A SEAL's Salvation

BRODY READ THE letter for the fifth time, still not believing what it said. She was trying to kill him. That had to be it. Somehow, she knew this time he was floating in a submarine in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with a crew of men.

He looked at the letter again and nodded. Yeah. She was getting revenge for something. Maybe she was pissed that he’d made her scream with pleasure, then hadn’t called the next morning. Girls were weird like that, even when the not-calling excuse was being shanghaied into the navy.

Brody realized he was grinning.

How far could he push her? How far was she willing to go?

He grabbed a piece of paper and pen.

Might as well find out.

* * *

“DID THE MAIL COME?” Genna asked as soon as she cleared the front door, her arms filled with grocery bags, her purse and the box of fliers the mayor wanted folded just so for distribution.

“It’s on the table.” Macy gave her a narrow-eyed look. “You’ve been awfully interested in the mail lately. Are you expecting something important?”

“Important? Nope, not at all.” Genna wet her lips, trying to be subtle as she edged toward the kitchen. “I’m just waiting for the latest Cosmo. I heard there are some great book recommendations in there.”

“Books. In Cosmo?” Macy shook her head and went back to sewing tiny roses on an array of tulle circles. “I can just imagine what kind of stories those are. Naughty, right?”

“Very naughty. Red-hot, in fact, I read one last month called Fearless. Very hot,” Genna said, spying the APO return and dropping her armload of stuff to grab it up. “And speaking of, I’m going to hop in the shower. Long day.”

She might have babbled a couple more things as she hurried for the bathroom, her only guaranteed privacy. She loved having Macy here, but it’d sure be nice when her friend was married and Genna had her house to herself again.

The door locked, she twisted the shower on with one hand while ripping the letter open with the other.

You’d look good in a nightie while I bent you over my Harley. But you’d look even better in nothing.

What’d you taste like? I wonder.

What do you think I taste like?

What would it feel like to find out?

Whew.

Genna caught her reflection in the mirror as she puffed out a breath. Her face was red. Not from embarrassment. Nope, that was the color of sexual need. Hot, vivid, intense.

Seeing no other option, she stripped naked, turned off the hot water and slid under the icy spray.

And imagined Brody as she searched for relief.

* * *

I’m craving ice cream. Something cold, rich, delicious. I’ll share it with you. But you have to eat it off my body. You can choose where to start. But to help you along, I’ll pour a little drizzle of caramel sauce here, just below my belly button. Want to lick it up?

BRODY GROANED—actually groaned aloud—reading those words.

He’d always been more of a chocolate than caramel kind of guy, but now he wanted it like nobody’s business.

He wanted Genna even more.

Grateful to be back in Coronado, in the relative privacy of the barracks instead of on a ship with a bunch of guys, he closed his eyes and visualized Genna as she’d been the last time he’d seen her. Then he imagined himself pouring caramel sauce over her body. Top down? Bottom up?

Aching hard, his body demanded the only solution possible. One he’d have to provide for himself, since no woman other than Genna would do.

He’d start in the middle.

* * *

I’d prefer a Popsicle to ice cream. Something long and hard I could watch you eat. You should run it over your lips first, so they are nice and wet and sweet when I kiss you. Then you can trace it around your nipples. The cold will make them rock-hard, like they’re begging me to warm them. I’ll do that while you move the Popsicle down to your thighs, leaving a sticky sweet trail for my lips to follow.

I think you’re going to need another Popsicle. We melted that one.

GENNA LAY IN HER BED, the dim glow from her bedside light pooling over the blankets, shining on the paper. She imagined Brody, looking like he had ten years ago, writing those words. Pictured his eyes glowing with a wicked light as he watched her pleasure herself. As he brought her pleasure with just his words and the look on his face.

Her fingers slipped under the hem of her nightie, trailing over her skin in the same path he’d suggested she trail the icy treat. Reading the words again, she edged her panties aside and let her fingers go to work.

Nothing cold here.

* * *

I hope you like cherry. Because that’s the only flavor Popsicles I like.

I’m all sticky now. I need a shower. You can watch, but you can’t join me yet. I’ve turned the water up so hot, the room is filling with steam. The shower nozzle is set to pulse. Fast, hard bursts against my skin, water droplets sliding down my aching flesh. I want you still. But you’re not allowed in the shower. So while you watch, I’m going to pleasure myself and pretend it’s you. I’ll take the showerhead off its hook and slide it down my body. The water pools between my breasts, gurgling and bubbling before pouring down my body. I’m wet. And not just from the shower.

What would you like to do about it?

BRODY DIDN’T KNOW whether to damn Genna Reilly, or worship her. She’d got him into hot water when she was a teenager, now she had him living under a cold shower.

Brody ran a towel over his head, the rough terry soaking up the droplets and quickly drying his short hair.

Just the thought of a shower brought to mind Genna’s last letter.

Of course, so did taking a shower. Seeing water. Hell, just breathing had the words flashing through his brain.

Scowling, Brody threw the towel on his bunk and grabbed his fatigues, shoving one foot in, then the other with enough force he was surprised the fabric didn’t rip.

He wasn’t writing her back.

This whole crazy game had to stop.

If he didn’t respond, neither would Genna.

And they could both get back to living their lives.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking he’d forget about the letters over time. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the taste of her that night in the garage. He could still hear her soft cries of pleasure and see the rosy flush on her skin. Ten years hadn’t dimmed that memory.

So, no. The images weren’t going anywhere.

But the game was.

Brody finished dressing on autopilot, his brain ricocheting between the plan for the coming mission and every contingency. Their strategy was solid, they’d be solid.

“Lane. Heads up. The helo is ready to fly.”

Brody nodded. All suited up now, so was he.

Time to rock and roll.

Habit had him glancing around before shutting the locker, making sure he’d left no traces of anything personal. Nothing was left out except the letter. Brody grabbed it, ready to tuck it away with his few personal effects. But it was like Genna’s loopy handwriting was curled around his fingers, not letting go.

Damn. Brody felt like a fool.

He looked to the left, then to the right to make sure he was alone. He grimaced at his behavior, then pulled the letter from the envelope to read it one more time.

4

TIME TO ROCK AND ROLL. Brody, along with the rest of the team, loaded onto the Chinook helicopter. They didn’t have to go over the mission. It was etched in their minds, every aspect of it not only committed to memory, but muscle memory. They were machines, ready to engage.

He eyed the extra guy in the bird, separate from the team. Watching. He didn’t acknowledge them and as far as the team was concerned, he was just cargo.

Government cargo.

All SEAL missions were covert. Top secret was the name of the game, whether it was a direct action, recon or rescue.

Which usually meant no audience.

He puffed out a gust of air, then strapped himself in as the bird started liftoff. This wasn’t his first rescue mission by far. But he figured it would be the first time he’d ever have the opportunity to meet the Cin C’s right hand. He looked toward the passenger one more time, then dismissed him.

Tee minus five.

While the blades of the helo whirled their deafening hum, everybody went into prep mode.

The usual banter flew through the team as they did one last equipment check.

And then they went silent.

Brody had never worried about clearing his head before a mission. In the ten years he’d served in the navy, he’d learned a few things. Focus. Discipline. And confidence. Not the cocky bravado he’d perfected as a teen. But the absolute assurance that he was damned good at what he did and didn’t have a thing to prove to anyone.

He was a finely honed weapon, trained with the necessary skills to carry out this rescue mission. He didn’t have a single doubt that he’d do his job, and do it well. Because he had nothing, nobody, in the world that meant a damned thing to him except his team. His platoon. His duty.

He glanced around the belly of the plane. Cormack had his head tilted back, eyes closed as he muttered Buddhist chants. Masters looked fierce, as if he was going over the plan one more time in his head. But Brody knew he wasn’t. The plan was imprinted; they didn’t need to review it. Nope, the guy was mentally reciting The Iliad.

Brody usually thought about nothing at this point.

This time, just before he flipped the switch and became a military machine, the image of Genna Reilly filled his head. Her smile warming his belly, the wicked delight in her eyes reminding him of his past.

Was she still as bright as the sun, drawing people to her like a spotlight? Did her laugh gurgle the way it had when she was younger, deep and husky? And just how would she look in that little blue nightie she kept writing to him about? Or more to the point, how would she look out of it?

Was she still as sexy? Her hair a heavy curtain of long black silk, like in his fantasies? Did she make those same noises when she came? Or was sex just a way to pass time for her now? Like it was for him.

It was her smile that became his focal point as he let all thoughts fall away. He shifted his shoulders, shrugging off everything but the mission.

“It’s time,” Landon said. His words were low and calm. His expression contained. He scanned the team, gave a nod. “Let’s kick ass.”

* * *

GENNA WAS GOING crazy with boredom.

It was like there was a switch in her head that enabled her to get through the same old boring job, blah life, day in-and-day-out monotonous yawn-fest of good behavior. And that switch had flipped off.

She knew she should find a way to flip it back on.

But she didn’t want to.

If she did, she’d have to go back to making other people happy. Which still included Mr. Perfect, the troll collector, and all the pressures to go out with him on a second date.

The guy was boring.

Especially when compared with other people who needed to remain nameless, even in her own mind. People who wrote letters that made her melt before she’d even opened the envelope. People who were out living their lives, making a difference. People who, even though they didn’t even sign their name to their letters, made her want so much.

Wish that things had turned out differently.

Lunchtime chatter faded into a buzz as Genna contemplated what her life might be like if she’d never taken that dare ten years ago. Or better yet, if her father hadn’t ruined the best night of her life. If she’d rebelled instead of trying to soothe her miserable parents, and had done all the things she’d hoped to.

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