A SEAL at Heart (3 page)

“Yeah,” said Jack. “I’ll go.” Though he knew he’d probably not enjoy it.

The back of Jack’s head squeezed tight again, reminding him that the head injury was still an issue. But as the Commander was fond of saying, “Where the body goes, the mind follows.” Maybe a little interaction—some puss and hoots—would go a long way toward finding some kind of relief or momentary happiness.

***

The beat-up yellow Jeep slid into an empty parking spot only a few blocks from the Naval Special Warfare fund-raiser. Jack didn’t bother securing the torn soft top. There was nothing of value inside, not even a radio. Though he did shove the Bluetooth speaker under the seat.

The last vestiges of light were slipping from the sky as the ripe smell of seasoned meat filled the air. He was tempted to ditch the NSW event and go to the Strip Club for a steak.

A memory flashed through his mind of grilling T-bones to perfection with Don, his wife, and their five-year-old daughter. God, it was barely two months ago! They’d feasted and Sheila had announced she was pregnant at the meal. A game ensued of toasting her all evening long until she drove the lot of them home.

“Shit!” Jack swallowed hard and forced the vivid moment from his mind. Dwelling on the past, especially the loss of his swim buddy, was not helping. He knew he needed to deal with his friend’s death, but until he knew what had happened on that mission, he didn’t know how. Maybe once he remembered, he’d finally be able to look Sheila in the eye.

Rubbing his hand over his head, he lingered on the scar. If his buddy’s death was his fault, he’d own it. If someone else were responsible for Don’s death, he would bring justice.

Without that missing bit of knowledge though, he was in limbo.

Let
it
go. For at least one night, Jack, you need to be someone else. Take a break from yourself.
He nodded his head, deciding his gut was providing good advice.

Pointing his feet in the direction of Dick’s Last Resort, he set off. The slap of his feet against the pavement felt good. Anything physical seemed to be healing. This morning he’d run six miles and swum for an hour. His body had felt somewhat spent, but his mind was still spinning on the hamster wheel.

“Hey, Jack, good to see ya!” Hank Franks, a Master Chief in SEAL Team THREE, slapped his back and then enthusiastically shook his hand. His arm felt like a pump trying to pull up water from a rusted pipe. “Are you on your way to Dick’s? Have you met Dan McCullum, our new weapons specialist?”

Jack nodded and shook Dan’s proffered palm. “Good to see you again, Dan. Been a while.”

“Yeah,” said Dan warmly. Pointing to his head, he asked, “How’s the noggin? I heard there was some action.”

“Healing.” Jack withdrew his palm and looked forward. He didn’t want to say anything about the Op.

Franks wrapped an arm possessively around the woman walking next to him. Her heels clicked a swift staccato on the sidewalk, keeping time with their pace. “Hey, have you met my wife?”

The lady beside the Master Chief smiled shyly. “I’m Rita. Happy to meet you, Jack.” The emerald dress hugged her body as if she were a pinup girl, but it was the humor and happiness in her eyes when she looked at her husband and then switched that intense gaze to Jack that held him captive for a few seconds. He caught the residual affects of her joy and the strength was Grade A.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he replied, relieved that he hadn’t blurted out some silly comment about Hank’s wife having a nice rack or the fact they looked good together. His guess was that Hank had already measured those assets for himself. Giving them all a smile and a nod, he slowed his pace and let them surge ahead.

Social graces weren’t his thing. He hadn’t been to Dick’s Last Resort in years, but his recollection was that the food was tasty and the beer was ample. That had to be enough to work for him tonight.

After making a show of eyeballing his phone, he pocketed it. Then he looked in the windows of several nearby stores.
Stop
stalling!

He forced himself to walk the extra twenty feet, flashed his military ID, and went inside. The din of voices and music was momentarily deafening. A passing waitress pushed a beer into his empty hand. He gripped it gratefully.

His instincts took charge, taking him to an optimal vantage point, one that afforded him an overview of the comings and goings of the bar. Nothing could halt either that habit or the training, except a conscious decision to set his back to the door. When that happened, he’d have to trust the expressions of the people around him to alert him to danger. It was a hard-earned skill to be able to utilize ordinary passersby as mirrors.

As he drank, he watched a couple argue. The wife was seriously pissed. Jack was glad he wasn’t in that guy’s shoes. At another table, a group of ladies were making plans for later. Then there was the small group of retired military men lined up on bar stools, chatting about the good ole days, wearing jackets that read Old Frogs and SEALs. Across the room near the bar, several wives gathered together, laughing and pointing as they discussed the auction items and sipped delightedly on mixed drinks. Jack smiled as their conversation turned a bit more racy. He was glad he could read lips.

An alarm beeped on his wristwatch. Time to take an antianxiety pill. Anger lanced through him. What was he, some hundred-year-old man who had to take his medication? He would not die without that little pill, and there was no way he’d let himself get in a situation where he was addicted to something… anything or anyone. Unwilling to spend even another minute contemplating it, he stepped toward the closest trash can and dropped the bottle inside. Relief swept through him. He knew he could do better than those “hunt and peck” doctors who were actually using the process of elimination to guess at courses of action. Besides that, he didn’t want to pollute his body with crap.

Beer was his only vice. Basically, it was his carbohydrates—liquid bread.

Ah!
He swallowed down the rest of the cold brew.

Another body pushed into his, and suddenly the crowd, the noise, and the smell—everything—was too much. It was overwhelming. And that was his cue to go.

He placed the empty bottle on a passing waitress’s tray and headed for the door. He’d done his duty. He came, he drank, and now he was leaving.

The door he had selected as his escape hatch opened before him and a gorgeous brunette stepped through, wearing spikes and a black dress with a very short skirt. Her skin glowed as if she’d just come in from the sun, and she was slightly out of breath. A large basket filled with goodies that she balanced on one hand wavered and then tipped.

In one motion, he was by her side, catching the basket before it reached the floor.

“My hero,” she said. “Is this a side job or do you do it professionally?”

A grin split across his face; he knew it must look pretty goofy, but he couldn’t stop it. “Which one do I win brownie points for?”

“Depends…” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled like diamonds in a darkened cave. “I’m Laurie Smith.” She held out a now-empty hand.

He shifted the basket to one side and reached forward to take it.

An abrupt woman wearing a badge that read “Salia Sedgwick, I am the Queen! Don’t make me fetch my 9mm!” interrupted him before their hands could connect. This rude lady was actually standing between them. “Laurie Smith! You’re late. Give me that basket. This was supposed to be here two hours ago. How am I supposed to do my job when other people aren’t doing theirs?”

Jack inserted himself into the conversation. “Ah, Ms. Sedgwick, I’m sure she has a good excuse, or does Ms. Smith need a note from her mother?”

The woman frowned at him. “Well, I never!”

“Never what?” he asked innocently.

Laurie did a lousy job hiding her smile behind pursed lips.

As the organizer snatched the basket and hurried away, Laurie’s laughter burst out. “Thank goodness, she left. I almost laughed in her face.” She touched his arm. “Thank you. Salia Sedgwick is a handful…”

“A handful of what? Pudding? Meanness? Squishy resentment?”

“All of the above,” she said, presenting her hand again. There was something light about her, and as he leaned forward, he could smell a hint of lilacs, as if she’d been rubbing the silky petals on her skin and hair.

This time, his hand connected with hers. As his palm engulfed her tiny fingers, a small bolt of electricity raced up his arm. Perhaps he could stay at this event for a little while longer.

“Hooyah! Hooyah! Hooyah!” The sound of the crowd grew louder, chanting as glasses were raised. The noise grew until his ears rang, yet it didn’t stop him from trying to speak over it.

“My name is Jack.”

It is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep.

—Italian proverb

“What did you say?” Yelling in his direction, she wished the crowd would lose some of its cheery enthusiasm so she could hear what the heck this man was saying.

He squeezed her hand. Now she was glad she had made it to the salon—had her hair and nails done, eyebrows waxed, and all of that important girly stuff. Meeting someone like him might make the pain worthwhile.

She smiled up at him. Twice he had scored points in his favor: making her laugh and coming to her rescue. Those were excellent qualities. It didn’t hurt that he was built like a quarterback.

The decibel level dropped slightly and she heard his voice. Delight laced through her.

“I’m Jack Roaker.” Like velvety warm hot fudge, the timbre of his words made her smile. Could a man’s voice heat her insides and stir her interest this quickly? Perhaps, if it’s the right voice, it could. She could imagine him whispering in her ear, and the fantasy of his lips being so close to her made heat rush into her cheeks.

A man bumped hard into her, sending a plate full of chips and guacamole onto her dress, and pushing her into Jack’s arms. He caught her, steadied her, and as her eyes met his, she murmured, “Hi, Jack. Nice to meet you.”

Taking a step away, she tried to regain her composure. “Is it hot in here?”

“Very,” he replied. “You okay?”

“Sure, I live for attending events where I get yelled at by a hormonally hopped-up menopausal woman and get to wear guacamole on my new dress.” She sighed as she tried to wipe the green mess off with nothing but her hand.
Yuck!
“See you around.”

“Wait, I’d like to talk to you.”

“Really? I mean, great.” A blush threatened to engulf her already-flushed face, so she broke the gaze and looked around the room. The fund-raiser was wall-to-wall with patrons. Not the best place to get to know Jack better.

“Beer, anyone?” A waitress, who amply filled her Dick’s Last Resort T-shirt and very short black skirt, eased her way through the crowd, balancing a tray. Her long fluffy blond ponytail swished in her wake as she arrived in front of them.

Here and there, people grabbed a cup and dropped money on her tray. Having large plastic cups was a wise move for this crowd and had been arranged by the NSW fund-raiser coordinator. Glass could become dangerous. But the way this waitress looked at Jack had Laurie understanding a new kind of threat.

“We’ll take two.” Laurie snagged a couple of napkins from the girl’s tray, cleaned her hand off, and began fishing in her purse for some singles, until she spied a five-dollar bill. Searching for the proper change was helping to steady her nerves and she owed this guy for rescuing her. Perhaps the use of
we
would make this waitress take the hint.

The waitress looked at Laurie for a long moment, caught the hint, and moved off. “Enjoy yourselves,” she added with a big smile.

“I believe we will,” Laurie said as she presented a cup to Jack and lifted one to her own lips. She drank deeply. In truth, she was more of a “vodka and grapefruit juice” girl, but this would do in a pinch. A Girl Scout like her knew how to make the best of any situation.

He drained his cup and then said, “So, Laurie, tell me about yourself. Do you live in San Diego?”

“Point Loma.” It was dorky, but she liked the way he said her name, as if it had tons of syllables. “What about you?”

“Coronado,” he said. She noticed he watched her as she finished the beer and then placed both of their cups on a side table. She liked the way his eyes stayed on her—as if he didn’t want to miss one movement she made.

“Nice place, Coronado,” she confirmed. It had been a long time since she dated anyone, and she’d lying if she didn’t admit she was intrigued by this man’s singular attentions. She couldn’t stand the men who flirted as they scanned the room for someone to upgrade to, or worse yet, make an overt swap or substitution call for their original date.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he said flatly.

No
way! Did he just say that? Isn’t that the lamest line in the world, right up there with “What’s your sign?”
At
least
he’s honest about it.

“Me, too.” The words popped out.

A grin lit his face. “Come with me.” Taking her hand, he led her closer to the wall and the wished for possibility of silence. The music cranked up louder, canceling any chance of a stolen moment or a few audible words.

He said something.

She shook her head.

This silent-movie version of events was getting old, fast.

His body language spoke volumes as he leaned closer. The scent of aftershave tickled her nose. Not bad. Definitely spicy! Those wide shoulders and huge biceps practically had her panting, too.

“Isn’t there any other place we could talk?” she yelled. He sure was cute, with his buzzed blond hair, gorgeous eyes, and chiseled features, but she didn’t really get physical on a first date. Not that this was a real date.

The music stopped pulsing and for a few seconds there was an abrupt silence. As voices started to fill in the break, she took her chance.

“Jack, do you, ah?” She licked her lips again and watched his eyes follow the movement of her tongue.
Heavens, I’m sweating! The man is making me perspire. I hope my deodorant holds up.
“Do you work in the area?”

“Yeah, Laurie.” His voice sounded like clover honey. “What about you?”

“I have my own practice.” Her words were cut off by music blasting through the speakers.

He took her hand. Every nerve ending fired again as he held it.

Damn, I need to get a grip!
Going all gooey while surrounded by half her childhood friends would undoubtedly make her die of embarrassment.

On the other hand, her secretary would say, “Way to go! It’s only been… how long?”

“So, you’re donating a gift to the auction.” The corners of his lips turned up at the edge. What gorgeous full lips.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. She thought to ask him how he was associated with the Naval Special Warfare Foundation, but the muscles of his biceps flexed, stretching the fabric of his shirt, and the thought drifted away.

Heaven help her! Her hormones were out of control. She never thought she could get such nerve-racking lightning sensations from a handshake. Her body was screaming that this was a man worth experiencing.

She had never been the type for one-nighters, but Jack was making her reconsider. She was a grown woman. Wasn’t it time for her to take a risk?

The list of dos and don’ts was rapidly playing in her head. But she wasn’t interested in listening to the “chat-back”—that moral-based sound track that so often took the fun and spontaneity out of everything.

You
don’t know him! You shouldn’t hook up with him. Think “stranger”!

However, her libido was in charge, and it didn’t give even a second’s notice to the words screaming in her head. The happy-joy-juice feelings were too great. Instead, she leaned forward, giving him her sexiest smile with her best come-hither gaze.

Within seconds of that look, his hand was on the small of her back, guiding her toward the bathroom labeled Handicapped. There was so much action happening around them—plates of food, waitresses with trays of beer, music, someone making announcements, and more—that no one paid any attention to them. She was relieved by that. Was she really going to have a quickie?

The bathroom wasn’t much to look at. It wouldn’t be making the cover of
Architectural
Digest
, though it wasn’t bad enough for a makeover show. The odor of disinfectant permeated the air—
that
was reassuring—but there were only a few extra feet of space.

As the lock clicked into place, she had a moment to breathe and decide. She could still turn back. Her feet were backing her up, putting distance between them. When her back hit the wall, she had to stop. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. She was going to do it.

She shoved her small black clutch handbag between the handicap rail and the wall in one smooth motion. Her eyes captured his and then dropped down to devour him. They continued all the way to his well-polished shoes and then raced upward to his piercing gaze, which promised complete and unadulterated satisfaction.

Oh, yes! She wanted him—his hands on her skin and his mouth driving her heart rate through the roof. Excitement raced through her veins, and her heart pounded hard as if she were running a marathon. She was drawing air in so fast it was hard to catch her breath. Short of passing out, nothing was going to stop her from enjoying this illicit moment.

“You smell good, like lilacs.” Jack leaned down, close to her, their mouths only inches apart. “My mother used to grow them. So lovely.” He kissed her and she was lost in myriad sensations.

His hands slid under her elbows, lifting her against him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, losing herself in the strength of those burly, safe arms.

Lips rubbed gently against hers—asking, questioning, needing—and the tenderness swayed her. Opening her mouth to his want, their tongues touched and a teasing duel had her smiling into the kiss.

Moving his lips against hers, he said, “You’re not a wilting flower, are you?”

“Why wilt, when I can give as easily as I take?” She felt his lips smile against hers. “What do you think of them apples?”

“I love apples, but I’m hungry for something else.” His lips laid siege, and her hands dug into his back, steadying her before they wandered up to play with the fuzz on the back of his neck.
I
haven’t had this much fun since high school…

His hands slid down her back and then back up again to cup her head. He kissed with a focus that was transporting. She drifted further and further in his world of sensation, seduction, and teasing satisfaction.

Thud! Thud!
A pounding at the bathroom door interrupted them, dragging her abruptly back to reality.

“Just a minute!” she yelled. Slowly, he lowered her feet to the floor. His shirt was askew and there was lipstick all over his mouth. Her clothes were wrinkled and the back of her dress was partially unzipped.

Pushing the strap of her dress back up her shoulder, she did about a hundred moves to pull the zipper up all the way.

“Um, I think you might want to wash your face.” She gestured with her hand.

“Thanks.” He smiled as he turned on the sink and did as she suggested.

Fetching her purse from where she’d stashed it, she fixed her lipstick and was semiready to exit the bathroom.

***

On the other side of the bathroom door, they quickly skirted the line. These people actually wanted to use the facilities. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She was mortified—necking in the toilet like a teenager. What on earth had gotten into her?

Jack touched her elbow, guiding her to a semiquiet niche. Squeezing into it, they stared at each other.

Ugh!
She hated that awkward moment when the physical attraction was cooling and reality was setting in. Not that she had a ton of experience, but she had some.

“So, Jack, what would you like to do next?” She began chattering to fill the silence. Though perhaps she shouldn’t have led with that question. Now that the crazy, lust-fueled moment had passed, she was starting to feel back in control. “I mean, what do you do for a living? What’s your job?”

“I’m a Navy SEAL. I thought you knew.” His head tilted to the side as if he was studying her anew.

Crap! Crap! Crap!
“No, I didn’t. I, uh, don’t normally date military guys.” She spoke the words a little vehemently.
I
shouldn’t have kissed him.
Seriously, it wasn’t this guy’s fault that he was Spec Ops. Whom did she expect to meet here? “Sorry, I just—”

“Does that mean you date military women?” he asked with a smirk on his face.

“No!” She laughed. “The military—in all its forms—isn’t my normal preference. I like nine-to-five guys. A man who comes home every night and is there on the weekend. Someone stable.”

“You ever date a SEAL?” he asked. The question sounded curious, not judgmental, so she answered it.

“No.”

He looked at her intently. “How can you know you don’t want something if you’ve never tried it?”

“Inside knowledge,” she stated. He hadn’t earned the right to her history yet.

A grimace passed over his features. He grabbed his calf and massaged the back of it.

“Cramp?” she asked.

“Yeah, I get them when my potassium is low,” he confessed.

“I have just the trick.” She pulled his hand away from the ailing muscle and pushed on various spots on and around the muscle. “I do acupressure. This should loosen things up.”

“Yeah, that helps. Thanks.” Lowering his leg, he stared at her, and then he straightened his collar, flipping it out to land on top of his jacket.

She searched in her purse for her business card, plucked one out, and handed it to him. “Laurie Smith, physical therapist.” His eyebrows furrowed. The smile melted away, to be replaced with a very deep frown. “What the hell? Is this some kind of setup? Did Gich put you up to this? He mentioned something about acupressure. I fucking knew you’d done this before.”

“Done what? How do you know Commander Gich?” Laurie was confused. Could he insult her any more deeply than thinking her a prostitute? What was with this guy?

“Hold up! You need to explain yourself, Jack.” Anger built in her gut. Had Gich set
her
up with
him
? Was all of this a game to get her back into the groove of dating and living? Gich wouldn’t do this! She was a paragon, basically a nun, in his eyes, almost as pure as the Virgin Mary. None of this made any sense! Feeling a hard edge creep into her thoughts, she said, “You need to be up-front with me. What’s going on?”

Stepping closer than was necessary, he looked down at her with a frown on his handsome face. “You can tell Gich for me that I don’t need any charity. Anything I have to face, I’ll do it on my own.” He turned away from her and then stopped. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “For what it was worth, you’re not half bad.”