To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (12 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Dante leaned back his head and laughed. And yeah, this was probably the first time he’d ever found a blow job funny. But she looked so damn possessive kneeling in the front seat with her hand around him. The edge in her voice dared him to push her away and keep up the pretense that they were done trading orgasms.

Logic told him to guide her away, to strap her into the passenger seat, put the car in drive, and head for the relative safety of the tour bus. But his damn heart had been sabotaging his common sense since he met her. He knew they didn’t have a future. And he’d already admitted to himself that he felt more than he should for her. Still, he wasn’t going to stop her.

Shit, if Hell Week had included telling the woman he loved
not
to suck on him, he would have flunked right out.

“All right, Chrissie.” He released his white-knuckle grip on the wheel and ran one hand through her hair. “Make me scream.”

She took him into her mouth and ran her lips and tongue down to meet her hand. And he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. If she was determined to do this, he wasn’t going to fight her off. Only a fool would tell the woman he’d fallen in love with to keep her hands and mouth on her side of the car.

He moaned as her tongue swirled around the head of his cock. No, he wasn’t a fool. He knew he needed to make the most of this moment and memorize the feel of her lips on him and the way her head pumped his eager dick as if she’d memorized his instructions from the other night.

“A custom blow job,” he murmured.

She drew back, keeping her hand wrapped around him. But dammit, he wanted her mouth back.

“A what?” she asked, humor in her tone.

“You’re giving me exactly what I want, honey.” He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “The other night, I told you what I liked, and you listened. And now, I’m getting a custom job.”

“Of course I listened.” She lowered her mouth, taking him deep.

He watched, knowing damn well there was no “of course” when it came to relationships. He’d been married to a woman who never shared her wants, her desires, her hopes and her dreams. And yeah, he’d been just as guilty. But there were some things he could not tell anyone. His job was a web of secrets, and that wouldn’t change.

He studied her movements and allowed the pleasure to wash over him. But hell, he didn’t want the best blow job in the freaking world. He wanted Chrissie.

He didn’t love her because she gave great head. He’d fallen for her drive and her passion for her music. He was crazy about the way she gave her all to her audience every night. And yeah, he flat-out loved the fact that she shared his belief that there were some things worth fighting for—and maybe dying for.

Maybe that belief will make it okay to keep secrets…

Or maybe it would cut away her trust. There was only one way to know for certain—head down that road and see if it all fell apart.

His fingers pressed tightly against her head as if he wanted to hold her there forever. His gaze remained focused on the sheet of hair trailing down her back and over her shoulders. His hips thrust upward into her eager mouth. And he couldn’t look away. He was so damn close…

“Chrissie.” He growled.

And she moved faster, took him deeper. She gave and gave and gave—

He came. His hips bucked in earnest, and he didn’t try to pull away. He couldn’t… He didn’t want to…

And at the last moment, he remembered to scream.

“Chrissie,” he roared. “Oh, fuck…”

I love you…

No, he couldn’t tell her. Not now. Not like this. So he bellowed the one word he could say over and over.

“Chrissie!”

…

“I want to go back to Vegas.”

Dante stood with his arms folded across his chest and flat-out lied to the chart-topping country sweetheart. And yeah, Chrissie looked the part right now in her red, white, and blue sequined top.

She’d just stepped off the stage after performing to a sold-out auditorium in sunny Southern California. He’d missed the show due to his lengthy physical with the Navy’s best and brightest doctors. But he didn’t need to see her sing to know that she’d brought the crowd to their feet, made them cry, and left them damn glad they’d showed up tonight. Although one glance at her new bodyguard, a woman who’d served with the Marines before accepting a position with one of the country’s largest personal protection companies, and he had a feeling the new hired muscle wasn’t a country music fan.

Just wait, Ms. Marine. It’s not all about tractors.

“Walk with me,” Chrissie demanded, and he fell into step beside her.

They weaved through the unfamiliar backstage halls that looked oddly similar to the ones in other venues. They reached a door, and she stepped back and allowed him to open it and scan the empty dressing room.

“All clear,” he said.

She glanced at her new bodyguard. “Please wait out here, Moira.”

The woman gave a curt nod before assuming a parade rest position outside the door.

“Your new bodyguard seems solid,” he said as she closed the door.

“Yes.” She turned the lock. “She’s great. Although Mason said he picked her because she’d blend in. And I’ve never met a more rigid person. I’m not sure she’d blend in anywhere.”

“He picked her because I told him to. She’s one of the best. Or so I’m told.”

“Is that why you picked her? Not because she’s female and there is less risk I’ll end up in her room late at night?”

If you do, I’ll be jealous as fuck. I don’t want anyone else touching you—male or female.

“She’s the best,” he repeated.

“You’d like me to email pictures of our training sessions?” she teased.

“No. Oh hell, no.”

His mind jumped to the photos he’d found on his ex-wife’s phone after he learned about her affair. He’d never forget the close-ups of the plumber’s junk. And he knew that if Chrissie sent him intimate shots of the woman on the other side of the door, or pictures of the two of them, he wouldn’t be turned on. He’d be heartbroken.

“Good,” she said and forced a small smile. But it quickly faded. “So they gave you the all clear and you still want to come to Vegas? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I have five days before I report back,” he explained. “I’d like to spend them with you. Plus, your last show in Vegas proved you need extra protection.”

“You’re worried I’ll be attacked again?” she asked, her eyes widening.

Shit, he didn’t want to scare her. “No, I’m not worried. And I think you’ll be safe with Moira. I reviewed all of the résumés, and she’s the best.”

“Then why aren’t you staying here?” she asked. “You could work on your knee. Rest up. See your friends.”

“My knee is fine. The doctor said I could jump out of a plane tomorrow, land, and run ten miles. And I’d be fine.”

“Jump out of a plane,” she repeated. “If I had to do that, I wouldn’t be worried about my knees. I think I’d probably have a panic attack before I reached the ground.”

“Nah.” He closed the space between them and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I’ve seen you up on the stage night after night. It takes a lot more guts to do what you do.”

His thumbs stroked her cheeks. They’d been careful to steer clear of each other since their detour to the New Mexico rest stop. But he had to touch her. “I want to spend the next few days with you. I’ll have time for training when I get back. Let me go with you to Vegas. Not as your bodyguard, but as your friend. We can get dinner at one of the fancy celebrity-chef restaurants.”

“A dinner date?” She wrapped her hands around his wrists, but she didn’t push him away. She held tight to him as if she hated the idea of letting go as much as he did.

“Yeah. Call me a romantic, but I don’t want this to end with a BJ on the side of a highway.”

She smiled and ran her hands up his arms. “I thought that would have been a high note for you.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. Then he drew back and looked down at her. “I won’t forget it, trust me. But I want more. A chance to talk while we share a meal. Then a trip to the bedroom where we both come. I want it all.”

Her smile faded. “Impossible.”

“Is it?” He released her cheeks and ran his hands over her bare shoulders, down past her sequined tube top. He stopped when he reached her hips and held tight. “I know I’m going back to my team and you’re hitting up God knows where next—”

“Nashville and then a bunch of east coast cities,” she supplied.

“All I’m asking for is one date.”

And the chance to let you know that I love you when you don’t have your mouth wrapped around my cock.

“Dante—”

“One more night in Sin City,” he said. “What do you say?”

“Yes.” She rose up and pressed her lips to his. “But I have two conditions.”

“Done.”

“But you haven’t heard what I’m asking for yet,” she protested. “You can’t just say yes.”

“All right.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “Tell me your demands, honey.”

“First, while that door is locked…”

He pulled her closer and let her feel how much she turned him on. “Go on,” he murmured.

“I want a massage,” she said.

He laughed. “All right. And your second demand?”

“His and hers Sin City orgasms when we get to Vegas.”

Chapter Eighteen

After two years of costumes and disguises—onstage and off—Chrissie pulled on the little black dress she’d bought for her brother’s birthday party. He’d been home on leave, and some of his friends from high school had hosted a party at a neighborhood bar. She’d been over twenty-one and making enough scanning groceries to splurge on a new outfit. It was the last time she could recall dressing entirely for herself.

The fitted material hugged her curves. And while the hem hit above her knee, it wasn’t nearly as short as the disguises she’d worn to Dante’s room. She slipped on the matching black heels. They looked cheap compared to the shoes her stylist selected, but she still loved the simple pumps.

She heard a knock, and her smiled faded. When she reached the entrance to the suite, she opened the door and waved him into the sitting area. Unlike the rooms in Salt Lake City or Santa Fe, the luxury Vegas hotel—a different venue from her last four-night engagement—offered spacious rooms complete with sitting areas, separate bedrooms, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the famous Strip.

He stepped inside, and her grip tightened around the door handle. She’d seen him stripped down to his plain white briefs—and he’d reminded her of Superman. But in a dark blue suit and tie? Her Navy SEAL looked like Clark Kent minus the glasses. If only they could make their way straight to the part of the evening when he tore off his shirt superhero-style.

“I’m sorry, Dante. I can’t go out.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, drawing the door away from her death grip and gently closing it.

“I look like me.” She waved to the dress. “I bought this for a party years ago. It’s mine. Not a costume or a disguise. I mean those are mine, too. But they’re not
me
.”

He nodded as if she’d made complete sense. Maybe she had. She was telling him the truth.

“But,” she continued. “If I go out like this, someone will recognize me.”

He cocked his head and studied her. “Would you like to change? I don’t give a damn if you wear a wig. But you might get us tossed from the steak house if you show up in the French maid outfit. Plus, I’d have to kill every man who laid eyes on you. It would be midnight before we reached the restaurant.”

“No, I’m not spending my last night with you in an ugly wig. That’s not how I want you to remember me.”

“I’m sticking around for your concert tomorrow night,” he said. “I’m not heading back to Coronado until Sunday morning. If the wig makes you feel comfortable in the restaurant…”

“I don’t want to hide or pretend with you. Not anymore. We’re done with that.” She turned away from the door and headed for the sitting area.

He followed. He wouldn’t give up without trying everything he could think of to get her to dinner. “And I don’t want to share our relationship with the world. I’m sorry. But I want you all to myself. And out of that suit.”

She gave a half smile as she sank onto an armchair. “You walked into my life looking like a limited-edition treat. And now, I don’t want to let you go. Just when I think I’ve found someone who sees me, who wants me for more than a fantasy-filled fling—”

“Shh.” He dropped to one knee in front of her chair and placed his index finger over her mouth. “You have, Chrissie. I don’t give a damn about your fame. I admire your drive. And your passion for your music makes me want to listen to songs about tractors and dead dogs. But trust me, honey, I want you more than I want the fantasy.”

“This feels so real,” she murmured as his hand moved to her cheek.

“It is, honey. But we don’t have to share that fact with a room filled with strangers. We can stay right here, maybe tackle your second condition. Afterward, we can order room service.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. His tongue tangled with hers, explored her mouth, and drew her in until she was ready to hand over the dress she’d worn for him.

He pulled back. “Let’s switch positions.”

“Your knee?” she asked as he stood.

“Fine.” He held out his hand. “But when I pictured the his and hers orgasms you requested, I didn’t see an armchair. Show me to your bedroom, honey.”

She took his hand and let him draw her up. Then she let go. She kicked off her shoes, skipped past him, and headed for the doorway. He could see her destination, the king-size bed, through the opening.

He followed at her heels. She could feel his presence behind her, large and promising. She slowed her steps a few feet from the bed, half hoping he would catch her and draw her to him. She wanted him to take her, claim her, and make her his. No matter where he went after this, she would belong to him.

But he didn’t reach for her.

“Do you know what I want?” she said, turning to face him, her back to the bed.

“Tell me.” He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside.

“Straight-up, plain old missionary.”

He took a step forward and loosened his tie as he moved. “I might bore you.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Or you might try harder to make sure that you don’t.”

He laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

She closed the space between them and placed her hands on either side of his button-down shirt. “First, we need to release your inner superhero.” She pulled and…nothing. Not one button popped off.

He laughed harder. And wow, that sound was a deep, intoxicating sound, like a shot of whiskey straight to her core.

“Honey, I’ll get naked for you,” he said. “You don’t have to tear off my clothes. Just ask.”

“Please,” she murmured. “And quickly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stripped with an efficiency that left her thanking the Navy for his years of training.

And then he reached for her and drew her to him. His hands felt as if they were everywhere at once, touching, teasing, and pulling off her clothes. Her dress landed on the floor beside his pants. Before she could issue another request, he was on his knees and guiding her out of her panties. When he stood, he had a condom in his hand.

“Is that a magic trick you learned in the Navy?” she asked as he moved closer and forced her to step back. Her legs bumped into the bed, and she climbed up onto the smooth sheets.

“I learned to always be prepared.” He joined her, knelt between her legs, and covered himself.

“I swear one of these days I’m going to take this nice and slow.” He trailed his hand over her lower abdomen, and he moved lower and lower until his fingers slid between her legs. He raised them to his lips and licked. “But tonight is not one of those nights.”

But this is our last night…

“Maybe the next round. After dinner,” he continued as he positioned himself at her entrance. “But right now…” He thrust into her. “I need to—”

“Take me,” she said, arching her back and allowing her body to open to him.

He thrust in and out, his pace frantic, pushing them closer and closer to the finish line. His lips ran over her throat and down her neck. His hands were everywhere, molding her breasts, teasing her taut nipples, then sliding lower and lower…

He slid one hand between them and touched her clit. “You’re mine,” he murmured.

The deep sound… Those words… His touch…

Her body trembled, her thighs quivering as the orgasm took hold. She arched into the pleasure.

So good…so deep…so fleeting…

“You’re mine, Chrissie.” He growled, pumping faster and harder. His movements were unrestrained, wild, as if something in him had snapped.

“Your turn,” she whispered. “Take me, Dante. You think that I’m yours? Prove it.”

He pushed back and stared down at her. His hands pressed into the bedding at her sides as he thrust one more time. And then he exploded. But not once did he look away or close his eyes. He kept his gaze locked with her as if he was silently trying to tell her something.

“Dante?” she murmured, running her hands up his arms.

“Fuck. I didn’t want to do it this way,” he murmured, his hands still pressed into the mattress at her sides, holding his weight off her.

“You’re bored?” she murmured, her fingers gliding over his biceps and heading for his chest.

“I have to say something, dammit.” He growled. “Sex doesn’t get better than this. What just happened, what we did—that was perfection, and it had nothing to do with our position or some crazy kink. I love you, Chrissie. I fucking love you.”

Love. Oh God. Oh no.

And then he kissed her, bypassing soft and heading straight for the I-need-you-forever soul kiss. She’d never been kissed like that. As if the words weren’t enough, as if his mouth wanted to show her how he felt—and silently ask if she loved him back.

I do. I love you.

She wrapped her arms around him and held tight to the feeling. She loved her Navy SEAL. And she wanted to kiss him forever. She never wanted to stop. She didn’t want to let the outside world in.

Because when she did, when the kiss ended and they left this room, she’d remember that love didn’t come first in his life. And if it did? Then he wouldn’t be the man she wanted, whom she had fallen for in the first place.