A SEAL's Secret (6 page)

Enough? Mitch almost laughed. Was that possible? Had he ever tasted anything as delicious as Olivia Kane’s mouth? He could feast on it for hours, days, even. The only thing more tempting than her lips was her body. It was a body made for worship. Perfection wrapped in delight coated with sweetness.

The taste of her filled his senses. If he buried his face in the gentle curve of her throat, he could breathe in her scent. It reminded him of the ocean at midnight—refreshing and cool, with overtones of mysterious danger. It’d only take one deep breath to fill his lungs before he skimmed his lips over her shoulder. Down the smooth skin of her chest before he lost himself in her body.

God, that body.

Taut muscles, generous curves.

High, lush breasts ample enough to bury his face between before he kissed his way over her firm belly. Mile-long legs corded with silken muscles, every inch of them worthy of hours of appreciation.

He wanted to start at her toes and kiss his way up those legs, draw his tongue along her smooth thighs, then bury his head between them and lose himself in her taste.

He wanted to see that body poised over his, watch her face as he entered her, as she rode him hard, sending them both into shuddering explosions of pleasure.

Yeah.

He wanted that.

Then he wanted to do it again.

A sharp jab in the ribs yanked Mitch out of his fantasy and into the present.

“What the—?” He shot a scowl at Romeo.

And got an unrepentant smile in return. The other man tilted his head. A tiny move that silently communicated a myriad of words.
Busted
,
Pay attention
and
What’s your problem?
came through loud and clear. Layered over them all was an amused sort of anticipation, as if his friend were looking forward to whatever was going to come next.

“Mitchell, are you listening to me?”

Crap.

Mitch grimaced, glancing from the forgotten fork in his hand to his plate. Sliced turkey, stuffing, vegetables, mound of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy.

Soft music created a classical backdrop to the polite murmur of voices, the rich aroma of an equally classic meal filling the air. The only-at-family-dinners-pressure of a tie around his throat intensified for a second.

Damn it, Mitch thought. Romeo was right—he
was
busted.

Mitch shifted mental gears and gave thanks that his mother served Thanksgiving dinner at a linen-covered table. It’d hide the physical evidence of his fantasy for the few extra moments it took his body to change gears, too.

Rearranging his expression, Mitch turned to offer the elegant woman across from him a conciliatory smile. As carefully presented and thoughtfully put-together as the tasteful meal and understated decor, Denise Donovan prided herself on her dinner parties. It didn’t matter if it was a fancy banquet for the military brass or a quiet family dinner—she had expectations.

Mitch wasn’t sure if he’d ever failed to meet them before. But he definitely had now.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he offered in his most sincere tone. “I was thinking about something else and didn’t hear what you said.”

“Obviously.” Her eyes flashed with rare anger at her only child. It was clear she was biting her tongue to hold herself back from lecturing him on his lack of manners.

She’d have had a point.

The family’s Thanksgiving dinner was probably not the best place for him to be wondering how many ways he could lick his way to the center of a very hot blonde.

Especially not with his prospective fiancée sitting right there.

His gaze shifting to the pretty brunette to his mother’s right, Mitch smiled his apology. For being inattentive, he tacked on mentally. Not for the fantasy. As nice as Charity Winslow was—and even with Denise Donovan’s perfect-daughter-in-law seal of approval—she wasn’t his type.

Mitch knew once his mother finally accepted that, she’d give Charity a regretful hug and send her on her way. Then in the tradition that’d started somewhere around his eighteenth birthday, she’d begin her search anew.

Unlike some of the previous contenders, Charity didn’t seem likely to hide naked in his bedroom, so he’d deemed it wise a few months back to make nice and put off the next round for as long as possible. With that in mind, and knowing it would go further than simply an apology to his mother, Mitch offered Charity an apology as well.

“I hear you’ve been busy on a new project,” he added. “Is this for your own work or for your father’s?”

“A little of both, actually. I’ve been researching physical fitness standards for grade-school children,” she said, her expression pleased. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on implementing military-style fitness programs.”

Mitch could just imagine a seven-year-old’s reaction to his PE teacher calling him a pansy-ass and ordering him to drop and give ’em fifty. But that probably wasn’t what Charity had in mind.

“I think a solid fitness regime is important, and the military gets effective results with its programs,” he told her. “But I think you’d need to retool most of their methods if you wanted them to work for the average person. And even more so if you were trying to inspire children.”

“I’m a machine when it comes to PT,” Romeo agreed. “But it’s like Irish said, I don’t work as hard as I do because it’s a part of my job description. I do it because I depend on my body. Because my team depends on my being in top shape. That gives me a lot more incentive than a hatchet-faced drill sergeant barking orders would.”

“I don’t think we’d train instructors in the art of intimidation,” Charity said with a laugh. “Wouldn’t good grades be enough incentive, though?”

“To do the minimum, sure,” Mitch agreed. “But isn’t it more important to build a love of fitness and a respect for what a healthy body can do?”

“How would you suggest doing that?”

“Games,” Romeo said. “It’s a tried-and-true training method in fitness and in the military.”

As Romeo led everyone into an animated discussion on the various games they’d all played growing up, Mitch thought about the games he’d like to play now. His current favorite involved a telephone, a stopwatch and a challenge to see how fast he could talk Livi over the edge before he had to hang up.

His record had been set two nights ago with three minutes, twelve seconds. He was hoping to upgrade the games soon to include bare skin, body-to-body contact and a lot of sweating and moaning. He doubted the games would lead to much in the way of fitness, but Livi’s body was already rock-hard. So deliciously formed. So sweet.

“Mitchell!”

Dammit. Mitch grimaced. Not again.

“Let the boy think, Denise,” the Admiral ordered from the head of the table. The entire room came to subtle attention at the tone of his command. Mitch was pretty sure if the turkey could have stood and saluted a wing, it would have. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”

Her lips tightened in frustration before Denise pressed them into a smile for her father-in-law. After all, nobody disagreed with the Admiral.

Romeo, damn him, looked as if he could barely hold back his laughter.

“What did you think of DEVGRU?” the Admiral asked, pointing at Mitch with his forkful of turkey. “You interested?”

As he considered the question, Mitch accepted the turkey platter from his father. The platter, like many of the serving pieces, had been in his mother’s family for generations. A reminder, she liked to say, of the endurance of traditions.

Mitch had always figured it had more to do with the fact that she triple wrapped each piece in Bubble Wrap and stored them in a padded case between uses. Which, he supposed, probably proved her point, too.

Traditions were as important to his grandfather, Mitch knew. Generations of Donovan men had served their country with honor. That his grandson was taking that service further than anyone else had given the Admiral plenty of bragging rights.

And he was looking for more.

“I’m not sure it’s the direction I want to take,” Mitch finally told the Admiral, passing the plate to Gabriel without taking any turkey. “It’s an honor, of course. But I’m just as interested in the program in Coronado.”

Maybe even more, considering the sweet delicacies to be found on that side of the country. But Mitch figured he’d keep that little fact to himself.

“Nonsense,” the Admiral barked. “DEVGRU is the only option that makes sense.”

“An option you have plenty of time to think through,” his dad said from his position at what Denise liked to call the other head of the table. “A month, at least.”

Thomas didn’t say any more than that. He didn’t need to. Four of them at the table knew he was referring to a highly classified mission Mitch was leading against a drug kingpin in Guatemala. The other two didn’t need to know.

“DEVGRU? Isn’t that another name for SEAL Team Six?” Charity asked in her delicate southern accent. “You’re serving with Team Two right now, aren’t you, Mitchell? Will your aviation training help you qualify, do you think?”

The silence in response to Charity’s comment was as shocked as it would have been had she offered to perform crude sexual acts on the turkey.

Mitch and Romeo exchanged surprised looks.

Not at her comments. Charity was a congressman’s aide and had obviously been well informed about the unsecured goings-on of the military. And she was clearly an intelligent woman.

But she evidently wasn’t in the know when it came to social etiquette in the house of Admiral Donovan. You’d have thought that’d be one of the first things the Admiral’s daughter-in-law would have schooled her protégé on.

“So,” Denise said brightly before her guest could make another faux pas. “Would anyone like their drinks refreshed?”

And that’s how things were handled in the Donovan house.

Mitch watched confusion, then frustration crease the brunette’s face and realized this was one of the reasons he couldn’t see himself getting married.

Because as much as he appreciated the family’s rules on communication, he readily acknowledged that a few of them were so archaic they had chisel marks on the stone they were etched on. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to say Mitch and Gabriel were assigned to one of the SEAL teams in Coronado for the next six months, or that they were currently preparing for a mission. And, hell, information on DEVGRU was readily available on the internet.

But the Admiral had strict views on the role of the support team in questioning and/or interfering with key military personnel. In other words, he expected anyone who ranked lower than O2, or lieutenant junior grade, to maintain the position of eyes down, mouth shut when it came to military matters.

“Irish can’t go too far or I’ll lose my excuse to come visit,” Romeo told the table at large. “And we all know Mrs. D would miss me like crazy. Isn’t that right, Mrs. D?”

Denise offered Romeo a smile that was equal parts gratitude and indulgence.

“Of course I’d miss you, Gabriel. But you know you’re always welcome, with or without Mitchell.” She shook her head in amusement at Romeo’s exaggerated sigh of relief. “You are incorrigible, aren’t you? How do you get better-looking each visit?”

“After all you’ve done to make me welcome here, the least I can do is look good for you, Mrs. D.” His wink made the words a joke, but Mitch knew how serious he actually was. “What do you say we ditch these guys later and go dancing? You can teach me the real meaning of boogie nights.”

Denise gave a delighted laugh and even the Admiral smiled. Nobody was immune to Gabriel’s charm.

“That’s enough, Romeo. Quit flirting with my wife and eat more turkey. If you don’t, I’ll be stuck eating leftovers for the next week.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Mitch, aren’t you going to have more?” Still smiling, his mother lifted the bowl of yams. “Charity made the yam casserole. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“I’m still working on my first helping,” Mitch admitted.

“You’ve got to excuse your son’s poor appetite. He’s developed a taste for Twinkies, Mrs. D.” His face perfectly straight, Romeo gave Charity the most innocent smile he had in his repertoire. “I think the cravings might be causing him some problems today.”

Mitch knew hundreds, if not thousands of creative ways to kill a man. He looked at his best friend, debating which one he’d use if Romeo didn’t shut up.

“Oh, Mitchell. Twinkies are so bad for you,” his mother protested. “How could you let yourself develop a taste for them?”

“Sometimes it just takes one taste,” he murmured. Then he leaned forward, pitching his voice so it’d be heard by his father and grandfather. “Did you know Romeo met a woman? Totally fell for her, too.”

“Gabriel, that’s wonderful.” Denise beamed. Her fondest hope, right after marrying off her son to the perfect woman, was marrying off all of his friends. Her theory, Mitch knew, was to surround him with so much wedded bliss that he would never catch sight of the temptations of bachelor life again.

“You finally got hooked, did you?” Thomas grinned. He didn’t have his wife’s hopes. He just liked seeing his son and his friends happy.

“Well, who is she? Tell us about her,” Denise prodded, slanting a sideways look at Charity. Mitch knew a trap when he saw it. But as a trained SEAL, he knew how to use it to his advantage, too.

Before Gabriel could do more than aim a deadly glare his way, Mitch offered a sad shake of his head.

“She was a sweetheart. An absolute angel. But for some reason, she didn’t want anything to do with our boy here.” Mitch pursed his lips before adding, “I think Romeo might be losing his touch. We might have to find him a new nickname.”

The scowl on Romeo’s face and the frustration in his eyes told Mitch he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get Halloween out of his head. Good.

The only other person who didn’t look shocked by Mitch’s words was Charity. She hadn’t been around long enough to understand Romeo’s reputation.

“Oh, Gabriel,” Denise breathed. She looked devastated, as if Mitch had just told her his friend only had hours to live.

It only took a moment for Gabriel’s usual equanimity to resurface, though.

“Hey, we can’t all have Twinkies,” he said with a shrug and an unabashed grin.