Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5 (3 page)

He’d crossed a threshold, shattering the hesitation and regret, the memories of a love not fully satisfied. He felt the tears he’d been shedding melt off him like ice crystals. Color and life flew back inside him, heating him, filling him with expectation, and, more importantly…

Hope.

As he felt the muscles of her insides milk him, his last satisfying thrusts came as sweet dessert when he heard her squeal, and then felt her pulse around him.

“Come for me, baby. I need to feel it, baby.”

As if she understood him, she placed her lips to his ears and whispered, “Marko,” again in a long, deep, aching plea.

He’d hadn’t realized how much he needed this kind of an encounter. This beautiful muse, this stranger on his journey back to wholeness, had given him his life back. Whatever else happened, it would be an afternoon he would remember for the rest of his life.

And he didn’t even know her name.

‡

M
ark woke in
the late afternoon to the distinct high-pitched siren of an Italian police or ambulance, the seesaw of two notes back and forth reminding him he wasn’t in the States. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in Afghanistan.

She was draped warmly across his chest. He opened his eyes to see if she still was as beautiful as he’d thought, and found she was watching him already.

“Wish we could talk, honey. I’d tell you how beautiful you are.”

She smiled as if she understood him. He fingered a curl, placing it behind her velvety soft ears. “I’d tell you that you make me hot all over again just looking at you, and because you don’t understand, I’d tell you that the way you make me feel…well,” he watched his thumb caress her lower lip, “I’d be embarrassed to tell you this, but I—I haven’t felt this good in months.”

She smiled and covered his lips with her palm, softly silencing him. He ached to be able to talk to her, and knew, from the position of her eyes that demurely looked down to his chest, that she did too. He saw more than a little sadness there when she focused on him again and he saw her eyes watered. It was reflex, he decided, but his did, too.

He glanced away quickly and covered his eyes with his forearm. She began to trace the frog prints, then the scar on his left side where he’d taken a glancing round. Her delicate fingers found the line under his left chin where the Afghani rebel had tried to garrote him and ended up paying for it with his life.

She kissed all those places, lifting his forearm to kiss every frog print one by one. When she was finished, he knew he’d never forget her strong face illuminated by afternoon sunlight. The stucco walls of her little place almost seemed to glow. She was his mystery woman, the one who’d turned his life around, and who didn’t even know what an important gift she’d bestowed.

He watched her well-toned and tanned body cross the room to open the refrigerator. She pulled out a large bottle of water, put it to her lips and threw her head back, taking a long gulp. Her profile, with her pert nipples on ample breasts rising above a flat tummy, her powerful thighs that had hugged him just as surely as her arms had when he’d made love to her…she was such a stunning picture he nearly gasped.

She held the bottle up. Yes, he nodded, he did want some. He didn’t care if she poured the ice water all over his body, he’d stay the course if it meant she’d love him again. She motioned to his mouth and tilted her head back to tell him she wanted to pour the water there. God, yes, he would. He opened his lips and she straddled him, pouring the liquid carefully on his tongue, diverting some of it to her mouth as well. Tiny trickles of water fell down his neck and cheek onto her pillow. The dampness accentuated the perfume that rose from her bedding.

Her mouth was chilled but still sent a hot shudder through him as she tongued her way inside him. Sharing a water bottle had never been sexier. She drank some and then poured it inside from her mouth to his.

He sat up and forced the water bottle from her hand, setting it firmly on the floor. He threw her back against the mattress on her back and pinned her beneath him.

“No-may?” he asked.

She giggled and shook her head.

“No-may,” he insisted.

She pointed to her temple and rolled her eyes, as if she’d forgotten.

“Nah, nah you’re not going to play that game with me. You have a name and I want to know what it is before I fuck you again.”

“Fuck?” she said, her Italian eyes widening. “Ah, Inglese.” She pointed to her temple again.

“Yea, you understand the word fuck, but not name? No-may, dammit.”

She laughed, arching those impossibly beautiful breasts into him, her fingers playing with the long strands of her hair. He was getting annoyed that she wouldn’t tell him what he obviously wanted to know. Her eyes flashed as she danced with his heart. As she wrapped his waist with her legs, daring him.

He knew it was best to keep the woman happy. But it irritated him that she was messing with him so obviously. As he plunged in, perhaps too needily, he banged her bed against the wall loudly with his thrusts. The windows shook and something fell to the floor, like a picture, and shattered.

She laughed and he kept pumping her into oblivion. Until she stopped laughing and slowly inhaled as she ran her palms over his shoulders and upper arms. When she traveled back up to his face, tracing his lips, he drew her fingers into his mouth and sucked them.

He kept up the desperate action of his hips as if he could make them both fly away somewhere, somewhere they could talk and understand each other. Somewhere he could tell her what she was making him feel, so he could hear what she felt from her mouth. It became important, urgent.

He could already tell when she was about to orgasm. She sucked in air and gave that long, wonderful, rolling cry, punctuated by the sounds of their flesh slapping together, and filled his heart with music.

I can take you places, baby. Places you’ve never seen. Give me half a chance and I will worship the ground you walk on, even if it’s only for this glorious afternoon. I want you to smell me on your sheets and call to me and I’ll come to you. Again and again. I’m coming to you, baby.

They’d dressed after
a long shower and more play. A tiny bit of grief crept back in. Separation was a problem for him. The cappuccino helped. Their affair ended the same way it began, on the piazza, overlooking the boats, emergency vehicle sirens still screaming in the early evening air. He smelled like her lemon shower gel, but his insides wore her aura like a warm, permanent blanket.

As he watched her walk away, noticing she didn’t turn around to say goodbye, he thought he saw her hand go up to her face, perhaps pulling the wayward strands of her curly hair away, but wasn’t sure.

He knew, since the cruise left in the morning, that her refusal to give him her name meant there was no future for them. He did have her address, though. He’d written it in his little notebook. Maybe he’d send flowers, maybe a letter. Perhaps they could write, have someone translate for them. Perhaps the long distance would help them become friends first, though God knew they were well suited in bed.

As she drifted further away from him, he couldn’t help but feel cold, like the coldness that had shrouded him every day since Sophie’s death. For this glorious afternoon, this mystery woman had healed him, taken his mind off the fact that he was alive and alone. Now he didn’t feel so alone any longer. Even though he would never see her again.

Just as she turned the corner and was out of sight, he got his notebook out to find the page where he’d written her address. What he also found was something she’d written in Italian.

And underneath her words, she’d written her name,

Sophia.

A large hand slapped him on the shoulder. Cooper’s giant body blocked the sun from the whole table, plus the one next to Mark.

“Where the hell you been? We’ve doubled back here like ten times, and you’ve been a no-show.”

Mark smiled, licked his lips and tasted her. “Been a little busy.” He quickly tucked the little book inside his vest pocket.

“I’ll bet. The local girls are all over Jones.”

“Fredo too, I hope.”

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Coop said grinning. “Poor dumb fuck. Although I do have to say that Mia has softened a bit toward him.”

Everyone should be in love.

“Soooo…who is she?” Coop demanded.

“Who?”

“The girl. Has to be a girl. You’re, like, MIA. We took a tour of the fort and came back. Christy and the girls went shopping, and we doubled back again.”

Mark shrugged and looked down the street where she’d disappeared.

“I wasn’t far away.”

“Halfway to Heaven, I’d bet.”

“Roger that,” Mark said as he put on his shades and stood. “Where’s everyone now?”

“Right around the corner at the Ferrari place.”

“Who’s buying a Ferrari?” he asked while they walked.

“Damned if I know. Kyle’s thinking if we all pitched in about thirty grand, we could own it together.”

“Like that would be a smart thing.”

“You can rent them for fifteen minutes for about a hundred Euros.”

“No shit?” Mark said as he glanced over his shoulder…just in case she’d changed her mind and had come back. But the street was empty. He had a fun fantasy of a very fast drive through the countryside with afternoon delight. The girl he now knew was named Sophia. Was God playing a trick on him?

No, not a trick. There were no accidents, he’d been told. Everything was part of some big plan. And for some reason Mark’s plan was to find her again. Even if it took the rest of his young life. He knew he would. Somehow.

They rounded a cluster of colorful yellow, salmon and light green buildings to another courtyard with several shops downstairs and residences on top. A red and yellow Ferrari sign hung above the glass windows of the shop on the corner across the yard. Kyle’s wife, Christy, was leaning over the red “California” convertible while Kyle took pictures.

Nick came out of the shop with Devon, laughing. She was modeling a red Ferrari jacket with matching red cap. He winked over Mark’s way and left Devon to join Christy and the girls posing in front of the Ferrari.

Standing next to Mark, the two appraised the crowd of beautiful women throwing themselves at the handsome Italian proprietor.

“He must be in heaven,” Nick said, grinning as he everyone else and took a picture, too.

“I’m guessing he hasn’t had that much attention all week. Nice looking guy, though. Kinda reminds me of Armani,” Mark said. “By the way, where the hell is he?”

“Scouting for dinner,” Armani said behind them. “You’re gonna love it.”

They meandered along the cobblestone streets until they crossed the inlet bridge and were on the other side, in the old town. Row upon row of narrow alleyways barely big enough for a subcompact car revealed their twisted and mysteriously dark innards. The smells emanating from the cozy neighborhood were a mixture of tomatoes, basil and eastern spices. There were kebab houses and pizza parlors. Some of the little dives played American jazz, and others Italian opera or pop Italian.

Mark watched the couples in his group holding hands. Even Mia walked with Fredo. He noticed young couples along the street, not afraid to show their affection. He’d seen more public kissing in Italy than anywhere else, and that surprised him. It also left a little lonely hole in his heart.

Malcolm Jones fell back to walk beside him. “You were like a ghost this afternoon.”

“On a private mission,” Mark said. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Roger that. I found me a little lady I’m going to meet up with later. She’s got a best friend…hell, it could be her sister or her mother, and the way I speak Italian, if you’re interested. No promises. But the lady I’m meeting is fine. Just fine.”

Oh yeah, the language thing.
“Tell me about it.”

“Kind of fun, though. I think I managed to get my intentions across,” Jones smiled confidently. Mark felt more than the usual kinship with the young officer and knew he’d make a good career on the Teams. And he’d be popular, leading his own platoon someday, just like Kyle was.

“It’s kind of fun that she speaks Italian to me, and I only speak English. We let our bodies do the talking, know what I’m sayin’?” Mark agreed.

“I know exactly what you’re saying. Sometimes American girls talk too much.”

“On that we agree, my friend,” Mark said as he thumped Jones on the back.

“So, what about tonight?” Jones asked again.

“I’m going to try to find my lady again. If the lady wants to be found, that is.”

“Ah, one of those stories. I know it too well.” Jones was pensive as they continued down the narrow street.

Mark would have been game on any other night. He knew he’d be knocking on her door, and he doubted she’d answer. Just something about how she rushed off told him that.

At dinner, they drank red new wine that was light as punch in color but big in alcohol. The girls showed off what they bought as the men laughed and soaked up the family bond of their brotherhood they would be depending on strongly very soon. No one discussed the fact that they were going overseas in three short weeks. This little trip was partly to bond the Team, but also to complete something Gunny had sparked in all of them.