A SEAL's Seduction

“Done right, sex is the ultimate excitement,” she said, her voice as sultry as the night itself.

“And done wrong?”

She smiled, slow and wide. Her look was filled with empathy, a sort of deep sympathetic understanding that told him this was a woman who cared. Not just about her job. But about people, about helping. About making things better.

And he’d thought she was scary when she was just perceptive.

Trying to regain control over the needs raging through his libido, Blake focused on the scenery. A few yards from the water’s edge, a crop of boulders marked the end of the beach. Up the dune, a large white tent sheltered the bulk of the wedding party, music pouring a soft wave of romance down toward the surf.

“Want to sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the bench-like rocks. “Or are you ready to head back?”

She nibbled her bottom lip, making him want to beg her to let him do it for her instead. The full flesh glistened, damp, in the tiny white lights twinkling around the tent. Since grabbing her would pretty much guarantee an end to the evening, he forced himself to be patient while she decided.

“We can sit for a few minutes,” she finally said.

Waiting for her to settle herself on the rock, watching her carefully arrange her shoes next to her, he wondered what she’d been thinking. What had been the deciding factor between staying or going?

“So you love your job,” he said, leaning his hip against the rock so he was half facing her, half facing the water. “What else are you passionate about?”

Her fingers toyed with the tall grasses growing between the stone, the blades black in the moonlight. It was hard to tell since he couldn’t see her eyes, but she suddenly seemed sad. As if he’d rapped his knuckles on a healing bruise. Since he felt like one giant bruise himself, he could sympathize.

Before he could change the subject, she glanced up, her lashes a feathery frame to the intense look in her eyes.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve been passionate about anything except work for a long time. I learned pretty young that my passionate exuberance for certain things in life was a problem. So I pulled it in. Focused it. First on school, then on my career.”

Her words were matter-of-fact. But so sad, he felt like a self-pitying fool for settling into a pit of grief the way he had. For hiding instead of facing life the way Alexia did.

He should ask about her past. Find out what had hurt her, how she’d overcome it. Give her the comfort of getting it off her chest.

But the idea of that made his gut ache like no amount of enemy fire or threat of torture could. Feelings, emotions, opening up. They all seemed passive. He was a man of action. So he went with comfort-option number two. His body gave a silent woohoo.

He lifted her hand, amazed at its softness. Long, slender fingers trembled once. He watched as she took a quick breath, stilled her hand and lifted her chin. In a rare move, his body reacted without his say-so, hardening.

“All work can’t be good, even when it’s work you enjoy,” he said. “You should share that passion. Spread it around to other things. You know, maybe a hobby.”

“Hobbies are good,” she agreed softly, the look on her face both amused and patient. As if he was a cute little kid who entertained her. Not quite the image he’d been going for.

“But I think there are other things I’d rather be passionate about,” she said, her words almost lost in the pounding of the surf.

Or was that the pounding of his heart?

SHE WAS IN TROUBLE. Knee-deep, sinking-fast, screamfor-help-before-it’s-too-late trouble.

Alexia knew all the signs.

Her heart was racing, even as her feet twitched, warning to run.

Anticipation curled, tight and low in her belly. Somewhere between desire and terror, it waited. Hope and fear entwined, making it impossible to know which to root for.

Her mind screamed warning, but her body wanted him, badly. Her nipples tightened and her thighs melted in anticipation. It was all she could do not to close the space between them, lean into that rock-hard body and trace her tongue over the hint of stubble along his jaw. She’d bet he tasted yummy.

Catching herself just before she fanned her hand in front of her face to try to chill, Alexia desperately grabbed control, reeling it tight.

It was time to make an excuse and leave. She had a very narrow window—maybe five minutes, tops—before she did something really, really stupid. And she’d spent a lot of years weaning stupid behavior from her repertoire.

She was proud of that. Even as a sneaky part of her brain whispered that she’d been good for so long, she deserved a little bad. Just a little, now and then.

Mostly now.

Then Blake stepped closer. Her eyes widened. Her pulse tripped over itself before racing off so fast it made her light-headed.

“I know it’s too soon,” he murmured, his words as dark and deep as the night sky, “but I have to taste you.”

Alexia’s mental gymnastics melted away, right along with her resistance. Desire swirled down into her belly in a slow, sinuous slide.

Then his lips brushed over hers and she didn’t care about stupid, resistance or the fact that they were on a public beach.

His breath was warm. His lips soft. The fingertips he traced over her shoulder a gentle whisper. It was sweetness personified. She felt like a fairy-tale princess being kissed for the first time by her prince.

And he was delicious.

Mouthwatering, heart-stopping, panty-creaming delicious. And clearly, he had no problem going after what he wanted, she realized as he slid the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of her shoulder. Alexia shivered at the contrast of his hard fingertips against her skin. Her breath caught as his hand shifted, sliding lower, hinting at, but not actually caressing, the upper swell of her breast.

Her heart pounded so hard against her throat, she was surprised it didn’t jump right out into his hand.

She wanted him. As she’d never wanted another man in her life. Years, she’d behaved. She’d carefully considered her actions, making sure she didn’t hurt others. She’d poured herself into her career, into making sure her life was one she was proud of.

She had a man who wanted her in his life. A nice, sweet man who she could talk through the night with and never run out of things to say.

But she wanted more.

She wanted a man who’d keep her up all night screaming with pleasure. Who’d drive her wild, who’d send her body to sexual places she’d never even dreamed of. She wanted orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.

Even if it was only for one night.

And that, she realized, was the key. One night of crazy. One night of delicious, empowered, indulge-her-every-desire sex with a man who made her melt.

One night would be incredible.

One night would be enough.

“This is crazy,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his tongue sliding over her lower lip before he nipped the tender flesh. When she gasped, he soothed it with a soft kiss. “But crazy feels damn good.”

It did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into the hard, solid wall of his muscled body and gave a low moan of delight. He felt really, really good.