Protected by a SEAL: Hot SEALs (Volume 5) (6 page)

That was the only way to get muscles that large. Lots of food, in addition to pumping iron for hours a day. The bastard could probably eat all the carbs he wanted and not gain an ounce of fat.

Sierra resented the massive intrusion in her life for a whole new reason now.
 

The thought of having him outside her door all night long while she was trying to sleep had her craving comfort food in massive amounts. But the knowledge of what carbs did to her body had her saying to Roger, “Order me a salad along with that pizza.”

“You got it.” Roger whipped out his cell phone while Sierra watched the new man in her life continue to hold a conversation she couldn’t hear with someone on his cell phone.

He was a fine specimen. Probably nothing between the ears, but from the neck down his muscles were enough to have her remembering keenly how long it had been since she’d had a steady boyfriend. And in her position, one-night stands were out of the question.
 

Nope. Her life in the public spotlight meant she couldn’t gain even an ounce without speculation in the tabloids that she had a
baby bump
.

Sierra sighed with frustration. No good food. No sex. No life.

She did have some really great shoes though. That counted for something. Right?

CHAPTER 7

Rick listened to the ringing through the earpiece of his cell until he heard Jon, when he finally answered, say, “Hey, Rick. You at the hotel?”

“I am.” Rick heard the ambient noise on the other end of the line. “The guys still at your place?”

“Yup. Unfortunately, we seem to have moved on from planning our presentation in HOA to plotting how to get more beer over here without any of us having to go out and get it.”

He knew these guys, as well as if they were his blood brothers, and that sounded about right to him.

A discussion about Jon and Zane’s presentation in Djibouti would naturally lead to memories of when they’d all been stationed on the Horn of Africa in the SEAL encampment on Camp Lemonier. And memories inevitably were accompanied by a cold one—or six.

Rick laughed. “You know, one call to Darci and she’ll deliver it to you.”

“You think?” Jon asked.

“I don’t just think, I
know
. She was dying to get over to your place for that GAPS meeting.”

“Really? Why?” Jon sounded surprised.

He shouldn’t be. He’d been the one to approve Darci going on that mission with Chris. He should have known after one she’d want another. Action was addicting—an obsession Rick knew too well.
 

Rick would happily remind his friend whose fault this was. “This one’s all on you, bro. Since you sent her on that one job, she thinks she’s an operative now. But hey, you tell her you need supplies for the planning meeting and she’ll be in her car so fast your head’ll spin.”

Jon let out a chuckle. “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. How’s it going there with you?”

How to answer that? Rick was there. He’d met the clients. He liked Roger well enough. But Sierra “Diva” Cox—she was another story altogether.

“It’s . . . uh, going.”

There was a silent pause from Jon’s end of the line in response to Rick’s skirted honesty. “You do realize that answer doesn’t exactly instill confidence, right?”

Time to tap dance and reassure his boss things were fine. Which they were, even if Ms. Cox kept shooting daggers at him with those angry emerald-colored eyes of hers.

Rick’s first GAPS assignment was not going to get derailed by a diva, even if she was centerfold-worthy. He didn’t care what he had to do. Hell, he’d spit shine her shoes if it made her happy but he was not failing and letting Jon or GAPS down.

“Nah. It’s fine. I’m good. Just never been in a hotel suite this fancy before. I guess I’m a little tongue tied. The living room in this place is bigger than mine and Darci’s whole house.”

Jon snorted. “Yeah, well it probably costs more a night than your mortgage every month so don’t be too jealous.”

He hadn’t considered that but, of course, Jon was probably right about that. Diva was hella rich.

No wonder she was so stuck up. She couldn’t help it.

Rick allowed himself to digest that for just a second before work-mode took over. “So how is GAPS set up as far as surveillance-detection equipment goes?”

“Oh, well let me just take a look at our latest equipment warehouse inventory.“ Jon paused, no doubt for dramatic effect to complement his sarcasm. “Rick, right now we’re buying equipment as we need it. I mean we got the essentials necessary for a QRF kit—weapons, ammo, vests and plates, but specialty stuff, like what you’re asking about, we’ll have to go buy.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I guess I don’t need—“

“Rick. No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t stockpile this stuff, but if you need it, I’ll happily get it.”

“You sure? I can make do with a manual sweep.” Rick knew GAPS hadn’t scored a whole lot of work in its brief history. He felt bad asking Jon to spend any of their initial investment that could go toward more important needs, such as beefing up their Quick Reaction Force kits. Or buying those four-tube NVGs he’d been jonesing for Jon to get for the team.

“The client is paying us a nice sum for this gig and we’ve got money in the bank. Besides, a bug detector is probably something we’ll get a lot of use out of. It’s all good. I’ll call around. If I can’t find any place open tonight, I’ll get it in the morning and run it over to you.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Jon.”

“No problem. I’d like to meet the client in person anyway.”

“Yup. You probably should.” Rick tempered his reply and didn’t issue the warning that was on the tip of his tongue.

He glanced across the room as Ms. Cox, with her chestnut hair piled up on top of her head.

A fluffy white robe dwarfed her, its color a stark contrast to the heightened hue of her cheeks.

Crap, she was looking too sexy for her to be a client. Why couldn’t he have gotten some old governmental dude to guard instead?

This was his first big assignment for GAPS. He needed his head in the game, not on wondering what was under that robe.

If he hadn’t taken the time to look her up online before coming over, the image of her in a bikini wouldn’t be flashing through his sex-deprived brain.

That was sad recompense for doing his due diligence. He should have just driven over unprepared. He would have been better off blissfully ignorant to what Sierra Cox’s smooth lean limbs looked like, bronzed and oiled in that photo spread.
 

He had to stop thinking like that or he’d embarrass himself and probably get GAPS fired from what was a pretty primo job.

Meanwhile, any fantasies on Rick’s part would remain just that. Fantasy.

Mainly because he had to be professional but also because there was no way Sierra Cox wanted anything to do with him. Not professionally or personally.

That was clear by the attitude radiating off her from across the room. She might be swaddled in fluff, but she sure as hell had a demeanor that was hard as nails.

Sierra was like an overwhelming spitfire compressed in a deceivingly small and sweet-looking package. Kind of like that chocolate-covered fire ant he ate on a dare when they’d all been in HOA.
 

That had been the easiest fifty bucks he’d ever made. Unfortunately, Rick had a feeling conquering Sierra Cox would not be so easy.

CHAPTER 8

For what had to be the dozenth time Sierra glanced at the clock.

Sleep eluded her, and it wasn’t because of the potentially deadly, camera-wielding stalker, or the possibility of a bug being planted in her suite to monitor her every move. It was without a doubt the fact that even her unconscious brain was very aware of—not to mention disturbed by—the presence of the bruiser in her living room.

The ceiling was too boring to stare at any longer so Sierra closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. Sleep that didn’t come.

She should have taken a sleeping pill. Unfortunately she needed a full eight, and ideally nine hours of sleep to not feel like a zombie in the morning. She had to be at the studio at nine a.m. for hair and makeup.

One glance at the numbers glowing on the bedside clock told her it was far too late to take anything now. Anything other than a shot of alcohol, that is.

Maybe she should raid the minibar. Drink enough to put her in a drunken coma for the next—how many hours? She did a quick calculation in her head. The answer wasn’t good.

To shower, dress and get to the lot in time, she’d have to get up in two and a half hours. Three if she really rushed her morning routine and ate breakfast in the makeup chair.

But if she was going to be sleep deprived because of this Rick person thrust upon her, she certainly hoped he would be too. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have to look fresh and pretty on camera tomorrow. He didn’t have to remember lines and blocking cues.

Was he even awake out there? Was he sitting up, watching the door and windows with an eagle eye, ready to pounce at any sign of an intruder? Or, and this was far more likely in her opinion, was he stretched out, sleeping on the sofa that would no doubt be too short for him?

The curiosity ate at her until she was more awake than before. There was no freaking way she had any hope of dozing now. Not until she had an answer to her question.

She flipped the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Bare-footed, Sierra padded across the plush carpet, guided by the light from the living room that slipped through the crack between the door and the frame.

Foiled by the fact the space was too small for her to peek through, she turned the knob, slowly in an attempt to be silent and sneak up on him.

It didn’t work. The moment the door opened, he glanced up from his seat on the sofa and smiled. “Good morning.”

Sierra couldn’t have frowned any deeper. “Morning? How is this morning?”

His cell phone was already in his hand. He hit a button and turned it to face her to display the time. “It’s five. That’s morning.”

“How can you consider five a.m. morning? The sun isn’t even up. Is it?” She generally made it to about closing time of whatever club she happened to be partying at, and then went straight to bed. So five in the morning was uncharted territory for her.

The bastard managed to look handsome even at this ungodly hour as he grinned at her. “The sun doesn’t necessarily dictate when morning starts. There were days I’d get in my run, shower, and eat breakfast all before the sun came up.”

That confirmed her suspicions. He was a health nut.

“That’s very admirable.” She complimented him, but the sarcasm was clear in her tone.

She should probably be more careful how she spoke, given he was in possession of a gun. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there it was, on the table next to him.

“Coffee?” He stood and grabbed the gun, sliding it into a hidden ankle holster before letting his pant leg slide back into place.

After witnessing that disturbing move, she somehow found the words to ask, “You made coffee?”

“Yup. Brewed a fresh pot about half an hour ago. Should still be plenty fresh, even for
your
taste buds.”

There was an insult in there but she was too flabbergasted to respond to it.