amazed at her occupation. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t imagine her doing it. She’d stayed calm the day before in the face of her own mortality, and now he knew why. She had a lot of practice dealing with her emotions in extreme situations. “How do you deal with the stress of the job?”

“What?” Cheyenne was startled by Faulkner’s question.

“I said, how do you deal with the stress of your job?”

“Uh, I read? I hang out here at home?”

Faulkner looked at her closely. Cheyenne hadn’t answered his question, she’d pretty much answered in the form of a question. “You don’t deal with it, do you?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal, Shy. Hell, even me and my buddies know we have to let off steam after a mission. You have to let it go somehow.”

“I know you work with explosives, but what do
you
do, Faulkner?” Cheyenne asked defensively. She wanted to get the attention off of her and since he brought it up, she’d go with it.

“I’m a SEAL.”

Cheyenne looked at him in horror. Oh fucking hell.

“No, just no, this isn’t right.”

Dude put his plate away from himself and leaned into Cheyenne. He didn’t like her tone of voice. “What do you mean it isn’t right? What I feel about you is as right as I’ve felt in a long time, Shy.”

“I mean, you really
are
a hero. What the
hell
are you doing here?”

Dude stood up and crowded Cheyenne until she leaned back against the bar counter. He put his hands on the counter behind her so he was hovering over her and she couldn’t possibly ignore him and what he wanted to say.

“As far as I’m concerned,
you’re
the hero, Shy.” Dude ignored Cheyenne as she shook her head in denial and continued. “You help people every day. Every damn day. You’re their lifeline when they need it. They reach out and you’re there.”

“But I don’t save them. Most of the time they’re already dead or dying, or at least someone they know is.”

“Shy, Jesus.” Dude watched as Cheyenne began to shake.

“No really, most of the time I have no idea what happened, what the outcome is, but I watch the news. Sometimes I see. All I do is call the cops and the paramedics, Faulkner. I call people like
you
to come and do the real saving.”

Dude felt sick inside. He didn’t like to hear Cheyenne feeling this way about herself, about her job. “Shy, I have a story to tell you. Will you listen with an open mind and really hear what I’m about to tell you?”

At Cheyenne’s nod, he simply raised his eyebrows at her.

“Sorry, yes, I’ll listen.”

“I’m a disappointment to my parents.” Dude could tell Cheyenne was about to protest, and he cut her off. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me or anything. Just listen.”

Cheyenne nodded and watched as a muscle ticked in Faulkner’s jaw. Whatever he wanted to tell her was serious.

“I skipped school one day when I was about thirteen. I came home from surfing, expecting to get shit from my parents for skipping, and saw blood all over our kitchen. My parents weren’t there. There was no note or anything. I had no idea where they were or what had happened. All I knew was that the house was empty and there was a shitload of blood on the counter, sink, and even on the floor of our kitchen. I completely freaked out. I dialed 911 and was hysterical. The lady who answered the phone was an angel. She got me calmed down and asked me to answer some simple questions. She used a technique I’ve since heard will engage the right side of the brain and make people think less with their emotional side, and more with the rational side of their brain. She asked what my name was, she asked how old I was, and she asked what my address was. I’m sure you use these techniques too, but by the time she got to the next question I was able to think a bit more clearly.

“I looked around and saw a butcher knife resting next to the cutting board along with a slew of vegetables. While I described what I was seeing, the 911 lady had been doing some investigating of her own. She told me that my mother had been signed into the emergency room by my father. She’d cut herself badly while making dinner and had bled all over the place while she’d waited on my father to help her wrap it up and put pressure on it.”

Dude smiled as Cheyenne put one hand on his bicep and stroked him. She was still looking up at him, brow furrowed, and chewing one lip. Unconsciously, she was trying to soothe him. Dude liked that.

He quickly went to finish his story and make his point. “I was embarrassed as all hell that I’d jumped to conclusions and thought my parents had been stabbed and kidnapped. I never forgot the feeling of relief I had when that lady answered the phone. She was my lifeline, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t been there for me.
You
do that for people Shy. You’re a lifeline for every person having a crisis that calls and you pick up the phone. I don’t know that lady’s name, I never met her and never had a chance to thank her properly. I regret that to this day. I wish you could meet every single person you help, Shy. I wish you could see first-hand how much you help them.”

Dude paused and brought his scarred hand to the back of Cheyenne’s neck. He tilted it up to his and forced her to look into his eyes. “What you do is important, Shy. You touch more lives than you’ll ever know. The people you talk to will never forget you and what you do for them, even if their loved one doesn’t survive. Own it, hon. Be proud of yourself.”

Cheyenne closed her eyes briefly, loving the feel of Faulkner’s thumb at her chin and his pinky on the back of her neck. It felt awesome. “I’ll try,” she whispered.

“You do that.” Dude got closer into Cheyenne’s space and brought his other hand up from the counter to her side. He stroked his thumb against her waist. “I’m going to kiss the hell out of you, Shy. Then I’ll probably touch you way too intimately for having just met you yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about you wearing the thong I picked out for you and having it snug against your core as we sit here. Once I force myself to pull away from you, hopefully before I go too far, I’m going to get out of your hair for a few hours. I have some things I have to do, but I’ll be back later. I’m going to take you to meet the most important people in my life…my SEAL team and their women. Then I’ll take you back to my place and you’ll spend the night in my bed while I sleep on the couch. When I finally take you, I want to make sure we’re both ready for it. Do you have a problem with any of that?”

Cheyenne tried not to hyperventilate. There were so many things wrong with what Faulkner said, but she wanted every single thing with a desire that boarded on desperation. “I have to work tomorrow,” she managed breathlessly.

She watched as Faulkner smiled widely and a bit wickedly. “Okay, I’ll bring you back here before your shift so you can change and do whatever it is you have to do to get ready. Will that work? Any other objections?”

Cheyenne went to shake her head, caught herself and said instead, “No, Faulkner, no objections.”

The look in his eyes was electric. “You expressed a thought last night, and you should know that I can’t wait to show you how my hand feels against your…skin, Shy.” Dude lowered his head, not giving her a chance to respond to his words, and proceeded to kiss the hell out of her as he promised.

He didn’t ask, he didn’t ease into the kiss, he dove in and took over. Dude didn’t give her a chance to take control. He thrust his tongue into Cheyenne’s mouth and aggressively took her. He used his teeth, tongue, and even his lips. He teased, nibbled, bit, and stroked her. Within moments, Cheyenne was twisting and turning in his grip, lost in the passion they were sharing.

Dude grabbed hold of her wrists with his right hand and brought them behind her. He held them at the small of her back, encouraging her to arch into him. Dude took his left hand and brushed his knuckles against her breasts, now even more prominently displayed in her low cut shirt and the push up bra.

Dude eased away from Cheyenne’s mouth, ignoring her whimper of protest and looked down at his hand caressing her chest. He could see her nipples poking through both the lacy bra and the cotton of the T-shirt.

“Normal? Jesus, Shy, look at you. You are
anything
but fucking
normal
.”