Her One Best SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 6) (9 page)

And then suddenly she’s laughing, her breath catching hard as she bursts into giggles. “This is all your fault.”

“I’m not the one who took your clothes off,” I protest. “Although I’d be happy to lend a hand if that’s what you want. Just give me a heads up next time.”

“Shut up,” she mutters.

Her lips are soft and slick, and somehow my mouth brushes over them. Once. Twice. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t tear herself away. Doesn’t say
no
. Instead, she comes up on tiptoe, her hands gripping my shoulders tight. As if
she’s
afraid I’ll be the one to back away when I could kiss her a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I kiss her harder, deeper, opening her up with my tongue so I can taste all of her. Christ. She’s sweet. She twists her fingers in my shirt, and the husky, greedy moan that escapes her is what breaks me.

I’m kissing
Marlee
.

I tear my mouth away from hers.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Fuck. My voice comes out low and rough. It’s pretty damned clear I’m desperate, but even so, I’m not expecting the words that come out of her mouth next.

“Give me a baby?”

B
abies are boner killers. It’s a proven fact. The minute the word
baby
is hanging in the air between us, my dick retreats. It’s smarter than my mouth, which pops out the question: “Why?”

Not
hell no
.

Not
your foreplay needs work
.

Just
why?

Along with not being pro-emotions, I’m also not a family guy. I left home and enlisted the day I turned eighteen. My family’s place had too much drama, too many broken people. So this urge Marlee has to pop out a baby doesn’t compute. And since I’m not her husband, her OB-GYN, or even the fucking receptionist at a sperm bank, it’s none of my business that she wants a baby and clearly needs help in accomplishing her goal.

People have babies all the time. It’s perfectly natural. In fact… there’s a point I should clarify.

“You want to have a baby
now
?”

I know it requires nine months to bake a baby, but it’s hard to miss the immediacy of Marlee’s request. She wriggles against me, but I’m not going anywhere. I lean in, giving her a little more of my weight. Remember when those three little pigs built those crappy houses and challenged the Big Bad Wolf not to turn them into bacon? Let’s just say that if I were a house in that scenario, I’d be the one made of bricks rather than sticks.

“In nine months would be great,” she says in a little voice.

Jesus. I back up so fast I practically ricochet off the wall. Maybe I’ve misunderstood.

“You’re not pregnant
now
, are you?”

Because even though I didn’t feel a baby between me and her, I’m equally certain that babies shouldn’t be squashed against brick walls—or former SEALs. I wave a hand toward her stomach and she laughs.

One of those laughs that makes you want to pry your heart out with your fingernails or a bayonet because clearly nothing is funny. She sounds kind of sad, in fact.

“No, Vann. I’m not pregnant now. I just really want a baby.”

And I want a beer. A shot of tequila.
This
is the real reason why men and women can’t be friends. I’m sure Vali would know exactly what to say or do. Me? Not so much.

“I’m all out of babies, or I’d give you one.” I joke, but it falls flat.

“You can help me,” she says, and she sounds deadly serious. Her gaze sweeps me from head to toe again and her eyes take on a wicked gleam. Her hands find my shoulders and shove, and I’m flat on my back on the floor of her living room, my hands hanging onto her hips because it’s that or her ass or her tits. She sucks in a breath, and then swings a leg over me, planting herself firmly on top of my dick. Holy. Shit.

And then she tries to
convince
me. “You want to have sex. I want a baby. This is what’s known as a win-win situation.”

Mentally, I back off so fast I get whiplash. Since when has the universe slapped a
Super Sperm
label on me? “You’re not holding out for marriage and a keeper guy first? Maybe some regular dates and a chance to get to know the guy before you harvest his DNA?”

I’m no expert, but don’t most women want a partner for baby-making and baby-raising? Isn’t this where they start tossing around phrases like
it takes a village
because babies are so much goddamned work? Look at Roger. He’s just a loaner, but he manages to keep me busy.

Marlee’s face takes on a stubborn look. “I don’t need a permanent man to have a baby. I could go trolling and find a random guy to knock me up. I could go to a sperm bank and make a withdrawal.”

She chuckles quietly about that last one, but I’m in no mood for bad jokes. “Not a good idea,” I say, scrambling for reasons to back my point up. “You could get anyone.”

The loaner penis market suddenly feels way too much like buying a grab bag. How the fuck do you know what you get? What if the guy lied his ass off, claiming super sperm, because he wanted the fifty bucks a shot? This isn’t that much safer than the bar hook up, even if it’s some doctor getting up her vagina instead of an anonymous dick. What about diseases? And orgasms? She should enjoy the process.

She sucks in a breath. “So do you want to have sex with me? You don’t have to do anything,” she blurts out. “Other than the obvious.”

She’s nervous. Do you see the way her fingers tighten and relax, twisting the edge of her T-shirt? And the way she kind of forgets to breathe after that one inhalation? My answer matters to her. And it’s not a bad offer, right? We’ll fuck like bunnies—and Marlee will get a baby bunny of her very own. I’ve never been wanted just for my sperm before. This is a new one for Vann’s Universe.

I take my own matching breath. “Yeah. Sure.”

Her eyes light up, and for one insane moment I think we’re actually going to do this thing right here, right now. We both look at each other, neither of us sure what to say or do. And then she laughs. Her face lights up, and all the tension vanishes. Her shoulders shake, her tits shake, the edge of her shirt shakes. She flops back onto the floor and stares up at the ceiling. “We’re totally crazy.”

“Not disagreeing with you there, although the crazy started with you.” I lie down beside her. Not entirely sure what she’s looking at, because all I can see from here is a sliver of light and the bottom of the second-floor bedroom. This means that my next fix-it job has just announced itself—her floor shouldn’t have a peephole.

Somehow she inches over until her shoulder bumps mine. When I breathe in, I smell her perfume. Something light and happy, full of flowers and fucking sunshine. She turns her head to look at me.

“I really do want a baby.”

“I’m now well aware of that.” This is where it would help if I had people skills. Or a social life.
Any
kind of experience interacting with the world when I’m not on the business end of a sniper rifle. There’s probably something I’m supposed to say or do (other than the obvious) now that Marlee’s nominated me for Super Sperm Donor of the Year.

“If it helps—” I say, and then stop abruptly.
Careful, sailor.

She pokes me in the ribs. “I just asked to borrow your goodies. You can’t be bashful now.”

“I could go to one of those clinics and make a donation.” Granted, my entire knowledge of artificial insemination comes from the movies. I’m itching to Google the process, but even I know that now’s not the time. “It doesn’t have to be—personal.”

She laughs, and I wonder if she knows that the same finger that dug into the space between my second and third ribs is now stroking back and forth over the cotton. No point in telling her, right? Because then things will just get (more) awkward or she’ll stop. Besides, I like what she’s doing.

It’s not like I’ve never dated or taken a woman home for the night. I’ve had my share of quick bar hook-ups and I’ve met plenty of people while deployed overseas. I love sex as much as the next guy, and after a green light like I’ve just received, usually I’d roll over, pull Marlee into my arms and kiss the daylights out of her. No question. After all, I’ve been making mental fantasy lists ever since I first saw her—so why am I holding back? When did this sailor turn into a gentleman?

“I don’t like needles.” I feel the little shiver run over her skin even through our clothes. “Making a test tube baby requires all sorts of shots.”

“I’ve seen badass SEALs pass out when they got their jabs.” Not that I actually like getting stuck myself, but after you’ve been shot by hostiles who’d like nothing better than to kill you, a needle’s no big deal. On the other hand, it clearly is to Marlee. We’ve all got our hidden gotchas.

“Really?” I can hear the laughter in her voice again.

“Finn’s not a fan,” I promise her, and fuck it. She invited me to make her a baby, so I don’t have to hold back, right? I take her hand and wrap my fingers around hers. Lift it so her soft skin brushes my mouth. As second kisses go, it’s pretty awesome. “Another guy passed out on the floor of the clinic. We gave him shit for weeks.”

“It sounds silly.” I can’t help but notice that she doesn’t pull her hand away. “You’re not scared of anything.”

That’s where she’s wrong. See, I’m usually not worried about screwing up or failing. I’ve been trained to assess a situation and then go in. It helps, too, that Uncle Sam not only has the best toys, but shares them. I’ve always been part of a team, too. I’ve stormed beaches, outshot snipers, parachuted into hostile territory. Babies? And a relationship? Those are
terra incognita
, and I’m not arrogant enough to believe they don’t matter.

“I’ve never been a daddy,” I offer. “And I’ve certainly never had a gorgeous woman tell me she just wants me for my sperm. These are scary firsts.”

She’s all about the baby-making potential, but her body is telling me something more. She wants me. She kind of curls into me, softening against me, running her fingers up and down my arm like I’m a piano she’s playing. Her breathing speeds up a little, like she’s anticipating something wonderful, and for just this moment I know I’m the only man she sees. I’m the center of her world, her focus, and how can I pass on that?

I’m decisive. Have I mentioned that? I roll, scoop, and tuck Marlee on top of me. Settle her weight on top of my dick. Get one hand on her hip and one on her ass. She blinks, looking a little startled. I know I give the impression of being laid-back and watchful, but there’s a time to wait in the shadows—and a time to go in, guns blazing.

I’m going in.

“You have any questions for me before we get started?”

Naturally, she nods. Marlee has more words than a dictionary.

“I want a baby,” she says. “Not marriage. Not money. I don’t expect you to stick around or be a father.”

That’s unexpectedly… hurtful. Not that I’m jonesing to go down on one knee and pop the question with a diamond in my hand, but I’m not on some kind of anti-marriage crusade, either. Does she really expect me to make a sperm deposit and then remove myself from her life entirely? We’re neighbors. We’re bound to run into each other.

I have to know. “You want me to relocate to the moon?”

She blinks down at me nervously. “I just don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

Too late for that. “So my continued participation is allowed at a later date?”

She shifts uneasily. “Sure. You can do whatever you want.”

I need that in writing. Notarized. Fucking written in the sky. She’s just handed me the holy grail of mankind—permission to do
whatever I want
and I have a long list.

She leans down, looking into my eyes. “Do you want to be a dad?”

My ironhard dick bumped up against her pussy should be her first clue. “What if I want to? I mean, Roger’s not bad. If he were mine, I couldn’t imagine never seeing him at all.”

Marlee beams at me. “Okay, then,” she says, and I have no idea what I just agreed to. I’ll figure it out. “I’ll need a full medical history, but you look healthy.”

I grin back. “You’d better believe it.”

I have a few scars from my tours of duty as a SEAL. Got a particularly nasty knife gash between my second and third ribs courtesy of a hostile patrol I should have seen coming. A bullet wound from a midnight mountain encounter in Afghanistan. None of those souvenirs, however, will prevent the kind of procreative activities Marlee is planning.

“Have you ever been in the hospital? Had surgery? Any family health issues I should be aware of?”

“Not really.” I run my hands up her side. I’m not a big talker, whereas Marlee inevitably veers into oversharing territory. We kind of balance each other that way—and at least there’s information on the table.

“No lingering after effects from your military career?” She actually shifts so she can eyeball my crotch. As if she can’t tell that everything there is in fine working order? Uncle Sam wouldn’t have any SEALs left if he routinely let their balls get shot off. I guarantee it.

“Shot twice.” I draw a small circle on her left thigh and then run my fingers over her side where the bullet creased mine. “And I jacked up a leg on a bad HALO landing. All occupational hazards, though. Unless Mini-Marlee decides to enlist, he or she is safe.”