Tempted by a SEAL Page 3

  A bright green Volkswagen Beetle with a white and yellow daisy painted on the hood seemed about right for this chick.

  The sight of the ridiculous car had him torn between rolling his eyes and smiling. He tried to control both impulses, though he supposed the car and it’s paint job were meant to amuse. What other reason would someone have for painting a flower that big on a car?

  The road now clear, he reached for Lydia’s elbow to steer her across the street, figuring that was safest. He wasn’t convinced she wasn’t going to fall flat on her face or get her heel stuck in a sewer grate or manhole cover.

  He might not be able to sleep, but laying awake in bed was still better than spending the night in a chair in the waiting room of the emergency room waiting for her to get fixed up because he’d let her get hurt.

  Nope. No broken ankles here. At least not on his watch.

  Of course, he did enjoy how the impractical but sexy as sin shoes gave her a little extra wiggle as she walked. And a bit of extra bounce to her full breasts.

  Yanking his eyes off his companion’s assets, Mack focused on his goal—the daisy car. He headed directly for it—like a bee to a flower—and tried not to smile at his own ridiculous joke.

  They were almost to the driver’s side door of the vehicle, when she asked, “How did you know this was my car?”

  Dropping his hold on her now that they’d reached the car, he glanced down at her. She was tall for a female, especially with the added height of the heels, but he still had a good half a head on her.

  “Good guess?”

  “Oh.” She took another step toward the car—and pitched forward.

  Mack’s reflexes kicked in. He reached out and took hold of her elbow again as he grabbed for her other arm with his free hand.

  At the same time he turned and stepped in front of her to block her fall. She crashed into his chest, which he figured was better than face-planting in the street.

  “Whoa. You all right?” he asked.

  She glanced up at him through a fall of dark, wild curls that had fallen across her eyes. “Yeah. I’m just a klutz.”

  He smiled. “You’re not a klutz.”

  Lydia blew her hair out of her face and he got a better look at her scowl. “Then why did I fall?”

  Hearing the annoyance in her tone, he cocked a brow. “Well, it’s dark. The surface of the street is uneven. You were walking in heels that are far too high for you. And you’ve been drinking.”

  A crease appeared in her forehead. “What do you mean my heels are too high for me? I can walk just fine in these heels, thank you.”

  Of the laundry list of reasons he’d given her, that was the one she’d zeroed in on? Not to mention got offended about.

  This girl was proving to be more amusing than he’d ever imagined.

  “I suppose you think that only skinny girls are allowed to wear high heels,” she accused, her frown firmly in place.

  “I never said that.”

  “No, but it’s what you meant.”

  “Oh, really? So now you know what I’m thinking?” Mack lifted both brows.

  “Yes. What you and all guys think.” Her frown was joined by a pout . . . and now he was looking at her lips, full and pouty, just like how he liked them.

  He’d like them even better wrapped around a certain part of him . . .

  Damn. Bad thought.

  He realized his hands were still clasped on her arms. “Is your ankle okay?”

  She pulled her mouth to one side. “Yes.”

  He let his hold drop from her now he was sure she could stand under her own power. She shot him a glare when he figured she would be grateful that he’d saved her from literally falling flat on her face.

  “Are you mad at me? Just because I said your heels are too high for you?” he asked the incredulous question figuring he had to be wrong and something else had her pissed.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “No. I’m not mad at you.”

  He could have accepted her answer at face value but he was intrigued by how her body language spoke the opposite of her words and he seemed to be the cause.

  Leaning back against her car door, he folded his arms and settled in for a wait. He didn’t say anything. His own body language did the talking.

  Finally she let out a huff. “I’m just tired of it. Okay?”

  Figuring she wasn’t talking about the hour or being literally tired, he asked, “Tired of what?”

  “Being invisible. Guys like you never look at girls like me. Sure, you’ll walk me to my car but it’s to be nice. Not for any other reason.”

  He was quiet for a while, digesting the meaning of what she’d said, including the insult against him.

  Reading her, from the tone of her words, to the mingled emotions in her glance, he could see the insecurity inside her. The frustration. Even the hope that she was wrong.

  He could just put her in her car, watch her drive away and go upstairs. Or even better, he could go back to the bar for that third drink.

  Instead, Mack felt himself compelled to straighten out her misconceptions. “You’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything.”

  She snorted out a huff. “Right.”

  And with that one word she’d just called him a liar. He was in a strange mood tonight. He didn’t know what to make of it but he knew one thing, she wasn’t going to get away with assuming something about him that wasn’t true.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Twenty-two.”

  Eyes narrowed, he tried to evaluate in the dim light of the streetlamp if that could be true. “I might want to see proof of that.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger that he didn’t believe her. “The bartender checked my ID and served me. That means I’m at least twenty-one.”

  Yeah, she was younger than he was, but not by as many years as he’d first assumed when he’d wondered if she was underage to drink.

  He liked her spit and fire and decided to push her a little further. Teasing her was proving to be fun. “But it doesn’t prove you’re twenty-two.”

  Planting her hands on her hips, she let out a huff. “Why would anyone lie about being twenty-two? Twenty-one, yes because that’s the drinking age, but lying by one year and saying I’m twenty-two is just ridiculous—”

  Her little rant did more than amuse him. It had him getting even harder.

  He hauled her against him, close enough they were pressed together from chest to thigh and all the parts in between. Close enough there was no way she could miss the erection that had reasserted itself during this little tiff.

  And why he had a hard-on from arguing with her was an issue he’d have to think about later. Right now, he had a point to prove to her.

  With his face barely two inches away from hers, he drew in a breath and realized he could smell everything about her. A light, sweet scent that must be her perfume. The beer on her breath as she exhaled. Even the scent of the leather bag on her shoulder.

  The fact he was hypersensitive and trained to take in every detail, no matter how small, was working against him right now.

  He pushed aside the sensations assaulting him and forged ahead, intent on proving his point. “Guys like me—whatever the hell that means—do look at girls like you.”

  Her eyes went from wide with surprise to narrow as her gaze dropped to his lips.

  Reading body language had kept him alive more than once. Mack knew what she intended to do before she leaned in to close the short distance between their lips.

  Damned if he didn’t consider doing it too. Kissing her. Taking her upstairs. Sinking into her soft heat until he was spent and worn out enough to get the sleep his body needed but his mind wouldn’t allow.

  Mack pulled back.

  He couldn’t do it.

  He didn’t know much about her, but he could tell she wasn’t one-night stand material and he couldn’t give a woman much more than that.

 
; Not in his current job, not to mention his current fucked-up state of mind.

  Drawing in a breath, he shook his head. “No.”

  CHAPTER 4

  They’d been about to kiss. She was a breath from his lips. The very mouth she had already envisioned roaming all over her body . . . and now he was saying no?

  Not just saying it, but proving he meant it by taking a full step away from her.

  “No? Why not?” Lydia realized she was opening herself up for even more hurt by asking the question but she wanted an answer.

  She braced herself for whatever bullshit excuse this dark haired, blue eyed, hard bodied hottie made to try and spare her feelings.

  “Because you’ve been drinking.”

  Lydia drew her brows down low. “I’m not drunk. I had one light beer all night.”

  Unfortunately, the car keys she’d already gotten out of her bag while they’d been outside the bar waiting to cross the street chose that moment to fall from her grasp.

  In her defense, she was a klutz. She’d already told him and had proven it by almost falling flat on her face.

  She hadn’t been holding on to the keys too tightly after he’d hauled her against him. After she got a feel of that erection he was sporting pressed against her, all of her blood had rushed elsewhere. She was lucky she could still feel her fingers.

  He laughed, which made her frown deeper.

  “Yeah, you are.” Mack bent down and grabbed the keys, keeping them hostage in his big strong hands.

  “No—”

  He cut off her protest. “It’s okay. I’m not judging, but you’re not driving. At least not right now. There’s a diner on the next block. I’ll drive you in your car there and then I’ll walk back. You get yourself a cup of coffee and maybe something to eat, and then you can be on your way.”

  He was not going to get rid of her that easily. Lydia scrambled for a way to prove to him he was wrong.

  “Three point one four one five nine two six five three five nine.” She said the one thing that came to mind.

  He cocked up one brow. “If that’s your phone number, I can tell you right now I’m not gonna remember it . . . and I think you had too many numbers in there anyway.”

  “It’s not my number. It’s pi to the eleventh decimal.”

  “Oh.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with that information.

  She decided to help him out. “It proves I’m not drunk.”

  “No. It proves you memorized it good enough you can spout it out even while drunk.”

  Even more determined to prove him wrong now, Lydia drew in a big breath in preparation to launch into her next feat to convince him she was not drunk from one stupid beer. The one thing her seventh grade history teacher had drilled into her brain so firmly it was still there would have to do.

  “We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense—”

  “Lydia. Shut up.” His command was rude, though delivered in a soft, gentle tone.

  She chose to interpret his cutting her off so sharply as her winning this round and him not being happy about that.

  “Why? Do you believe me now?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She smiled, knowing he was lying. “Then you’d better take me to your place. You know, to give me some of that coffee or food you suggested before.”

  “I suggested the diner, not my place. And make no mistake, if I were to take you to my place it wouldn’t be for coffee.”

  What did that mean? Was he tempted? Lydia wanted to believe so. Her heart kicked into a higher gear.

  She swallowed, steeled her nerve, and said, “Okay. So let’s go.”

  A flash of some emotion she couldn’t pinpoint crossed his face. Anger? Frustration?

  He spewed out a long run of cusses before drawing in a breath that had his nostrils flaring.

  Finally, he glanced at her, looking unhappy as he reached for and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” She struggled to keep up with him as he tugged her around the hood of her car and onto the sidewalk.

  “My place.” He reached for the door of the building directly in front of them.

  “You live here? Across the street from the bar?”

  “Yup.” With barely a glance back at her when he answered, he led her down a hallway. He paused in front of a door.

  Digging in his pocket, he emerged with a set of keys. He unlocked the door and swung it wide, proving he was telling the truth.

  His living here was a hell of a coincidence. Though not really, she supposed. Why drive somewhere to get a drink if you lived across the street from a bar?

  “That’s convenient.” She stepped inside. He followed and then swung the door closed behind them.

  “Yup.” The word was barely out of his mouth before he’d hauled her against his chest and covered her mouth with his.

  Lydia didn’t have time to be shocked at his sudden turn around, just as she didn’t have time to worry how many other women he’d scooped up at that conveniently located bar and brought home with him.

  All thought fled as he pressed her against the closed door, pinning her between the cold hard wood and his equally hard body. She melted right where she stood, just from the heat of his tongue as it stroked against hers.

  Lydia had been kissed before. Of course she had. She wasn’t some virgin.

  At least, not anymore—she pushed aside the knowledge that this time last year that wouldn’t have been true.

  But in all of her limited experience with men, she’d never felt anything like this with Mack.

  The intensity. The raw urgency. The barely controlled passion.

  Maybe that was because she’d never been with a man like him.

  This felt like more, different from the kisses she’d had from high school and college boys. So different it seemed silly to even think of it as just a kiss.

  It was as if his taking possession of her mouth was a warning. A preview of how he was going to take her, possess her, body and soul.

  Maybe it was the beer she’d drank, but she was more than willing to let him take anything he wanted.

  Groaning, she leaned in closer and ran her hands over the hard planes of his back beneath his shirt. Touching him clothed was so incredible she couldn’t begin to wrap her head around what it would be like when he was naked.

  He pulled away from her mouth, and she had to stop herself from chasing his lips to get the kiss back.

  “You on any kind of birth control or do I need to run out?” he asked.

  Oh, God. This was really going to happen. His matter of fact inquiry about birth control left no doubt.

  Imagining being beneath him, of having him plunging inside her, was one thing. The reality of it was another and had her trembling.

  Her heart pounded with equal anxiety and anticipation. Breathless, she managed to form an answer. “I’m on the pill.”

  That made her seem more sexually savvy than she really was, but it was true. She was taking birth control pills.

  What she couldn’t admit was the other truth—that she’d rushed to the college’s health clinic the day after she’d lost her virginity and put herself on birth control . . . and she hadn’t been touched by a man since.

  It was kind of humiliating, getting that new pack of pills each month, taking one each day, and knowing it was all for nothing—until now.

  Tonight would make those nine months of waiting to take full advantage of those pills worth it.

  She hoped so anyway. That first time had not been all that good. The second time that night with the guy who had been her first had been no better.

  The whole encounter had been an awkward, kind of painful, mess. So why was she so anxious to repeat it? Eternal optimism, she supposed.

  “Good.” His single word response to her announcement about being on the pill came out in a deep growly ti
mbre.

  The sound rumbled through her, cutting straight to her core, making her want him even more while at the same time scaring the hell out of her.

  If a skinny college geek had hurt her during her one and only night of having sex, what the hell would a man like Mack do to her?

  As he closed in on her again she feared she’d pass out from the intensity of the situation.

  In seconds she realized that she shouldn’t have worried about falling down in a dead faint because her feet were no longer on the floor. He’d scooped her up like she weighed next to nothing, when that was far from the truth.

  As she clung to his neck with her arms, she gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to bed.”

  Her black outfit was slimming—at least she hoped it hid the latest pounds she’d gained this semester thanks to stress and the new pizza place that delivered—but there was no hiding her weight now he had hefted her up.

  She was much too heavy for him to carry her anywhere, even the bedroom. She wanted to tell him she could walk there herself.

  Lydia was still trying to figure out how to get him to put her down when he angled them both sideways to sidle through the bedroom door.

  That’s when he finally put her down. He dropped her with a bounce, sideways across the bed. Lydia was still recovering when he reached over and flipped on the light on the nightstand.

  It cast a warm glow over him where he stood nearby and over her on the bed.

  She was in the perfect position to watch him strip, which he did without fanfare but damn he didn’t need any.

  Just the sight of each piece of newly exposed flesh appearing as the next piece of clothing came off was enough to keep her focus riveted to the scene.

  Soon enough he was gloriously naked with nothing between her and him and the evidence of how turned on he was.

  Her mouth dry, she swallowed hard and nearly choked in the process.

  Her shoes fell to the floor as he slipped them off, one at a time, before kneeling on the mattress.

  Straddling her lower legs, he reached for the waistband of her black stretch denim jeans.

  They obviously weren’t wasting any time getting down to business.