One Hot SEAL (6 page)

6

Male voices rumbled from the front
porch of Luke’s house. Someone had stopped by. Funny how even after two weeks
as his houseguest (roommate, she reminded herself, because she was trying to
pull her weight and not play the pampered princess) it was very much his place.
She and Vicious had added a new layer of dog hair to Luke’s furniture, but
other than that, she hadn’t put her
Deelie
was here
stamp on the place.

She hit the kitchen first because,
if the guests turned out to be either of Luke’s brothers, she needed caffeine
before being social. Not because they weren’t nice but because they were so
painfully polite around her. They looked at her, and she just knew that they
wondered why the hell Luke had picked her to play house with.

Frankly, she wondered the same
thing at least twice or forty times a day. And then she had to kick herself,
because she’d made a vow years ago to stop tearing herself down. Daddy Dearest
had done that enough; now she lived for herself and for the fucking moment.

Sometimes literally.

She could feel the big
I-just-got-laid-and-it-was-awesome grin stretching her face. She couldn’t even
hide it. God, Luke just got better and better in bed, and he’d set the bar
impossibly high to begin with. He was creative, adventurous, and not afraid to
lock the door and drag her off to bed at a moment’s notice. Saying no to him
was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to start getting more sleep or
she was going to pass out on Ma’s bar during her shift. Yeah. She could imagine
the gossip storm
that
would cause.

She swiped the last two inches of
coffee from the pot. Debated starting another pot, but they hadn’t worked out
the grocery share, and while leftovers were one thing, raiding his stuff was
another. It was her mug though, with the Vegas-bound flamingoes cavorting
around the edges. The handle was a big pink beak. Luke’s mugs were boring black
stoneware. The man seemed to have a pathological aversion to color. He needed
pink boxers, yellow socks, rainbow-colored Post-It notes. Something to break up
the calm, restful, monochromatic noncolor scheme he had going on in his house.

She listened for a moment. The
porch
seemed
quiet, but what did she
know about family relationships? She’d been an only child. Maybe brothers could
commune with each other silently, or maybe they’d already killed each other.
Things seemed amicable between Luke and his brothers, but you never knew.

She padded out, pushing the door
open with her hip. Luke was sprawled in an Adirondack chair, an empty coffee cup
by his booted feet. He did have a guest, but it wasn’t either of his brothers.
For a moment, all she felt was relieved, then she realized she had two
problems, not one.

First of all, she hadn’t bothered
with getting dressed before she’d made her grand appearance on the porch. She
wore a lacy pink bra, a pair of yellow-and-white striped boy shorts, and one of
Luke’s old flannel shirts. Seeing as how the shirt was Luke’s, it was,
naturally, black. It ended midthigh, and she’d fastened precisely one button,
the one over her boobs, and like bees to honey, both men lasered in on said
button. Or on her bra, her boobs, or the general fantasy she was serving up. In
terms of coverage, her outfit wasn’t an overachiever. On the other hand, she
figured she and her boobs were Exhibit A for why having a live-in girlfriend
was a good thing.

“Hey, baby.” Since she was on the
porch anyhow, with her legs and her butt hanging out of Luke’s shirt, she might
as well go whole hog. She plopped down onto the arm of Luke’s chair and kissed
his ear.

He smiled and gestured to his
guest. “Pick here and I were talking. He’s the Black Mountain superintendent.”
It didn’t sound like a complaint, more like a statement of fact, and she told
herself not to be so touchy. “Pick, do you know Deelie?”

She looked away from Luke, pinning
a social smile on her face and… oh shoot. She’d slept with Luke’s boss.

Yeah. That wasn’t awkward at all.
The moment of frozen silence only made it worse.

“Deelie and I, we know each other,”
Pick said gruffly, and then he shoved to his feet. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s
training hike unless we get called out first.”

Luke stood up. The guys did a
little back slapping and a fist bump, while they
both
avoided looking at her. Yay her. Pick loped down the steps and
over to a big black motorcycle parked in the driveway. If she’d only seen the
bike, she might have been smart enough to stay inside, because Pick had given
her a ride one night last year. One thing had led to another and… she wouldn’t
make excuses for who she was or what she’d done.

Luke prowled back toward the porch,
looking grim. It had been nice while it lasted, but clearly she’d been right
when she said things between them wouldn’t last.

“So. You and Pick.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew, all
right.

“I know him.” She shoved the
flamingo mug at him. “You want the last of the coffee?”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “I
don’t want coffee, Deelie. I want the truth.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” She might
have slept around—
a lot
—but
she’d never told him anything but the truth. The shuttered look on his face,
however, said good luck selling that story to Luke.

“You want a list of every guy I’ve
slept with? Or just the ones who live in Strong and you might—you
know—‘accidentally’ bump into?” She had no idea why she was taunting him.

“Jesus. No.” He scrubbed a hand
over his face.

“You want to know why I did it?
Because I’ve got a two-word explanation for you: free orgasms.”
Shut up
, her heart ordered her mouth.
Don’t push him. Don’t make him mad.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. “I
can’t win this conversation.”

“Is it a contest now?”

She used to think the sex meant
something. Had almost believed Luke when he’d said she
mattered
.

She looked at the black coffee
sloshing around the bottom of her mug. It had achieved sludge-like consistency
in the five minutes since she’d poured it. Apparently coffee had a shelf life
too. She emptied the mug into Luke’s hydrangeas, and nope, she wasn’t going to
apologize for the pale brown stain on the big white balls. He was a big boy,
and life got messy.

She wanted to throw the mug at his
head, but that was stupid. She only had two mugs, and she couldn’t afford to
break one. So she set the mug down on the arm of the chair and folded her arms
over her chest.

“Look. I’m easy. Either that works
for you, or it doesn’t.”

She’d always been the hot
girl—and the
easy
girl. Luke
hadn’t complained when they’d been going at it by the waterfall—either
time. Nope. He’d enjoyed himself, he’d enjoyed her, and then he’d asked for
more. He should be careful what he asked for.

“There’s nothing
easy
about you. You’re damn difficult.”

She opened her mouth—although
she honestly had no idea what to say—when Luke’s pager went off. He
looked down and swore.

“We’ve got a fire call. I have to
go.”

Uh-huh. She’d heard that one
before—when there was snow on the ground and a stiff wind chill factor. He
was just like all the other guys, easy come and easy go.

“Pull the other one,” she snapped. “I
can be out of here in ten minutes. Twenty tops.”

“I’m coming back,” he growled.

“It’s no big deal. Go.” See? She’d
given him permission. He could leave guilt-free. She hated being needy. If she
could just be strong for once, maybe then it would be enough.

He ran a hand over his head. Looked
down at his page again, clearly torn. Yeah. She got that. “Deelie—”

“Go,” she said. “You don’t want to
be late for work. If that’s what it is.”

And of course he went.

7

Ma’s was busy, but that was Friday
night for you. All the locals came in because Ma’s was the only place to have a
drink, plus everyone you knew was here already anyhow. That sucked the big one
for dating which, once again, she knew firsthand. Meeting a guy here was like
swimming in one big fishbowl where half the other fish were either hostile or
piranhas. She kind of got it. She wasn’t the nicest person, and she definitely
wasn’t the kind of woman you wanted your friends, brothers, or even your
dentist to date. She was trouble.

Okay.

She was
in
trouble.

She hadn’t seen Luke all week.
Possibly because the Black Mountain hotshot crew really had been called to help
fight a fire two hundred miles away, but still. If he’d really wanted her to be
part of his life, he’d have found a way to call her. Text. Send a carrier
pigeon. Hell, since he was battling a wildfire, he could even use smoke
signals. She’d screwed up badly when she’d accused him of lying to her.

She slashed a lime in half.

Mimi reached over and carefully
pried the knife out of her fingers. “Honey, you want to take those frustrations
out on a punching bag, not my produce. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She flashed the redhead
a quick smile. Pissing off her boss would be stupid. At the end of the week,
she’d have enough saved up for a down payment on a place. Or barring that, a
tent.

“Uh-huh.” Mimi pursed her lips,
clearly deciding whether or not to let it go. “Well, in case you’re lying to
me, I should probably point out that your Mr. Nothing just strolled in our
front door and is headed this way.”

Shoot. Deelie looked up, lasering
in on the front door, and sure enough, there was Luke. He looked tired. He wore
another one of his ratty military T-shirts and a pair of cargo pants. She
couldn’t see his feet, but she’d bet he was wearing steel toes. The man tromped
through life ready to kick ass. His gaze met hers, and he laid in a course for
the bar.

Uh-oh.

“I think it’s time for my break,”
she said hurriedly.

Mimi shook her head. “He’s only
going to follow you out back—or back home. You might as well hear what
he’s got to say.”

She might have been on board with
that plan if she’d felt like acting like a grown-up. Unfortunately, she was
fresh out of big girl panties.

“How do you know we’re living
together?”

Mimi grinned at her. “Small town,
remember? Your business is our business.”

Luke slid onto the barstool across
from Deelie, and Mimi nudged her. “Give the man a chance, okay?”

Why did everyone think she’d
already made up her mind about him?

Because
you have
, the little voice in her head announced gleefully.
Because you want to dump him before he dumps
you.
Well, duh. She wasn’t into public humiliation which would be epic
since apparently most, if not all, Strong knew about her current living
arrangement. He needed to leave. Leave the bar, leave her life. Having
practiced so many times in the past, she knew exactly how to handle a leaving
man.

It was the stick-around guy she
didn’t know how to handle.

“Well?” She slapped a cocktail
napkin down on the bar in front of him.

“I’m waiting,” he said. True
enough. He sure didn’t look like he was in any rush.

“For what? Nuclear apocalypse?”

“For my chance,” he said mildly. “Mimi
just finished saying you have to give me one.”

She stared at him for a moment, not
sure where to start. He was gorgeous, and she loved looking at him, which also
meant her head shut down and other parts—her girl parts, her heart
parts—took over the thinking for her. So she said the first thing that
came to mind.

“I only do first dates. I told you
that.”

“Uh-huh.” He sat there, so
imperturbable that she was tempted to dump her drinks tray on him. See how
cool
he could act when he was wearing
the ice cubes from the smoke jumping team’s Jack and Cokes. “I heard you just
fine when you said that the other day.”

“So what are you doing here? I’m
done with you.”

“You only like
first
s.” He ran an assessing gaze over her. His eyes held something
else. Something… warm? Whatever. She couldn’t do this again, couldn’t handle
yet another guy walking out the door, taking her heart and her hope with her.

“Sign me up. The door’s over there.”
She stared at him, wishing there was some way to skip forward, to move ahead to
that time in the way-distant future when her heart wouldn’t skip a beat when
Luke came through the door, when she wouldn’t want to throw herself into his
arms and hold on tight. He smelled smoky, his hair wet from a recent shower,
and he looked so damned perfect for her that she wanted to cry.

“There was a guy outside passing out
these little cards.” He thumbed one over the bar to her. She took it
automatically.
Today is the first day of
the rest of your life.
“That’s the truth right there, in black and white.”

She flicked the card back to him. “Unless
it’s the day you die. Then you’re just SOL.”

He grinned at her. “We’re going to
have to work on your positive attitude.”

Uh-huh. He’d have his work cut out for
him, because she was over hopeful feelings.

“What do you want?” Oops. She
pointed the knife at him to emphasize her point, and he eyed the blade. “Oh,
don’t be such a baby. You’re a big, badass Navy SEAL. You must know at least a
dozen ways to disarm me.”

“Yeah.” A big hand closed around
hers. The briefest of pressure, and then her knife somehow appeared on his side
of the bar. It was probably wrong that his ninja stealth move was the hottest
thing she’d seen all week, but it had been a long, lonely week. “About what I
want. I’d like today to be the first day of the rest of
our
lives.”

That was… hopeful. And positive.

“Don’t mess with me, Luke Dawson.
Give me back my knife.”

He winked at her. “I’m holding it
hostage. And you should know one thing.”

“Which is?” The way her heart
hammered in her chest and her knees went weak, it had better be the best thing
of all because the bottom line was she wanted this man for way more than a
night or six and the only place he appeared to be walking was toward her.

He held out his hand. The one, she
couldn’t help but notice,
without
the
knife, which just proved he wasn’t stupid. “I love you, Deelie Jacks.”

No poetry. No hesitation. He just
said it right there at the bar, with half Strong hanging on his every word. In
thirty minutes, the rest of the town would know he’d professed undying
devotion. How fucking sexy was it that he didn’t care who heard him? A little
more public than she liked, but… this was Luke Dawson. He didn’t believe in
holding back.

He looked at her, waiting for her to
make up her mind. “So now you know what I want. You tell me what
you
want.”

“And then what?” Okay. She could do
this. She put her hand in his. See? That felt right.

His fingers closed over hers.
Squeezed gently. “Then we can make a plan.”

“You and your plans.” Yeah. She
didn’t sound like she particularly minded. Nope. Her heart was singing a happy,
happy song, and she had a feeling she was wearing the biggest, goofiest grin on
her face.

“Planning’s not such a bad thing.
For example…” The look on his face was pure mischief. “Tonight, when I’ve got
you back in our bed, I’m going to lick my way down—”

Oh. My. God. She slapped her free
hand over his mouth. “We’re in a public
bar
,”
she hissed.

He pressed a kiss against her palm
and lifted it away from his mouth. “Chicken. There’s just one little thing
you’ve got to do for me first.”

“What’s that?” The man seemed to
have more hands than an octopus, because he pulled her over the bar. Closer and
closer, her brain shutting down as her free hand landed on his shoulder.

“Say that you love me too.”

You know what? She could do that.

“Nah. I love you
best
.”

And then, while she beamed at him
because, holy wow, she’d got the words out and it felt
good
, he was somehow lifting her over the bar and into his arms.

“Deelie’s done for the night,” he
said to Mimi, who was laughing her ass off watching the two of them. And then,
as they left together, Deelie tugged Luke’s head down to hers and kissed the
man she loved with all her heart.