The SEAL’s Secret Lover (4 page)

He didn’t bother to take off his pants, just opened them enough for his cock to drop thick and heavy into his hand. He palmed it once, just to take the edge off, and then rolled the condom down his shaft. Rose lay on the bed, bared and spread for him, a hot, dazed look in her eyes as she stared at his hands. Then, as he gathered up her unresisting wrists and pinned them beside her head, he aligned his shaft with her entrance. She was so slick, so hot, that the head slipped in before he even thought to make that move. Muscles tightened to bone as she gasped and clenched in on herself, and hissed with pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, but he didn’t pull out, didn’t lift his body from hers. In some distant, civilized part of his brain, he knew he should do exactly that, but her hot, tight nipples bored into his chest, and every nerve in his body rang like a fire alarm. “Jesus, Rose. Fuck. You’re tight.”

“You’re big,” she gasped back. “God. Just … hold on a second, okay?”

“Okay. Sure,” he said, ready to promise whatever he had to promise to stay right where he was. He closed his eyes and focused on the maddening heat, the delicious pressure enveloping just the head of his cock. Nothing more. He could feel the delicate muscles of her sheath quivering, then giving way, welcoming rather than resisting. He slid in another inch, and she tensed again, more, he guessed, in anticipation of pain than from pain itself. So he kept going, gliding deeper, until she’d taken everything he had.

Her eyes opened, staring up at him. “That’s it?” she asked shakily.

“That’s it,” he promised, and was startled to hear a rough tremor in his own voice. There were a million questions to ask her, none of them his business in any way, shape, or form. Like why she was near-feral in her desire, and as tight as a virgin. Or why she—

She wriggled under him. The slick skin of their bellies, pressed together, or her inner thighs where they were wrapped around his hips, reminded him of the slick pressure surrounding his cock. Then she twisted her wrists in his grip, and he got it. He let go of her wrists, only to find her adjusting her arms so she could wind her fingers through his and hold on tight.

“I think, if you just…” she said, a calculating, distant look in her eyes as she circled her hips under him.

He’d spent too much time in the SEALs to waste words when actions shouted. He curved over her, pulled out, and buried himself to the hilt inside her, a hot, gliding stroke that lit him up from the inside out. Her words splintered into a soft gasp that deepened into a moan when he did it again, the angle of his hips canted to find the hot spot inside her.

“If I just what?” he whispered. “Just did this?”

He did it again, finding the perfect rhythm and depth to drive her wild without moving things along too quickly. Her toes curled against his flanks, and before long, a deep rosy flush bloomed on her face and spread down her throat. He used every trick he knew to hold himself back, tightening the muscles around his cock, counting backward in Pashtun, because he didn’t just want to make her come. He wanted to make her come apart. So he gave her what he knew she needed, a steady rhythm gliding over her hot spot again and again, slow, maddening, the promise of getting her mind blown if she’d just take it, take him.

He could feel it coming. Her back arched, her face tightened, a low groan vibrating in her throat. When the crest crashed down, he yanked his hand free of hers and clapped his hand over her mouth, drove into her twice more, and let the surf take them both.

The next thing he heard was an indistinct sound from Rose. “Huh?” he said, not the most coherent statement he’d ever made.

“Off,” Rose said, and added a shove to his ribs. “No endorphins. Too heavy. Can’t breathe.”

He shifted to his side, disengaging their bodies, but keeping a hand on her hip. She took a deep inhale, the exhale shuddering as it left her body, then clumsily pushed her T-shirt and bra down. He helped, gently checking her over as he did. She seemed okay, breathing slowly, eyes closed, when he got up to ditch the condom. By the time he’d finished and hitched his pants up, she was on her feet, pulling on her leggings. “I should go,” she said when he leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “If I stay any longer I’ll fall asleep. I don’t want Grannie to wake up alone in a strange place.”

“Sure,” he said, telling himself he should feel relieved by her matter-of-fact attitude. Two consenting adults, one vacation fling. Watching her pull her shirt over her head, then gather her hair into a loose ponytail, he’d think she did this all the time, except she was so tight and hot and wild under him, like she never let herself go.

She looked at the clock and blew out her breath. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Five thirty,” he said, adjusting to civilian time.

“I should get up earlier, check in on things before we leave.”

“Rose,” he said firmly, “get some sleep. I’ve got this.”

“Got what?”

“Whatever might come up. I’ve got it. Trust me.”

Clutching her sweater to her chest, she looked at him like she’d never relied on another person in her entire life. Her pupils were blown wide, her skin flushed and gleaming. “Okay,” she said faintly. “I’ll just … okay. Thanks for … thanks. That was way better than second best.”

When she’d left, he inhaled deeply. The room smelled faintly of her, not perfume, not hair spray, but the rich, musky scent of her skin, of sex. For the first time in a long time, he fell asleep with the smell of a woman in his nose.

Chapter Three

“The bathroom’s all yours, Rose,” Grannie said.

Rose looked up from the email she was sending to Hua Li, her most trusted employee. If anyone could sweet talk I.T. into expediting her request to get her international service ASAP, it was Hua. They’d been warned that hot air balloon rides at the beginning of the season could be very cold, so Grannie was bundled up in lightweight travel pants, a button-down shirt, and a thick sweater.

“Are you wearing your long underwear?” Rose asked.

“Yes, and wool socks,” Grannie said, zipping her toiletries bag into her suitcase. She studied Rose long enough for a flush to creep into Rose’s cheeks.

“What?” she said with a smile. “I just need a few minutes and I’ll be ready—”

A swift, hard knock at the door made them both jump. Grannie opened it. Keenan took one step inside, controlling both the hallway and the room, his gaze scanning the window, the bed, Rose. He didn’t linger on Rose, which was probably for the best. Even the slightest eye contact sent sparks along tingling nerves in her mouth, her breasts, her sex. He looked at her laptop, then gave her a quick nod she took to mean they’d deal with her phone situation today, if possible. “Ten minutes, ladies,” he said. “Keep your purse or backpack with you, but leave your suitcase outside the door. The concierge will bring them down for you.”

When the door closed, Grannie whisked open the heavy curtains covering the window. The sun peeked over the edge of the Cappadocia hills. “Ten minutes, Rose!” she said, all but bouncing.

“I just need to send this email,” Rose said, relieved by Keenan’s businesslike manner. She wasn’t going to pay for telling him he was better than second best. She didn’t often shove her foot down her throat, into her stomach, but when she did, she did it with gusto and aplomb. Besides, what happened last night wasn’t going to happen again. It was a vacation fling for her, and a who-knew-what for him. Keenan kept things professional, just the way she liked them. After all, weren’t the SEALs called the silent professionals? Perfect. “We’ve got problems with a terminal in California, and the chair of the hiring committee just sent another round of jobs to look over before we post them.”

“Rose,” her grandmother said, shooing her toward the bathroom, “go, go, go!”

Rose went, and emerged nine minutes later, teeth brushed, hair back in a ponytail, a fleece watch cap on her head. She’d made it in nine minutes only because one look at her face told her that, other than some concealer for the bags under her eyes, makeup was unnecessary. The color in her cheeks and her still-swollen mouth gave her all the glow she needed. It wasn’t five hours of sleep so deep she might as well have been unconscious.

No, she owed the color in her face to the frankly incredible sex. She jammed her makeup bag into her suitcase, zipped it shut, and wrestled it out the door, where a waiting bellboy hefted it and headed for the stairs. Her phone, laptop, adapters, and charging cords all went into her shoulder tote. Ushering Grannie ahead of her, she rounded up Marian and Florence and led them down the stairs to the foyer, where Keenan was waiting.

“Our shuttle is that one,” he said, pointing at the small bus parked outside the hotel’s sliding doors. “They’ll take us for breakfast, then out to the balloon launch sites.”

“
Our
shuttle?” Rose said, surprised. “You’re coming with us?”

He nodded, then lowered his voice. “Jack told me to look after you. I’m looking after you.”

Heat thrummed through her, far too early in a very long day to be anything but a tease. She should lock it down. Instead, she leaned in. “Is that what you call it?”

“My definitions are pretty flexible,” he admitted, a wry smile on his mouth.

“Of course he’s coming. You have to come,” Grannie said. “Seeing Cappadocia from the air is on everyone’s bucket list.”

To his credit, Keenan shut his mouth and said the only thing he could say. “Yes, ma’am.”

They all clambered into the small shuttle bus, which took them along narrow roads. Houses seemed to rise straight out of the soft stone, giving the small villages a tumbled, jumbled look. Yards held goats and chickens, and satellite dishes jutted from roofs. At their destination, a modern building framed incongruously like a Swiss chalet, they jostled among other guests to help themselves to a steaming hot buffet table laden with Turkish breakfast foods. Rose got herself fruit, pastries, and a cup of coffee, then found Grannie and her friends had joined a table of other people their age. Keenan sat at a table for two, his backpack pointedly claiming the other chair.

“Have a seat,” he said, and stood.

He came back a minute later with a plate laden with toast, eggs, a soup that smelled fantastic, fruit, and a cup of hot chocolate.

“I wish,” she said, looking at the cocoa.

“I ran this morning,” he said.

“I’d love to get in a run, but I slept through the alarm,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “Grannie woke me up when she was getting dressed. Good thing I showered before I fell asleep last night.”

It wasn’t easy to look him in the eye, something she found simple enough when dealing with the men she worked with. It wasn’t because she was ashamed, or even cowed by him. It was because he’d seen her vulnerable and out of control, now he saw into her, maybe even saw through her.

“Let me know if you’re going to run,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not fast,” she said. “If I can run a ten-minute mile, I’m doing well, and that’s on the treadmill.”

He finished chewing an entire flaky pastry with apricot filling, and swallowed. “It’s not a question of speed. It’s a question of safety. Based on your insane schedule, the only time you’ll have to run is before sunrise or after dark. You’re not going alone.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Would Jack let you run alone in a strange country and no cell phone?”

Dammit. “On principle, he wouldn’t have a say in the matter. More pragmatically, no, he wouldn’t,” she admitted as she started to peel her orange.

“About Jack,” he said.

“Yes, about Jack,” she said, flicking the white orange pulp from her fingertips. Mentioning Jack reminded her that she’d been looking forward to spending time with him on this trip. She’d been so busy at work she’d not noticed his pattern of postponing dinner, or drinks, or a Saturday afternoon playing video games. Only when he backed out of the trip did she connect the dots.

“He’s not going to be happy about this,” Keenan said.

“About what?” Rose asked.

Keenan just looked at her, and the molten heat in his eyes stopped her with an orange section halfway to her mouth. “You can’t look at me like that in public,” she whispered.

He blinked, and Keenan was just Keenan, unassuming, quiet, unremarkable Keenan.

“I hadn’t planned to tell Jack about this,” she said, pleased to hear her voice was well-modulated, matter-of-fact. “I mean, I don’t normally tell my brother I’m having sex with someone, SEAL or otherwise, because it’s (a) gross and (b) none of his business. Why? Did he warn you off me or something?”

“Or something,” Keenan said.

She thought about inquiring into the “or something,” then thought better of it. “I’m sorry for what I said when I was leaving.”

His brows pulled down. “What did you say?”

“About being better than second best?”

He laughed, bright, vivid, head back. “My ego can withstand coming in second to a working cell phone.”

“Oh, God,” she said, and put her head in her hands. “It’s not the same. They’re totally different good things.”

“Good things?” he said, grinning.

“Why isn’t the floor swallowing me up right now?”

He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Don’t worry about it, Jetlag. I like a challenge.”

“Powell, party of five,” called a man with a clipboard before Rose could make things any worse. She tucked the orange into her pocket, snatched up her bag, and followed Grannie, Florence, and Marian out the door, Keenan on her heels.

They resolutely avoided eye contact on the way to the launch site. They were fine, as long as they didn’t make eye contact. As soon as they did, based on the way they looked at each other, everyone would know. The heat between them would burn an office building to a blackened shell.

The balloonist sized them all up with a practiced eye, then pointed the older ladies into one balloon basket and Rose and Keenan into another. “Wait,” she said. “I want to go with Grannie.”

“So do we,” Florence said.

Rose narrowed her eyes. Florence gave her a little finger wave / shooing motion, and Rose turned to find Keenan politely holding the basket door open for her.