Saved by the SEAL (2 page)

“Let me help you,” I say as I graze her soft, soft skin.

The simple touch does something wild to my insides, turning me from strong and steady to something gelatinous and wobbly. Her eyes fly to meet mine, and I'm left wondering if she felt it, too. Slowly, together, we slide the suit down her body, still slick from the ocean water I just pulled her from. The pink and black material peels away, and my gaze fixes on her pale skin like I've spotted a shiny new coin. She wiggles a little, shimmying out of the wet suit to reveal a tiny black bikini underneath. The sight sends a jolt of awareness straight to my cock. Coupled with miles and fucking miles of milky skin, she's an incredible sight. I let my gaze sweep up and down her frame just once before finding her face again. Her cheeks are pink, probably because she noticed my through once-over.

She nibbles her lip again, and I bite down hard on a groan.

“My towel is in my bag, down there.” She points toward the beach.

“I'll get it when I get your board. Anything else, ma'am?”

I exaggerate my southern accent on the last line, making her giggle.

“Nope, I think that's it,
sir
.” She picks up my game, exaggerating hers, and I feel warmth spread through my body starting in the very center of me.

“Funny girl.”

After I help her into the Jeep—ignoring her protests about her being wet—and turn down the radio as the Marshall Tucker Band blares from the speakers. I turn and jog back down to the beach. I grab my surfboard and hers under one arm and load her bag onto the other.

Even though I'm only taking her to the doctor, and it's been months since I've seen her, I can't stop the feeling of giddy anticipation overwhelming me at the thought of seeing her sitting there in my car.

After Berkeley, I changed a lot about my life. I stopped answering to my asshole father. I gave my mother a very specific ultimatum. I changed my job trajectory in the navy, entering the SEALs training program against my father's wishes. I sold the Audi and bought a Jeep. I also bought a small house in Lone Sands close to the beach I'd always loved so much instead of living on base.

The one thing I hadn't changed was my relationship status. I was definitely in the
single
category. My parents and I had basically planned my life around their goal for me to marry Berkeley one day. And like an idiot I'd bought into it; because she and I were so close there wasn't anyone else I could imagine spending my life with. Any girl I dated before then was just a distraction.

And now any girl I dated was the same thing. A distraction. A way to pass the time. I chose girls who knew the score, girls who typically dated guys in the navy because they weren't going to be around for long. Nothing serious, no strings attached.

But as I climb into my Jeep and glance over at Greta sitting there with a genuine, sweet-and-sexy smile on her face and with a body that could cause men to jump off bridges, something inside me stirs and stretches. Something that had been dormant for a long time. Something that tells me Greta Owen isn't going to be like other girls. I'm not going to be able to love her body one night and then walk away the next day.

Without even saying a word, she demands to be more than that.

I look down at my left leg. I'm not even a whole man anymore. I'd been through some shit in the last year that had changed me fundamentally, both inside and out. There's no way I can be everything to someone else.

I know it in my gut.

I'm going to drive Greta to the doctor and make sure she's okay.

And then I'm going to walk away.

Because at this point in my life, that's the best possible thing I can do for a woman like this.

Just walk away.

G
rab the turkey bacon. Shred the cheddar. Place the chicken in the baking dish. Season it.

My brain has been taking a vacation all day. First, falling off my board (something I never do) and ending up unconscious in the ocean. And now I haven't been able to think of much else other than the way Grisham's intense forest-green eyes practically swallowed me whole when I woke. And the way one of his strong hands remained on me at all times, making sure I was okay. I wonder idly if the skin underneath those hands felt as hot to him as it did to me. And I also can't forget about the way his thick, dirty-blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me.

So basically, my usually smart brain has turned into a big ol' dumb-dumb. And although I know the last thing I should be thinking about right now is Grisham Abbot, my dummy brain just won't let me stop.

So that's probably the reason I slice my finger open while I'm chopping up the red onions to go on the smothered chicken I'm preparing for dinner.

“Ouch, dammit!” I hiss in pain as the blood immediately begins to seep from the wound. And then, because I'm one of those people who can't stand the sight of my own blood, I promptly become too woozy to stand and end up on my butt on the kitchen floor. My head is spinning in a complicated, wild dance.

The front door opens with a bang. Somewhere in the back of my fuzzy head I know it's Mea, because Mea always enters a room with a flourish.

“Greta! Ohmigod, are you okay?”

Mea crouches down beside me and takes my hand in hers. As soon as she notices the blood, she acts like a flash. Grabbing a towel from the cabinet behind, her she wraps it around my hand, applying an almost painful amount of pressure.

“There,” she says. “All covered up. Come on back to the land of the living.”

I take deep breaths. In through my mouth, out through my nose. For some reason, it helps me best when I take breaths in the opposite pattern normally used.

“Better?”

Mea's voice is full of sympathy as she scrutinizes my face. I nod, and her eyes narrow in on the butterfly bandage covering up the fresh stitches in my forehead.

I sigh, standing up on wobbly legs. “I'm fine. Just...the blood. You know.”

“I know.”

Mea goes to fetch a Band-Aid for my finger. I continue holding the towel on my hand until she returns. My finger is now throbbing sharp beats of pain, but I'll live. There's no way I'm going back to urgent care for more stitches today. They'll assume someone is beating me up on a regular basis. And it's too difficult to tell them that I've just suddenly come down with a case of the klutzes.

When Mea returns, she sweeps gazelle-like into our apartment kitchen like a fierce little ballerina and begins wrapping the bandage around my finger while I avert my eyes.

“There,” she announces. “All done.”

I shoot her a grateful smile as I watch her chuck the Band-Aid wrapper in the trash and leave the kitchen. I get back to fixing our dinner. I throw the raw chicken breasts on the indoor grill and hum with satisfaction as they begin to sizzle. The rest of the ingredients are neatly lined up in little bowls on the counter.

Cooking is one area of my life where I have complete and utter control. I can cook the pants off of any meal, anytime. There are many areas in my life where control is out of my grasp, but usually when I'm cooking and when I'm surfing I'm 100 percent on my game.

Except for today, of course.

Today, I'm off my game in all areas.

“So how's your sister?” Mea kicks off her shoes and flops onto the couch. Of course she looks like a little winged bird as she does it, where I'd probably look like a stork on skates.

“She was released this morning. It wasn't anything she hasn't been through before. With her cystic fibrosis, you know she's no stranger to the inside of a hospital room.”

Mea nods, sympathy pooling in her deep brown eyes. “Bless her sweet little heart. I hate to see her sick.”

“Me, too. Mom takes good care of her, though. It just sucks that she doesn't have two involved parents. A sick sixteen-year-old girl would really appreciate having her dad by her side sometimes.”

Mea folds her hands in her lap. I know she feels torn in two directions when I speak ill of my father. It's not like I don't love my dad. He's always been good to me, in his own way. And my mom will never have to worry about my sister's medical bills, because Jacob Owen has done more than well for himself. As Gemma would put it, he's loaded. But at the end of the day, a kid just wants her dad to show her love by
being there
. And that's where my dad gets it wrong every single time.

“Do we need to let Gemma spend the night here tonight so your mom can take care of Gabi?”

Shaking my head, I turn back to the grill. “No, Gabi's just going to take it easy tonight. I'm sure Gemma won't want to do anything besides get on Snapchat and talk to her friends, anyway.”

Mea giggles. “Oh, to be fifteen again.”

My insides melt when I think of my little sisters. They're the reason I moved back to Lone Sands after college. If it weren't for them, I probably wouldn't have moved away from the bigger city. But my mom needs help with my two teenage sisters a lot. Being there for them is as natural as breathing for me. It's second nature.

“Mea…” I can't hold it in any longer. I think if I try, my chest will explode. “I ran into Grisham today.”

I keep my back to Mea so she won't see how thoroughly I blush at the mention of his name.

“Grisham? Grisham Abbot?” She sounds shocked.

I nod. “Yep.” My attempt at nonchalance is foiled by the extra octave my voice reaches.

“Does that have anything to do with the injury you haven't mentioned on your forehead?”

Now she sounds suspicious.

I busy my hands with adding the smothering ingredients to the tops of the chicken breasts. This time, I leave the lid of the grill open. “It's no big deal. I fell off my surfboard today and sort of ended up unconscious.”

“What?”

She sounds agitated.
Time to turn around.

“It's fine, Mea. Really. I was just being clumsy.”

She frowns at me. “You're not usually clumsy when you're surfing.”

“Yeah, but I was just blowing off steam after seeing Gabi in the hospital one more time. You know? She's got bronchitis again, and Mom brought her to the ER last night when she couldn't catch her breath. It's so hard to see her that way.”

Mea leaps off the couch and hurries over to wrap her arms around me. At five foot eight, I'm a good five inches taller than she is. But she wraps me up like a burrito in her embrace anyway, and I rest my head on her shoulder as I fight the tears back.

We stay that way for a few minutes until I pull away, swiping at my eyes. “I know, I know. She's okay. But still…she's the toughest kid on the planet. She never complains. It's just not fair.”

Patting my arm as I turn back to the waiting chicken, she sighs. “I know.”

“So, anyway, there I am, lying on the beach when I came to, coughing up a lung like a beached whale. And there's Grisham, leaning over me. He'd just given me
mouth-to-mouth.
He freaking
saved my life
, Mea.”

Her eyes widen. “You're shitting me. For real? Are you okay now?”

She scrutinizes me with a careful gaze.

“Yes, I'm fine. Grisham took me to urgent care so I could get stiches. Then he bought me lunch at a drive-through. Then he brought me home. Then he got one of his buddies to meet him back at the beach so he could bring me my car.”

I shake my head in disbelief. I still can't believe the events of today really happened. Grisham literally rode back into my life like a knight in shining armor. It's enough to give a girl some kind of hero complex.

Especially when her hero looks like Grisham Abbot does.

Memories of his golden-tan body gleaming in the sunlight cause a gentle wave of warmth to flood through me. His body was
sick.
His wet suit was pulled down to his waist, and there were just ripples and ripples of abs. I mean, the things seriously went on forever. Right down into the uncharted waters beneath the wet suit. Which I unfortunately didn't get to see.

He was bigger than I remember, too. When I saw him last, it was right before he entered the SEALs training program. And he had a great body then, but not nearly as ripped and defined as he is now. At least it didn't look that way before.

Mea's giving me a slow, knowing smile. I can imagine that my face rivals the color of a strawberry at this point.

Damn Irish skin. I can't hide anything I'm feeling when I blush like a maniac all the time. Why can't I have beautiful, toffee-brown skin like Mea?

“Uh-huh. And how is Mr. Grisham looking these days, Greta?”

I groan, forgetting about the chicken and leaning back against the counter. “The same way he's always looked. Only better. His hair is longer. Sexy-messy. Even when his focus was clearly on Berkeley last year, I always thought he was gorgeous.”

Mea claps her hands together with wild glee. “I know! And now he's back! So did you get his number?”

My mouth drops open. “No, I did
not.
And he didn't ask me for mine, either. So that's that.”

Mea's mouth goes all scrunchy, the way it looks when she's devising a master plan. Mea's master plans are notoriously devious, and I raise my hands for protection.

“Stop it, Mea. Just stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking, all right? Grisham isn't for me. He never has been. I could never be with a guy who doesn't put me first, and that guy was always all about Berkeley. Now he's a freaking Navy SEAL. Do you know how dedicated those guys are to their jobs? Just as dedicated as my father was to his. And look how great that turned out for my family. No way. Just turn your brain around and go back to start. I'm not playing this game.”

My voice is firm. But all Mea seemed to hear was
Grisham
,
Navy SEAL
, and
game.
The girl rubs her two dainty hands together like a greedy little goblin.

“You always liked him, Greta. More than you would ever admit. I saw it. And I see it again now. Plus, you owe the man. He saved your life
and
he bought you lunch. Don't you at least think he deserves a ‘thank you'?” She shakes her hips, shimmying to demonstrate her point.

My mouth is working to let Mea know that I don't think this plan she's hatching is a good idea. But my heart is squeezing so tight in my chest I'm in danger of going into cardiac arrest. My heart is
happy
at the thought of seeing Grisham again.

It's a foreign feeling. I'm not sure when the last time my heart felt happy was.

“I did say thank you.”

Mea throws her hands up in the air.

“It's like I'm always working with amateurs,” she mutters. “Of course you
said
thank you.” She tugs a piece of my long, inky hair with two fingers. “But now you need to
show
him thank you.”

I cross my arms in outright defiance. “And how am I supposed to do that when I don't have any way to contact him?”

Mea smiles an extra devilish smile before skipping back into the living room.

Oh, God.
I realize my mistake too late.
I asked a question! And that was her green light.

“You just leave it to Mama Mea.”

She tosses a smug smirk over her shoulder at me as she heads toward her phone. Before she makes it to the coffee table where her phone is sitting idle, my own phone dings a text alert on the kitchen counter. I grab it up, still wondering what dangerous machine Mea is about to set in motion.

A shiver runs through me just at the sight of his name on my phone.

What the…?

“Mea,” I say, my words slow and succinct. “What did you do? And how did it happen so fast?”

She pauses, her hand midway to her phone. “What are you talking about?”

I point at my phone, frantic. “It's Grisham. How is a guy I didn't give my number to texting me?”

I'm simultaneously filled with panic and euphoria.

Mea's full mouth stretches into a slow smile. She bounces on her tiptoes, causing her array of lustrous dark brown curls to shimmy.

“Don't be silly. I hadn't even picked up my phone yet! What did he
say
?”

She flies over to where I'm standing, and I hold out my phone so she can see Grisham's text.

“See?” Her face is full of mirth. “Text him back!”

I hesitate, biting my lip as I think. Then I send Grisham a response:

Mea reads over my shoulder. Frowning, she huffs out a disappointed breath. “Boring.”

My eyes widen as I stare at her. “Mea! Am I supposed to sext the guy during our first convo?”

Her nod is solemn. “Absolutely.”

Now it's my turn to throw up my arms at her utter hopelessness.

My phone vibrates, and I glance down at it with eager eyes.

Huh.
I'd actually forgotten all about those doctor's orders. “Mea, can you—”

“Nope!” she sings happily. “Can't, sweetie. I'm staying at my cousin's in Wilmington tonight. In fact, I don't even have time to stay for this delicious dinner you cooked. I have plans.”

I stare at her, my eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “Since when?”

“Since right now.”

I grab the dish towel and throw it at her head. “You little devil! I need you! I have a freaking concussion!”