was to touch all that sleek hard muscle.
He dropped the hose, turned it off and walked back to her. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the heat from his body, and she braced herself and closed her eyes, sensations washing through her, making her body tighten and hum. He was too close, but she had to admit she couldn’t argue.
He watched her intently, and she had no doubt that he was going to be a formidable warrior. “How about you put me out of my misery then and come to our class-up party on Gator Beach at eighteen hundred? Might be a rare photo op for you. Good time to interview us guys before we get the mother of all beat downs.”
Striving to keep her voice normal, she lifted her chin. “Are you sure you want me to have all that variety to choose from?”
He dropped his head, his voice husky when he spoke. “There wasn’t anyone else in my class you were looking at during that briefing. I’m pretty confident it’ll be me going home with you.”
His tone set off such a reaction in her that she needed the car for support. She closed her eyes, trying to corral her feelings. Her eyes popped open when she felt his fingers against her skin. He turned her face toward him, his expression unsmiling, his eyes dark and intent.
“Come on, Shea,” he said, his voice whiskey soft, “I’ll let you teach me some new tricks.”
Held transfixed by the intimacy of his touch, and his playful attitude, she stared at him, her insides balling up into resistance and resignation.
Feeling as if she was drowning, drugged by sensation, he tipped her face up and slowly lowered his head, and Shea made a helpless sound, her eyes drifting shut. Exerting pressure on her jaw, he opened her mouth, then covered it in a wet, deep, cajoling kiss that drove every ounce of strength out of her body and made her knees weak. She reached for his shoulder, the soggy cloth dampening her palm as she slid her fingers against his soft skin, into his wet hair.
He worked his mouth hungrily against hers as if it had been much too long since he’d done this. Shea couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was hang on and ride out the thousand sensations exploding in her. “Damn, babe, you taste so good,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?”
Stroking his nape, she had to say no. Every reason that she should nip this in the bud rising up in her like the tide. It would be too much of a distraction, a disaster, they couldn’t make it work, and it could compromise her case, her job, her sanity, her empty heart, her revenge. No. It was too stupid.
“Yes,” she said, like a complete and utter moron. “I’ll come.”
“I’ve got to go,” he murmured and stepped away from her.
“Wait,” she called. “What is your first name?”
“I’ll tell you at the party tonight,” he said that wicked grin and his handsome face disappearing behind the building.
5
Showered, dressed in civvies, and lightly fatigued after all the clean-up required after BO and preparation to move to the new four-man barracks, Hemingway walked onto Gator Beach’s picnic area located a half block from the Special Warfare barracks. The new barracks were located directly on the beach with a clear view of the ocean. Hemingway couldn’t get enough of the view. If this had been a residential area, the prices for any type of dwelling would be up into the millions.
His new room was more spacious than the barracks at BUD/S Prep, where they had forty-eight men in a room and the only personal space was the rack or bed. Four to a room with a shared bathroom between every two rooms was sheer luxury. At least he wouldn’t be doing sit-ups in the middle of the night because some joker he didn’t even know didn’t make his bed.
He’d ended up in a room with previous bunkmates Milo Prescott, William Brown, and unfortunately, Daniel Wilson. Between the first day of BO and now, he’d learned a lot about them. Milo was a funny, smart-as-hell candidate, Brown was awkward and uncoordinated, and Wilson was surly and antisocial. SEAL candidates were chosen not only for their intelligence, but for character, commitment to others and to the common good, and for their potential for leadership in their careers.
Adrian Lane, next door to them, was the class leader, an Ensign,