A Sexy SEAL Novella Anthology (2 page)

With that and one last glare, the instructor
whipped off his cap, slapped it against his thigh, snugged it back
on his head and jerked his chin.

That’s when Sam’s hero stepped forward.

Lieutenant Commander Sullivan. Their BUD/S
Proctor.

The man kicked ass. From a training
standpoint, the officer in charge had an easy confidence in the
recruits that motivated them to push themselves harder than any of
the other instructors with their bitching, nagging and
torture-inspired abuse. The stories about the guy’s exploits might
be exaggerated, but the records he held weren’t. He was the kind of
SEAL Sam wanted to be.

“Gentlemen,” Sullivan said with an easy
smile. “Two-hundred-forty started out together and twenty-three of
you made it this far. Not bad for a bunch of pansies.”

He said it with a laugh that made pansy
sound like king-of-the-freaking-hill. Sam knew he wasn’t the only
man in formation to stick his chest out a little further and preen
with pride. Especially when Sullivan singled them out to quote
stats and offer congrats.

That’s how Sam would train his men
someday.

It was easier to focus on that than on the
waves of misery pounding through his aching muscles.

But he couldn’t deny that
Dismissed
was one of the sweetest words he ever heard.

He and twenty-two other men turned as one
toward the barracks with the sound of the instructor’s words
ringing out around them.

“Don’t forget. Phase Three isn’t finished
until you pansy assed wusses limp through PST. Bet half of you get
so soft over Christmas that you don’t even have the balls to come
back and try.”

Sam exchanged eye rolls with his swim
partner. Like they’d come this far only to fail their physical
screening test because of a fat man’s holiday?

“Morelli.”

Despite his body’s aching protest, Sam
stopped on a dime, spun on his heel to face Sullivan, clasped his
hands behind his back and held his breath.

“Sir?”

“You managed to impress Green.”

Sam’s eyes cut to the instructor whose
nicest comment in the last nine weeks had been something along the
lines of, ‘You don’t wanna land on your pretty face, you better
pick up those feet, you pansy-assed wuss.’

“Just trying to be someone special,” Sam
said quietly, paraphrasing the saying he’d heard through BUD/S.
When he became a SEAL, he’d spend every day working to be special.
That’s what the job required.

Obviously getting it, Sullivan started
toward the barracks, the tilt of his head telling Sam to come
along.

“Your brother is a SEAL.”

Was that bad? What the hell had Noah done?
Sam wanted to frown but managed a nod instead.

“You might want to check with him. I think
you beat a few of his times.”

With that and a quick smile, Sullivan broke
to the left, leaving Sam to continue toward the barracks, and then
on to two weeks of the closest thing to freedom he’d tasted in six
months. He climbed the short set of stairs that led to the long,
narrow berthing unit. Even though he wasn’t officially off duty,
all he had to do was grab his gear and head for the red-roofed
building and catch his flight to San Diego. Which was close enough
to off duty that he let himself relax.

As it often did when he wasn’t on duty, his
mind filled with images of Bryanna. Damn, he had the hots for that
pretty little blonde. Focused on the myriad of ways he’d like to
say hello to her, he grabbed his already-packed gear, slapped a few
backs and headed out. He knew a few guys would hang around,
swapping stories, savoring their success.

But he wanted to get home. Wanted to see
Bryanna. To catch the look on her face when he told her how he’d
done. Top of his freaking class, hooyah.

He knew he should probably tell his parents
first, find a way to get word to his brother. But it’d been
thoughts of Bryanna that’d got him through those rough nights. Days
were fine. Days he could aim all his focus on the goal, put all his
energy into not failing the drills, not giving up, just pushing
through.

But nights... Oh man, the nights were rough.
He’d realized they would be, but it turned out he’d been clueless
just how rough. But then each morning he’d wake to realize another
few guys had left. Quit, given up, hiding their shame in the dark
of night. At first he’d sneered.

By the second night of Hell Week, he’d
understood. Laying there, the body so worn it hurt to breathe, his
muscles still vibrating protests against the abuse they’d been
through, all he’d been able to do was think.

Think about the next day. About how much
harder it would be. To wonder what they’d throw in next, those
instructors with their determination to make recruits quit. To
doubt that he could handle any more, could stand under the
pressure.

There, in the dark, he’d wondered if he’d
make it.

To distract himself from the doubts, to keep
thoughts of quitting at bay, he’d thought about his girl.

Bryanna Spencer.

Prettiest cheerleader to ever do a C jump. A
math whiz with big blue eyes and a body that’d damn near got his
ass kicked when her big brother noticed him checking it out. Since
Eli Spencer was a big motherfucker and Sam had only been sixteen,
he’d taken the threat to stay the hell away from her to heart.

For a while.

Then, a few weeks after her nineteenth
birthday, he’d decided that four years of resisting was long
enough. Already in the Navy, heading for his first combat
deployment, he hadn’t seen any reason to deny himself the taste of
those full lips of hers. But a taste was all he’d planned when he’d
pulled her out of a party. A goodbye kiss.

His good intentions hadn’t stood a chance
against the heat Bryanna Spencer generated.

And during those vicious nights of Hell
Week, his doubts and fears hadn’t stood a chance against her
memory. All he’d had to do was focus on Bryanna. To let his
memories, his thoughts, his desire for her carry him past the pain
and into the call of exhaustion where he’d drift into sleep.

He’d see his parents in a day or so. He’d
touch base with Noah eventually.

But his reward to himself for kicking
ass?

His reward was Bryanna.

Bryanna Spencer wanted Sam Morelli like
nobody’s business. He was a man that inspired addiction. Something
she was well versed in.

She figured it’d taken twenty-three years,
but she’d come up with compromises in her life that balanced out
that addictive side of her personality. She could say no to her
chocolate cravings, except for See’s. She’d learned to control her
craving for shoes, except of course ones designed by the shoe Gods.
And after years of working off every mad, sad or bad mood by
burning up her credit cards, she’d learned to walk to the nearby
mall instead of drive. She still got her shopping fix in, but she’d
limited it to whatever she could carry on the return walk home.

She regularly patted herself on the back for
being so savvy and clever to have figured it all out.

But the one thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—get
over was Sam Morelli. She was so seriously hooked on the taste of
that tasty man. He was better than nibbling on chocolate covered
caramel candies and a handful of comfort carbs while shopping a
killer sale at Jimmy Choos. All rolled into one sexy, tempting
package of sexy manhood.

She’d been craving sweet Sam for as long as
she could remember and had finally started nibbling on him two
years ago. Sure, being in the Navy, Sam was gone as often as he was
around. But when he was in port they made up for lost time.

And she had no intention of stopping.

No matter what.

Wishing she didn’t feel like there was a
clock behind her, mocking with every tock, Bryanna set the
scene.

Her fingers trembled just once as she lit
the tapers on the dresser and the fat pillar on the nightstand
before setting flame to the wicks of the tea lights lining her
windowsill. She smoothed the velvet throw at the foot of her
four-poster bed, tilted her head to the side to study the effect of
the lush blue against the pale silver comforter and white satin
sheets.

Elegant, she decided, letting out a shaky
breath. The scents of vanilla and mulberry filled the room,
soothing her nerves.

Careful not to chip her freshly polished
nails, she wedged her iPod into the loose connection of the speaker
dock and selected the playlist she’d created with tonight in mind.
Ballads, for the most part, with a few holiday tunes mixed in.

Then, because the bed was so elegantly made,
she started fussing with the towels in the bathroom, then tweaking
the bedroom curtains this way and that so they’d let the moonlight
shine through later.

She was so nervous. Despite six years of
obsessive cravings for Sam—or maybe because of them—she’d never
seduced a man. She’d always been sure that Sam was the guy for her,
and that as soon as he figured it out, he’d seduce her.

And he had.

If hauling her out of a mutual friend’s
Valentine’s bash, trapping her between his body and the side of his
truck and kissing her into a melted puddle of lust was seduction.
Since it’d gotten her what she wanted—a mind-blowingly awesome
introduction to sexual ecstasy—Bryanna had figured it was close
enough. Especially since they were still sharing that ecstasy two
years later.

She’d told herself that things were great
between them. They had tons in common, everything from a history of
living in the same neighborhood to their taste in horror movies.
She was good for Sam, giving him loving support and great sex in
equal measures. And unlike some of her friends, she never
nagged—especially about his career. That should be enough,
right?

Except she didn’t think it was.

Not for what was coming.

When Bryanna’s doorbell rang, she gave quick
thanks for the end of her slow, dangerous slide into pouting.
Glancing at the clock, she finished fussing with her appearance and
hurried through her apartment. Her fuzzy socks making no sound as
she crossed the hardwood, she stood on tiptoes to see out the
peephole.

“Hey Tansy. I’m so glad you’re here,” she
greeted when she opened the door, waving the other woman in with a
sweep of one hand.

“I shouldn’t be. I should be talking some
sense into you instead of helping you.” Her voice echoing her
scowl, Tansy stomped in, her arms filled with delivery cartons.

At five-ten, the other woman was nine inches
taller than Bryanna. Following the theme of complete opposites, her
hair was long, black and straight, where Bryanna’s bounced in
golden curls around a cherubic face.

A CPA with the prestigious firm of Battle,
Dahl and Tisbury, Bryanna was a linear thinker who kept a cool head
on her shoulders—except when it came to her addictions. In
contrast, Tansy was the cooking half of the creative genius behind
Sea Swept Events, a company that handled everything from gourmet
catering to event planning to party hosting.

They’d been best friends ever since
Bryanna’s older brother and Tansy’s twin sister had started dating
six years back. They’d even stayed best friends after Eli and Macy
had split up.

Still, Bryanna knew this favor was putting a
strain on that friendship. Figuring it better to keep it quick, she
took the covered trays and boxes from Tansy’s hands and hurried
them to the little kitchenette, babbling all the way.

“I really appreciate you doing this. I know
you usually don’t go to so much trouble to feed just two people. I
talked to Joe Roseburg last week when he came by the office. He
couldn’t say enough about the party you catered. A beachside event
or something? Should I put any of this in the fridge? You have
instructions, right? Oh, here. I see them.” Setting her armload on
the stingy strip of countertop, Bryanna lifted the computer printed
paper and waved it in the air.

Before she could take a breath and go for
round two, Tansy shouldered her aside, separating the containers
into two stacks.

“Refrigerate,” she instructed, tapping a
long, slender finger on the transparent box filled with salad
greens and vegetables, then on the bakery box. Then she patted her
hand on the cardboard covered foil pans. “These you can leave out
if you’re cooking within the hour.”

As Bryanna turned back from tucking two
boxes in the fridge and grabbing a Pepsi for Tansy, the other woman
gave her an arch look. “You don’t look like you’re going to be
cooking in an hour, though.”

“Sure I am.” Bryanna looked at the
instructions, twisted the knob of her oven to the right temperature
to cook the lasagna, but didn’t switch it on. “Everything’s ready.
I just have to get dressed.”

“Please, you never take less than an hour to
get dressed.”

“I take over an hour to get
ready
,”
Bryanna corrected meticulously. “But I’ve already done my hair and
makeup, so all that’s left is clothes.”

Knowing Tansy would follow—and because being
in the kitchen made her a little nervous—Bryanna stepped around her
friend and returned to the living room. Like the rest of her
apartment, the space wasn’t large, but she thought she’d made it
feel spacious. The walls were the same pale blue as the afternoon
sky peeking through a cloud, trimmed in white. She’d kept the
furnishings to a minimum.

The sofa was a low backed, long sweep of
gray a few shades lighter than the weathered wood floors, and since
it was so roomy, instead of side chairs she’d opted for three
footstools upholstered in pale blue tucked against the wall. Above
them, mounted high so it looked as if it were a part of the wall,
was the flat screen television she’d bought with Sam in mind.
Scattered here and there throughout the room were a few decorative
pieces that Bryanna loved. The glass bowl her grandmother had left
her, filled with seashells. A few pieces of driftwood art and a
couple of family photos in silver frames. And, of course, the
stuffed penguin Sam had won her at a carnival three years ago sat
on the corner of the couch.