Saved by the SEAL (26 page)

W
elcome to Lone Sands, North Carolina. Where lonely hearts find a home in the sun and the sand.

Seriously? This postage-stamp-size town off the coast thinks that their best feature is that it's full of lonely people?

This is probably the point when I should turn around, drive pell-mell in the opposite direction of Lone Sands. But I don't. I keep plugging. The love of my life, my Ford F-250, has made it this far from Fort Benning. I'm tired of driving, tired of pulling through fast-food drive-throughs. I just want to stop.

I just want to live.

That sounds so simple, just live. But how am I supposed to do that, now? I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life from this point forward.

But according to my buddy Drake, this quiet little town is the place to be if you're looking for some peace and quiet after the army sends you packing.

I observe as I drive. That's something I've always been good at. Observing. Reading people. Taking mental notes.

Each new road I turn on is picturesque, dusted with sand. Charming shops and restaurants in bright colors adorn the quaint little streets. The ocean is visible sometimes when I glance down a side street, shining and winking with the afternoon sunlight. Cottages are scattered in clusters, tall sea grass intermixed with small dunes for yards.

I'm going to be living in a town that doubles as the cover of some damn girly book.

When I pull up to the address I'd put in my GPS back in Georgia, Drake strides out of the unpretentious bungalow. The front garden beds are alive with the leafy fronds of palm bushes, waving at me as if in welcome.

“Man, you made it!” Drake is pulling open my truck door and dragging me onto my feet. He proceeds to squeeze me in a bear hug so tight I think a few of my ribs are left cracked in his wake.

“Yeah.” I rub my sides as he releases me, wincing. “I made it.”

He's already standing beside the extended truck bed, reaching to grab my suitcase, pulling it up and out. “This all you brought?”

“That's all I've got.”

Drake nods his blocky, shaved head. It sits atop his neck like a boulder perched on a stump. Every inch of him is like that: big and steady. The dude is as solid as a mountain.

He disappears through the heavy oak front door, and then pokes his head back outside to peer at me. “Get in here!”

When I enter, I look around, my eyes drinking in the living room. Whistling, I nod my head in appreciation. “This is nice, Drake. Real nice.”

The floors are some sort of dark hardwood, and although the living area we've just entered is a little tight, the ceilings are high and decorated with exposed beams. The fireplace takes up the entire far wall, made of some kind of natural stone that makes me stupid with envy. I walk over and reach out a hand, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingers.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah.” Drake shrugs. “I knew that would speak to you. I worked on all of this myself. Place was a wreck when I bought it. But I can see the water from here, and I wanted the beach in walking distance. It was worth it to fix this old dump up.”

I can tell from the loving way he talks about his house that he doesn't really think it's a dump. Whatever the opposite of a dump is, that's how my friend feels about this house.

“You did good, man. It's beautiful.”

He grins his trademark, full-on cheesefest of a grin. “Thanks. Let me show you your room.”

The house has two bedrooms; Drake leads the way to the smaller of the two and sets my bag down on a queen-size bed. The room is sparse: a bed, a dresser, and an en suite bathroom off to one side. But the ceilings are high here, too, and there's a sliding glass door that leads out to the sand beyond.

“Drake,” I begin. “I don't know how to thank you for this.”

He shakes his head and lifts a hand, cutting me off. “Don't. We're brothers. Maybe we don't have the same blood running through our veins, but you'll always be my family, Dare. I look out for my own. And I know what it's like when you first get out. You'll come work with me at the garage tomorrow, and we'll take it from there. You hungry?”

I nod, gratitude filling my chest. The feeling steals my words away; all I can do is nod. “Starving.”

“Let's go to a little place I know. Crab legs and shrimp. We can eat till we're stuffed, drink a few, and then come home and crash. Sound like a night?”

“Sounds like the best damn night I've had in a while.”

He grins ear to ear and slaps me on the back so hard I'm forced to take a lurching step forward.

A few minutes later, we are rocketing down the town's main drag and my long legs feel like they're wrapped in a burrito.

“I'm used to more legroom than this,” I groan. “How do you drive this thing? Your ass is like five hundred pounds bigger than I am.”

Drake cuts his eyes at me. “Don't. Talk. Shit. About. The. Challenger.”

I roll my eyes so hard my forehead aches. Drake's always had a thing for fast cars, especially if they're packing extra heat under the hood. “Next time, we take the truck.” My gorgeous, black, four-door, extended-cab, extended-bed demon.

We pull up in front of the restaurant, and I just sit in the car and study it a moment while Drake lugs himself out of the driver's seat. It's tiny, like everything else seems to be in Lone Sands. It's definitely a hole in the wall, with its gravel parking lot and creaky old sign hanging on rusty chains above the door. Written on it is the name of the place,
SEE FOOD
.

“Clever,” I mutter as I exit the Challenger. Drake's breath hitches as my belt buckle scratches against the side of the car. I wince, checking the dark gray paint to make sure it's intact.

“My bad.” I shoot him a chagrined smile. “All good.”

When we're seated at a tiny booth inside the restaurant, I've already changed my mind about the sketchy vibes I was getting on the outside. In here, it smells like coastal heaven. My mouth is watering as I gaze hungrily at the menu, and I'm ignoring Drake completely, which is okay because he's ignoring me, too.

“What can I get for you boys today?”

I keep staring at the menu while Drake begins rattling off his food order for the waitress. I can imagine her eyes growing rounder and larger as he keeps going, because Drake normally eats enough for three men. Finally, I zero in on what I want and glance up at her to relay my wishes.

Now is a good time to point this out: I've been in the army for seven years. I've lived all over the United States. I've traveled plenty outside of it, too. I'm not a saint; I've met women all over the place that made my time in their native lands worthwhile. I'm only a man, and I've always enjoyed a woman's company.

But I've never in my twenty-five years seen a woman like
this.

At first, as I stare, I'm not sure what exactly it is that sets her worlds apart. Her face is gorgeous, yeah. It's the kind of face that keeps men alive in a desert far, far away. The warm, whiskey-colored eyes that pierce me straight through my heart are Disney-princess big, and when she blinks something in my chest explodes. Or maybe it's her hair. All those light-colored curls piled high on top of her head, one wavy tendril hanging into her eyes.

Damn
. I physically have to restrain my hand from reaching up to brush it away.

But it can't be any of those things, can it? I'm no stranger to meeting beautiful women in all shapes and sizes.

Maybe it's her body. Which, even covered up in a tight restaurant T-shirt and short-enough-to-peek denim cutoffs, is luring me dangerously closer to those legs that seem to go on for days.

Fucking. Days.

But, as I continue to embarrass myself because I can't pull my eyes away and force my mouth to work, I realize it's her total aloofness that has me salivating at the mouth. She could give two shits about who I am or what I've done. She's barely even looking at me. Wait, she really
isn't
looking at me. She's looking at a spot just above my left ear.

So, I'll make her look at me. I clear my throat and ask, “What's good here?”

Finally,
finally
, her gaze slides to mine, and whatever exploded in my chest earlier detonates once again, only about a million times harder.

“Everything's good here,” she replies. Her tone is cool and cautious, as if she thinks I'm hitting on her. Huh. That must happen a lot.

“Okay.” I shoot her what I hope is a winning smile. “Then get me one of everything.”

Her mouth drops open slightly, and I enjoy watching her tongue play across her top teeth. “What?”

My grin grows as wide as one of Drake's kooky ones. “Just give me whatever you usually eat. I'm sure I'll love it.”

She frowns, and a tiny crease forms in the center of her forehead that draws something inside of me up, out, and into the open. Looking at her is causing me to feel too exposed, too out in the open and unprotected. I glance back down at my menu, but the smile doesn't fade from my face.

“All right,” she finally says. “I'll bring you a few of my favorites. But don't blame me if you hate them.”

Her voice is a little haughty, and so soft and feminine that an extra surge of testosterone races through me. All those hormones centered in one particular place in my body, and I shift in my seat as I feel my jeans shrinking.

When I look up again, she's gone. But Drake is now staring openly in my direction, his grin as wide as I've ever seen it.

“You just fell in love a little bit, didn't you?”

“Shut the hell up.”

He laughs. “I don't blame you. She's definitely hot.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay, Romeo, we won't. I just want to watch you make an idiot of yourself for the rest of the night.”

I'm halfway through my second bottle of Killian's when she returns, laden down with two trays of food. She sets them down on the table opposite us, and I watch closely as she first lays three platters in front of Drake.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” His whole face lights up with his trademark smile, and it appears it's contagious, because she smiles right back at him.

When I see it, I suck in a breath and bite down hard on my tongue.

She has
dimples
.

“You're so welcome,” she answers.

I like the slight twang in her tone. I like it a whole damn lot.

“And for
you
,” she continues, aiming that gaze, the one that stabbed me earlier, in my direction. “I have a little selection.”

She rattles off the name of each item as she sets it down: crab cakes, calamari, mushrooms stuffed with succulent lobster meat, and a metal bucket of buttered corn on the cob.

I'm still starving, and somehow the fact that this food is brought to me by someone who looks like her is making me so much hungrier.

“Thank you. You have amazing taste. Everything looks delicious.”

Including you.

“It will be,” she assures me, leveling her gaze at mine for another second. When she turns away, she leaves the sweet scent of roses in her wake. I inhale deeply, receiving the blend of seafood and flowers and mentally adding the mixture to the list of things I can't resist.

“Y'all let me know if you need anything else.” She flounces away.

“So.” Drake begins tentatively, and I know I'm not going to like the turn our conversation is about to take.

I stuff my mouth full of lobster-infused mushrooms and have to close my eyes because they taste fucking incredible.

“Your physical therapy is done, right?”

Drake doesn't waste time; he gets directly to the point. It's one of the reasons he's one of few friends I have in civilian life. I hate bullshit.

“Yeah. It's done, Drake. I'm clear.”

“But you weren't cleared for duty. So how much are you going to be able to handle in the shop? I'm serious, dude. I don't want you getting hurt on my watch.”

“I'm a grown-ass man, Drake, and an ex-Army Ranger. I can handle getting under some cars and getting shit done. You don't have to worry about me.”

Drake continues to chew a mouthful of food while he studies me, and then washes it down with a gulp from his own bottle of beer.

“I know you're tough. But you've gone through a lot, Dare. I wouldn't blame you if you just wanted to take it easy for a while.”

“I live at the beach now, right? I
am
taking it easy. But I'm going to earn my keep. Conversation over?”

He nods, not taking his eyes off of me. “Roger that.”

I nod, allowing my eyes to wander around the restaurant. I spot Legs over by the computer on the back wall, checking her cell phone. I keep track of her as she busies herself with bringing food and refills to her tables. Other than ours, she has only two others. I've arrived in Lone Sands in April, a good month before the tourists will surge in, searching for summer fun.

Finally, she returns to us, holding our check.

“How was it?” she asks me. The wariness in her voice bothers me. She doesn't seem as cautious with Drake, and I want to know why.

“Drake,” I say suddenly. “It's on me tonight. Want to head out to the Challenger while I finish up?”

Chucking, he salutes and heaves himself out of the booth. “Yes, Sergeant.”

The waitress—how do I not yet know her name?—glances sharply at him as he speaks, and then aims her steadfast gaze at me while I take the check gently from her fingers.

“Berkeley,” I read aloud. Damn, even her name strikes an image of perfect beauty.

“That's me. Did you like everything?” She's asking me as if she doesn't
want
to ask, but she
needs
to know.

“Best meal I've had in a long time,” I answer honestly. “Thank you for that.”