Saved by the SEAL (11 page)

He leans forward, nipping at my exposed collarbone with his teeth. His lips close around the tender bite as he sucks the small sting away. The juncture between my thighs burns and pulsates as my body craves more of his touch.

His hands slide up my back, bringing my dress up over my hips. I raise my arms, and he lifts the cotton easily over my head.

I can't explain how exquisite his hands feel when they're grazing my skin. It's like Grisham knows exactly how to touch me, where to stroke, so that I'm completely enthralled by his touch. Anticipation pools between my legs, which squeeze him tighter between them as his fingers skim around my sides to fully cup my breasts.

I cry out as his thumbs brush sensuous circles around the tips of my breasts.

“Fucking hell, Grits,” he murmurs as he buries his face in my neck. He's yet to taste my lips, but I'm a wanton mess of liquid need in his arms.

“You're so responsive,” he says with awe in his voice. “Your body reacts to my touch like it's the answer to every question you've ever asked.”

It's never been like this with another man.

Never.

I don't know where this is going with Grisham; I don't have the first clue. We haven't discussed a future, or even given a label to what we're doing right now. But I'm throwing caution to the wind, because being in his arms is as natural as breathing.

It all might go up in flames tomorrow, but tonight all I want to do is burn for Grisham until there's nothing left but a pile of ashes.

I
'm not thinking straight…I can't. Her body feels like heaven against my fingers. She's all soft curves and long limbs, the better to wrap around me. I'm completely blown to pieces by the way she surrounds every last one of my senses by just
being
. I can't get enough of her; whether it's her sweet taste, her sexy sounds, her silky touch, or her intoxicating scent…I want more.

Fucking
more
.

Breaking through my hazy thoughts, a distant voice of reason attempts to reach me.

She's not just another girl. She's not here to get a piece of a man in uniform. She's here for
you.

If I use Greta this way…it'll all be over before it begins. I haven't made her any promises, haven't had a conversation with her about a relationship. Yet, I know this girl, and she's more than just a good fuck. She's the kind of girl you keep close to you, because if you let her go you'll regret it for the rest of your life. But am I ready for that?

I just sent my father to jail for beating up my mother. I just put my mother in a car to stay with my aunt so she can have some distance from the shitbag she calls a husband. A few months ago, I lost a limb in a secret part of Hell that most Americans will never know about.

The exact wrong thing for me to do right now is bring a sweet, albeit sexy-as-sin, girl like Greta into my bed. It'd stain her.

I jerk backward, feeling the sting of my lips leaving her skin like a jab to the gut. Taking a healthy step away from the temptation of her body, I turn away.

“Grisham?” Her voice is uncertain. “What's wrong?”

Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Everything.

I turn back to face her, seeing that she's still completely naked save a tiny pair of sky-blue lace panties. My mouth going dry, I reach down to the floor to gather her dress in my arms. Thrusting it at her, my voice sounds raw when I ask her to please put it back on.

Her eyes widen slightly, her mouth drops open, but she complies, slipping the thin garment over her head and hopping down from the counter so that it falls neatly over her hips. The loss of the beautiful view makes my stomach hurt, but I focus on her eyes.

They're filled with pain.

Fuuuuuck.
I want to wrap her legs around my waist and erase that look from her eyes. I want to kiss every inch of her until it's gone. It's going to haunt me in my sleep. By trying to prevent myself from making a mistake, I've made a mess of things.

I extend my hand to her. She looks down at it, and then folds her arms across her chest. “Greta. You didn't do anything wrong. Can we just go sit down and talk?”

A tear slides down her cheek, and I'm in her space again in an instant. “Don't, Grits. Don't cry. It's not you…I swear. You're fucking perfect. Too perfect. I don't want to mess shit up by taking advantage of you when I'm an emotional wreck and you've been drinking. This isn't going to be the night I make love to you…not when we've been through hell together tonight.”

She looks at me then, really looks at me. It's like she sees straight to the heart of me, even when I'm trying to shutter myself off. She heard everything I
didn't
say.

She allows me to lead her to my bedroom. I still want her to stay with me tonight, and I'm hoping that by skipping the couch and coming straight back here, she'll be more likely to listen to what I have to say and then stay.

God, I want this girl in my bed tonight. Any way I can have her there.

I kick off my shoes and sit down on the king-size mattress, swinging my legs up onto the bed. Then I pat the spot next to me, inviting her to join me.

I lean back against the headboard as I watch her crawl up and onto the bed beside me. My cock stirs inside my black slacks, but I ignore it and focus on Greta.

She turns expectant eyes to me. “So you're saying you're planning on making love to me at some point?”

Holy
… “I guess that's a decision we'll have to make together. But damn, girl. The way you were just now…it was hot. You're hot. And being with you does something crazy to me…every time we're together. So, yeah, I plan on getting physical with you at some point. But not like this. I'm a fucking disaster tonight.”

She nods slowly. “Of course you are. Back there, in the kitchen, I wasn't thinking. I was just reacting to you.” Her voice drops down to a whisper. “Your hands feel so good on my body.”

My head falls back against the headboard and a groan escapes me. “You're killing me, Grits.”

She giggles softly.

“I wish you knew how much more I want to do to you with these hands. And I will.”

Yeah, I definitely will. Just not tonight. I'm going to give her one last chance to save herself.

I gesture toward her dress. “Do you want to sleep in that?” Jumping down from the bed, I indicate my dresser. “Or do you want me to lend you something?”

“Lend me something. I'll just run to the bathroom to get ready for bed.”

I rummage around in my drawer, trying to find something small enough for her to wear. I settle on one of my white undershirts and a pair of gym shorts with the navy football logo on the front. She thanks me, grabbing the clothes, and disappears into the bathroom adjoining my bedroom.

While she's gone, I strip down, replacing my slacks with a pair of lightweight cotton shorts and deciding to go shirtless. I sit down on top of the covers and am just looking at my prosthesis, trying to decide something, when Greta walks back into the room.

Which sends a whole new wave of desire rippling through me, because she's not wearing my shorts. Her long legs are all exposed, with my white shirt ending at the tops of her thighs. She's taller than a lot of girls, and the shirt doesn't hang to her knees the way it might on some people.

She stops short when she sees me staring, and then gazes down at her bare legs. “Sorry. I would have worn the shorts, only they were hanging off me even when I tried to adjust them.”

Yeah, I guess that makes sense with her thin frame. Swallowing the need making a power play inside me, I pat the bed once again. “This is your spot.”

She gives me a crooked little smile, crawling into bed. She looks at me, sitting with my amputated leg propped up on the bed. “So, do you usually sleep with that on?”

Leave it to Grits to get right to the heart of the matter.
Shaking my head, I nod at my prosthetic foot. “I usually take it off. It's not the most comfortable to sleep with it on. But if it makes you uncomfortable in any way—”

She cuts me off. “Nothing about you makes me uncomfortable, Grisham. This is your house.” Squeezing my thigh, she scoots a little closer and rests her head on my shoulder.

I take a breath. I've never done this. No one, except for my doctors, my mother, and my SEAL team, has seen my leg ending in a stump. The last thing I want her to do is get freaked out and bolt.

But if that's going to happen, I guess it's better we get it out of the way now, right?

One step at a time, I pull my prosthetic foot from my prosthesis, and then remove the sock and liner. I'm shaking as I sit back and release the breath I've been holding, staring down at what used to be my foot. I can feel beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead. This revelation is something I've never done before. My leg was blown off just below my knee, above my calf. At first, I could still feel the limb there. I almost couldn't believe it was gone unless I was looking directly at my leg.

Someone with a prosthetic these days can pretty much live the way they did previously, unless they're expected to put their life on the line for a living. I can walk, run, jump, and climb in this thing. I just can't have other people, namely the guys on my SEAL team, depending on me when they could end up dead if I can't perform.

When I feel the warmth of Greta's hand on my leg, every single muscle in my body tenses. I'm not expecting her to touch me…there. My gaze slides toward hers, and her expression is fiercely burning into mine.

“You're still
you
, Grisham. You're still the same guy I met and crushed on two years ago. You just have a bit more of a story to tell. That's all.”

My breath catches as something in my chest shifts, sliding back into place. I hold her gaze as a million different thoughts and feelings wage war for the top spot in my brain. Finally, I lift a hand and cover hers with my own. My fingers curl around hers, holding on tight.

“Thank you.”

She slides underneath the covers, pulling me with her and we lay on our sides, staring at each other.

“You don't need to thank me, Grisham. It's the truth.”

Pulling her face toward mine, I kiss her. Our lips are tender at first, but when I delve my tongue inside her warmth to stroke hers, she moans. With a growing sense of need and hunger, I deepen the kiss, our mouths moving rapidly over one another. I memorize the contours of her lips, the feel of her tongue against mine. The sweet taste of her does nothing to curb the appetite she's whet.  Pulling her closer, I think I kiss her until I fall asleep, because the feel of her lips on mine is the last thing I remember.

I become alert before I actually open my eyes. I can tell it's still dark outside, the way it always is when I wake up in the morning. Even though I don't still need to be up before the sun, like when I was in the academy and in SEAL training, old habits die hard. But before I can stretch and sit up, a strange sensation makes me freeze.

My arms are locked around something soft, warm, and sweet smelling. I inhale deeply, realizing the floral scent belongs to a woman.

Greta.
The previous night comes rushing back to me, and I'm immediately rock-hard underneath the sheets. I open my eyes and glance down at her, and the sight brings a stupid grin to my face. She's facing the same direction as me, and I'm spooning her from behind. The curves of her body fit like puzzle pieces into the long, hard lengths of mine. She's so close we're sharing the same pillow, and her rivers of thick, onyx hair tickle my nose when I move. I wish I could see her face, because I'd bet my Jeep it's breathtaking in sleep. But there'll be time for that the next time I wake up beside her.

Whoa, dude. Slow down. The next time? Like, this is going to happen again?

I mull it over even as I squeeze her a little tighter. She hums softly in her sleep but doesn't wake.

Do I? Do I want this?

I know the answer, but I'm not yet willing to admit it. Right now I just want to enjoy the fact that she's here, and that waking up to her feels…insanely good.

For the first time in months, I don't get out of bed before the sun is up. I nuzzle my face into Greta's neck, sigh contentedly, and fall back to sleep.

The next time I wake, it's to the scent of coffee and bacon. I open my eyes to see the sun is now streaming bright yellow light through the window. I stretch and yawn, an immediate smile plastered to my face.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Greta's voice comes from the doorway of the bedroom, and I turn over in bed to see her standing there. She's wearing my T-shirt, her bare legs going on for miles underneath.

Sitting up, I try to keep my eyes off all of her creamy, exposed skin and focus instead on her flawless face. “Damn. I was supposed to be up before you this morning. But the first time I woke up, you were snuggled up next to me and I didn't want to move.”

A gorgeously shy smile creeps across her lips. “I'm glad you stayed in bed with me, then. I haven't been up long. But I did make some coffee, and there's bacon frying on the stove. Want to come make the eggs?”

Instead of waiting for me to answer, she turns and heads back out of the room. It's a treat to watch her ass sashaying away from me, and the sight draws me out of bed. I quickly attach my prosthetic foot and hurry into the bathroom to take care of business before exiting my bedroom. I follow the delicious morning aromas to the kitchen, where Greta stands barefoot in front of the stove.

I could get used to this. The sight of her standing in my kitchen every morning like this? Hell, yeah.

I can't help myself. I cross the room to stand behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. I squeeze her against me, letting her feel the evidence that the red-hot chemistry between us last night was no fluke. She gasps, her head falling back against my chest. It gives me the perfect access to her neck, where I plant my lips and suck softly. She's sweet and succulent, exactly the way she tasted last night.

My hands play at the skin underneath the shirt she's wearing, sliding up her flat stomach to rest just against the curve of her full breasts.

“I want to touch your hot little body all over right now,” I whisper into her ear. She removes the pan of bacon from the heated burner right before pushing her ass back against me, maybe to show me she's right there with me, and I groan. “Is that what you want?”

Her breath is coming faster, I can see how rapidly her chest rises and falls and feel the quickness of her thudding heart against my hands. She wants this. I want this. So…

“No,” she rasps. My hands still, and the blood running through my veins turns to ice. That one little word is as effective as a bucket of icy water thrown on my head.

“No?” I ask, confusion evident in my tone.

“I mean, yes. Gah, Grisham! Yes, of course I want this. But I don't think you're sure about it…or about me. And I'm not the kind of girl that can just use my body and leave my mind and my heart out of it.”

She turns in my arms, a sad little pout dancing across her mouth. “I wish I was…because you and me together in your bed would be really fucking amazing.”

It's the first time I've ever heard her say the word
fuck
and somehow it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard. I smile. “That needed to be punctuated with the
F
word?”