Sexy SEAL Box Set: A SEAL's Seduction / A SEAL's Surrender / A SEAL's Salvation / A SEAL's Kiss

“Sure. While you get it, you can tell me what you were hoping for from Blake.”

Honesty.

Openness.

Forty or so more orgasms.

A chance to build a relationship.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling two bottles from the fridge and letting the cool air chill the heat on her cheeks. She’d never been a good liar.

“Well, then you got exactly what you wanted,” Michael decided when she handed him his water. “Too bad he didn’t get what he wanted.”

Sure he had. On the beach. In his truck. On her bed. In her shower. Hell, right there on her dining-room table. He wasn’t a shy, retiring sort of guy. If he’d wanted anything more than that, he’d have said so.

A bitter weight settled in her stomach.

“How would you know what he wanted?”

“After you left last night he found me.”

Alexia’s feet dropped to the floor. Wide-eyed, she peered at her brother, trying to see what he wasn’t saying.

“And?”

“And you’re awfully interested for a woman who wants nothing from him.”

“Why’d he find you?” she pressed, ignoring the dig.

“To ask what it’d take to get you to talk to him again.” Michael crossed one slender ankle over his khaki-clad knee and sipped his water, then arched one elegant brow. “So? What’ll it take?”

“For him to change careers. To get amnesia and forget he served with Father. To learn the importance of open, honest communication.”

“He’s not going to change careers. He’s a SEAL, he’s totally dedicated. Would you change careers for a relationship? I think not,” Michael said reasonably. She peered at him, wondering if he’d been hiding in the kitchen during brunch.

“Then we have no chance of being together,” Alexia stated, getting to her feet to pace. “Because me dating a solider, a SEAL, at that, well, it’d be like you dating a woman.”

“Eww.” Michael grimaced. “No need to be gross.”

“But you get what I mean, right?” She stopped in front of her brother and dropped down to sit on the coffee table. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing for someone else. I’m not dissing the military itself, or the idea of someone else dating soldiers.”

“It’s just not your thing.”

“Exactly,” she said, grateful that he understood.

“Except Blake? He is your thing,” Michael pointed out gently. “You had fun with him. You connected. Great sex? That’s not just physical. Once or twice, sure. But days on end? That’s a connection, Alexia. Sometimes a once-in-a-lifetime kind of connection. Are you willing to let your prejudices stand in the way of that?”

She sighed. Dropping her gaze to her hands, she watched her fingers twist together. Remembered how they’d looked against Blake’s tanned skin, smoothing, touching. Caressing.

It’d been incredible.

Could she risk it? He was the kind of guy who’d demand everything. She’d already experienced that firsthand when it came to sex. Physically, there was no holding back with Blake. He gave one hundred percent and demanded just as much in return.

But she needed more than just physical.

Only a week ago, she’d wanted sex, had thought it was the most important aspect of a relationship. She’d wanted something that’d make her feel like a woman, sexual and strong and satisfied. And she’d got it.

But the bottom line was that he was a soldier. Not just military, in service to his country. But an elite fighting machine, specifically trained and totally focused on dangerous missions. Someone who’d always put country, squad and his career before anyone else in his life.

Men like that were exceptional. Special. And even though she hadn’t realized it, that was part of what made Blake so incredible. So maybe she could live with that.

But another part of his job was keeping secrets. She’d never know what he did, where he went. She’d always come second, not just to the mission, but to the classified information that made up eighty percent of his life. By nature, military men kept part of themselves closed off. Private.

That, she couldn’t accept.

“Give it a chance, Alexia,” Michael said, almost pleading. “At least talk to him.”

“Is he paying you?” she asked suspiciously, giving her brother a narrow look.

“I just...” He glanced at his hands, then shrugged and gave her a sad smile. “I just want to see you happy. If you’re happy, you’ll stick around.”

Alexia reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’ll stick around anyway, silly.”

“No.” Michael shook his head. “After all this, you’re going to convince yourself that dating Dr. Darling is the right thing to do. Within a year you’ll realize how much you hate it, working together will be a nightmare, and you’ll quit and move away to escape the misery of it all.”

She started to laugh, then realized he was right. That’s exactly what she’d do. Wrinkling her nose, Alexia asked, “When’d you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart. You just weren’t listening.”

“I missed you,” Alexia said quietly, reaching out to take his hand. “I don’t want to be that far away again. So how about this. You don’t push me on dating Blake, and I’ll promise not to date Edward. That way you won’t drive me crazy, making me wish for what I can’t have, and I won’t ruin my career and run away.”

“If that’s the best I can get, I’ll take it,” her brother said resignedly. “But I still think you should give the Sexy SEAL a chance.”

She’d already fallen half in love with him just based on their physical connection. If she gave him a chance—gave them a chance—the rest of the fall would be as easy as breathing.

And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself fall in love with a man she couldn’t communicate with. One who kept part of himself under lock and key.

“I can’t,” she decided quietly, wishing it didn’t hurt so much. They’d known each other less than a week. She shouldn’t feel as if someone was tearing part of her heart in two. “Because my prejudices would ruin the relationship in the end anyway.”

8

Eight Months Later

“DUDE, YOU’VE TURNED into a total downer.”

Cade’s words echoed through the empty barracks in Quatar. The rest of the squad was off celebrating their return from Syria. Blake had turned down their invite to join in, wanting to sleep and decompress first.

“Sorry I’m not living up to your entertainment standards,” Blake muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.

“You’re mooning. Get over her already.”

“I’m sleeping. As in resting up after a three-week recon.”

Cade’s sigh was a work of art. Loud, drawn out and filled with enough exasperation to fuel an obnoxious teenager for a week.

Blake almost smiled. But he still didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to sleep. Sleep and work were great. In between the two? Not so great.

Not that he was mooning. That’d be stupid. And Blake didn’t waste his time with stupid.

“You need to get over her.”

“Over who?”

The silence was glorious.

If only it’d last.

“It’s been months. You’re so hung up that you barely do anything anymore. Missions, the gym, the dojo, the range. That’s your life. You’re a cliché, man.”

Sad, but true.

Michael had been right. After slamming the door in his face, Alexia hadn’t talked to him again. Blake had called. He’d gone by her place. He’d done everything but tattle to her daddy.

Finally, he’d given up.

He wasn’t going to waste his time on a woman who couldn’t get past her father issues.

“I’m not a cliché. I’m not mooning and I haven’t been a monk.” There. He’d defended himself against all of Cade’s accusations. Maybe now he could get some sleep.

“You’re not putting anything into it, either. Sex with random strangers just to relieve the pressure isn’t your thing.”

“Don’t you have a lovelorn column to write?” Blake snapped, sick of thinking about Alexia and totally pissed that Cade wouldn’t let it go.

“‘Dear Lovelorn LC, I’ve fallen for the girl I can’t have and now can’t get over her. How do I heal my broken heart?’”

It might have been funny if it wasn’t way too close to the truth.

“Sullivan, you’re a pain in my ass.”

“Landon!”

Thank God. An interruption Cade couldn’t ignore.

“Sir?” Blake sprang to his feet, coming to attention despite the fact that he was off duty, in his boxers and, seriously, trying to sleep.

“New orders. Report to the captain.”

* * *

EYES FOCUSED on the silver eagle gracing the plaque of the United States Navy, Blake stood at attention. The brass behind the desk ignored his presence, multitasking paperwork and a phone call instead.

Shoulders firm, chin high, senses alert, Blake knew his face didn’t betray any irritation at waiting, even though it’d been ten minutes already. Nor did any of the questions he had on his mind show in his expression.

He wasn’t wondering why he had been pulled from his assignment and ordered back to the Coronado Naval Base without the rest of his team.

Nor was he curious about why this meeting was deemed classified.

Both of those were pretty much Standard Operating Procedure.

The question burning in his gut was why the hell he was reporting directly to Rear Admiral Lane.

Plenty of orders had come down from Lane, but they went through the chain of command. Blake had never had a face-to-face with the rear admiral. He hadn’t even seen the guy in person since Admiral Pierce’s retirement party last September.

Anger fisted tight in his gut, the same as it always did at the memory of that night.

As he had so many times in the past, he reminded himself that it was stupid to get worked up over a woman he’d barely known. The only reason Alexia was still intriguing was because he hadn’t got to spend enough time with her for the shine to wear off. Great sex, a body that haunted his dreams and a personality that had almost convinced him there was such a thing as relationships outside of bed... Nothing to obsess over.

He’d slept with plenty of women in the past few months, enough to wipe away the memory of that wild encounter. He wasn’t a sentimental guy, nor was he the kind who fanatically crushed on some long-forgotten—or supposed-to-be-forgotten—chick.

Nope. No reason to be angry.

No point in remembering the exact texture of her lips, the scent of her hair in the moonlight or the feel of her soft curves pressed into his chest. It was ridiculous to wish he could see her, just one more time, poised naked above him, waiting to ride them both to the heights and depths of passion. The last thing he needed in his life was the distraction of wondering how she was liking her new job, whether she’d adjusted to life in San Diego or if she still missed New York. If she’d unpacked everything and if she’d got to the beach yet this year.

With the same discipline he used to push his body to its limits, to train with the elite and to succeed in missions that most would deem impossible, Blake shoved the memory—and all its accompanying emotional tension—out of his mind.

Better to focus on wondering why the hell he was here.

More for distraction than because he figured he’d find an answer, he started running through a mental list of all the known conflicts that might require a one-man mission.

He hadn’t come up with a single idea by the time the rear admiral wound up his phone call.

“Landon,” Lane acknowledged when he hung up the receiver.

Already at attention, Blake shifted all of his focus—physical and mental—to his commanding officer.

“Sir.”

“You were recently in Syria.”

Since it was a statement, not a question, Blake didn’t respond. Still staring at the eagle, he was aware his mind raced. The last mission had been a success. The team had even received a thumbs-up from the commander in chief on a job well done. Where was this going?

“In the last year, you’ve spent six months deployed in the Middle East, completed seventy-two missions and earned yourself three commendations.”

That sounded about right. The rear admiral wasn’t looking for confirmation, though.

“You have a reputation as a strong team player. A man who understands orders but can think on his feet.”

What SEAL didn’t?

“You’ve proven that you’re a stickler for the rules of engagement, and will follow them to the letter.”

It was all Blake could do not to roll his eyes.

Any guy on the team could be standing here. None of this commentary was unique to Blake’s career. So where was the old guy going with it? He wasn’t evaluating Blake’s service history to fill conversation gaps. It was some kind of test.

One, Blake figured, that he’d already won—or lost, depending on the perspective—given that he was standing here.

But what was at stake?

“While your service record shows an affinity for teamwork and leadership, your C-Sort indicates a leaning toward autonomy and self-reliance. That suggests that you work well alone, possibly even better than you do on a team.”

His C-Sort? The admiral had dug all the way back to Blake’s initial psych screening for this assignment. What the hell was going on?

For the first time since he’d walked in, Blake stared at the rear admiral. Frowning, he processed the furrow in the older man’s brow, the cold sheen in his narrowed eyes.

Whatever was going down, it was big.

“Am I being removed from my team?”

“Temporarily reassigned.”

With a quick jerk of his chin, Blake acknowledged the new assignment and waited for further orders. And, hopefully, clarification.

The rear admiral looked out the window for a few seconds, as if sorting through which information he wanted to share. Then, his lips compressed almost white, he met Blake’s gaze again. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, took a deep breath then spoke.

“There’s been a kidnapping. A civilian with military ties and potentially dangerous information was forcibly removed from her home two days ago. Operatives have discerned the group behind the act and pinpointed her location.”

The words her and military ties added a layer of urgency to an already volatile mission.

“The cell is based inside the continental United States,” the rear admiral informed him. “The leader of this branch of terrorists, as well as a number of those serving him, is a U.S. citizen.”

Touchy. And way outside the SEALs’ usual M.O.

“In two days’ time, a team will neutralize this cell. Every effort will be made to keep the targets alive.”

Blake gave a mental grimace. Targets had an unfortunate way of becoming collateral damage. Hostages, even more so.

“Your orders are to extract the hostage. You will go in alone, answering only to me. You will have twenty minutes before the team deploys. You will inform nobody of this assignment, nor will you coordinate with the team itself.”

His mind took off in multiple directions. One part wondering why the hell his role in the mission was on blackout. Another part assessing what he’d need to do to pull it off without risking the team’s mission or the safety of the hostage. Yet another part was already shifting into mission mode, emotionally distancing himself at the same time he set in place the expectations for victory.

“You were specifically requested for this assignment, Landon.”

Blake frowned.

As a SEAL, his training was intense and his skill set diverse. But so was the rest of his team’s. He was the Assault Force commander, the radioman and a linguist. And he was damn good at what he did. But, again, so were a lot of the team. So why him, specifically? Blake waited. If Lane wanted him to know who’d put in that request, he’d say so.

The rear admiral shifted. It wasn’t the uniform, the rank or the shock of white hair against a rock-hard face that made the man intimidating. It was the cold look of determination that said this was a guy who’d do whatever it took to get the job done, not because he felt the consequences were worthwhile, but because he didn’t even see consequences. Only the goal.

After giving Blake another assessing look, he pressed the intercom button on his desk. He didn’t say anything though. Just waited.

Blake waited, too. But for less time than it took to exhale. The private door to the right of the rear admiral opened.

His mentor, his recruiter, the man who’d shaped the direction of Blake’s career and had fathered the sexiest woman alive, stepped through the door. Pierce didn’t say a word. He just stood at ease, his face unreadable as he stared at Blake.

The rear admiral lifted a file from his desk, tapped it a couple of times against his thigh while giving Blake another of those assessing looks. Finally, with a lengthy stare at the admiral, he handed over the file.

“Your assignment.” Unspoken was the order that it be read and memorized here in this room. Blake had access to the information, but the contents would stay under lock and key.

Used to that, Blake glanced at the admiral again, but got nothing. Then he unwrapped the cord holding the folder closed and pulled out the stack of papers. On top was an eight-by-ten color photo. His heart stopped. His breath jammed in his throat. A feeling he barely recognized as fear clenched his belly.

His gaze flew to the admiral’s.

“Sir?”

Pierce’s jaw tightened. His eyes dropped for one second to his hands, then met Blake’s again.

“I’m calling in a favor on this. A number of them, actually. I’m sure you understand why.”

Shocked, Blake looked at the file again but didn’t respond.

Pierce came around the desk in swift, determined strides. He didn’t stop until his face was inches from Blake’s.

Through gritted teeth, he commanded, “As of this moment, and until the mission is complete, you report directly to me and Rear Admiral Lane. You will rescue her. You will keep her safe.”

Cold blue eyes bore into Blake as if imprinting the orders on his brain.

“You bring my daughter back. Safe and sound, Lieutenant.”

The or else didn’t need to be said. The message was implicit in the admiral’s furiously set jaw, and in the vicious bite of his words.

“You will rescue her before the team storms the compound. You will get her out, safe and whole. And you will keep her hidden and safe until you get my order to bring her back home.”

Blake didn’t have to ask if this mission was sanctioned. He knew the rear admiral was dancing on a fine line, doing this favor for his old friend. But he hadn’t crossed it. Even if he had...

Blake’s gaze dropped to the photo again. Alexia’s face stared back at him. An official government ID shot, her brilliant hair was pulled back, but wayward curls escaped to dance happily around her face. The photo captured the brilliant brown of her eyes, the same brown that haunted his dreams. Her smile, with that sexy overbite, was just this side of wicked. He remembered how soft those lips had been under his. How sweet and sexy she’d tasted.

He tried to bank the fury savaging its way through his system. Emotions had no place on a mission. Not a successful one. And this one, he promised himself, would be a success.

He met the admiral’s eyes, his own hard with determination.

“I’ll bring her back, sir. Safe, sound and secure.”

* * *

IF SHE COULD JUST KEEP breathing, Alexia promised herself, she’d survive with her life, her sanity and maybe—by some miracle—her faith in humanity.

Eyes closed, carefully inhaling through her teeth to try to block the rancid smell in the room, she focused on calming her mind.

In.

Out.

Just keep breathing in and out.

Don’t think about anything but breathing.

“You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep sucking in air like that.”

Her next breath slid through her teeth with a hiss as she slitted her eyes open to glare at the man across the dining table from her.

The source of the rancid smell, his scent perfectly fit his personality. She’d memorized his features as a part of her promise to herself that she’d not only get out of this nightmare, but that as soon as she did, she’d have as much ammunition as possible to fry his ass.

Short, probably about five-seven, he had that small-man syndrome, flexing his power left and right. Dark hair, brown eyes, a nondescript face marred by a small scar on his chin, he had the beady-eyed look of a rat. Which made sense, since he had the personality of a rabid rodent.

A rabid rodent with a large contingent of creeps on his payroll. The creeps who’d grabbed her on the sidewalk in front of her condo. The creeps who’d put a hood over her head, hauled her to the snowy regions of hell, aka the wilds somewhere in Alaska. The creeps who’d taken turns guarding her when she was locked in her room or the makeshift lab they’d set up. Or, she slanted a look sideways at the big bruiser leaning against the wall of the large dining room, wherever she happened to be. Then there were serving creeps, administrative creeps and, she’d discovered when she’d stood on the back of the chair in her tiny room to peer out the tiny barred window, a tidy number of creeps guarding the perimeter of the icy compound.

“You might as well say something,” the rat instructed, his bored tone at odds with the irritated tapping of his glossy fingernail on the arm of his chair. “You’re not going back to your cozy room until you detail the progress you made in the lab today.”

A seven-by-seven space with no heat, a cot-sans-sheets, a blanket and a spindle-backed chair and rickety floor lamp didn’t quite say cozy to her. But to a rat, maybe that was heaven.

Alexia deliberately took a deep, loud breath in, then exhaled. But she didn’t speak.

He tapped louder.

She almost smiled. These tiny rebellions were pointless, but they were all she had. It’d been four days. Four long, nerve-shattering days since she’d been grabbed. Someone had to notice she was gone by now. Michael would have alerted their father. He might not be much in the way of a great parent, but when it came to protecting the interests of the United States and its citizens, he was hell on wheels. Which meant he’d get her out of here soon. At last that’s what she’d been promising herself.

For four days.

The first day, exhausted from terror and travel, she’d begged to know why they’d abducted her, pleaded to be released. The rat had said he’d fill her in on what she’d need to do to stay alive in the morning. After she had a nice little rest and time to think about all the possibilities, he’d gloated. Then he’d locked her in that dark, dank cozy room.

The second day, fury overshadowing her bone-numbing fear, she’d tried threats as soon as he unlocked her door. The rat had laughed in her face before instructing her to follow him to the dining room. Couldn’t have her wasting away from starvation until she was done with her new job.

Since the Science Institute had refused his many legitimate requests, he’d decided it was time to get what he wanted the illegitimate way. Through force and kidnapping. Since she was the public face of the institute’s subliminal project, she was clearly—at least in his mind—the expert. It would be her duty, he’d explained over smoked fish, runny eggs and undercooked bacon, to develop a new subliminal program. One that would take the technology she’d been developing for sexual healing and use it to stimulate and heighten anger.

She’d tried to reason with him. The science of true subliminally enhanced emotional response was new, she’d explained. Unlike the cassette tapes of years gone by with their spoken message whispered through soothing music, actually effecting a specific, targeted emotional change via brain waves. Her psychological focus was human sexuality, not anger. She’d never studied how sound related to human perception of negative emotions. She wasn’t a neurologist, she didn’t know where anger was triggered in the brain, so she couldn’t create a program that would target it.