Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (4 page)

When he sat down in the easy chair at her side, a cloud of dust poofed up. Also, Lola began growling again. Pansy calmed her with the slow strokes she liked. Still, she showed Mason her teeth.

He seemed moderately alarmed. He kept his attention on the dog, but spoke to her. “There is no word about your aunt.”

She nearly collapsed.

His brow furrowed. “But don’t worry. She has an excellent team on her. It’s you we need to think about, now that we know the danger your aunt suspected is very real.”

Pansy gave a little nod. Upon reflection, she’d been an idiot to refuse the security team in the first place. She’d just never expected that Steven would try something so ballsy.

“Her directions made it very clear. She wants us to stay on your six no matter what.”

“My…six?”

Mason scrubbed at his face with a palm. He shouldn’t have. It just moved the dirt around. “It’s a military term. It means we have your back. Our boss wants us to set up an overt security team. The thinking is that if the bad guys know you’re being protected, they are less likely to strike. But…” He shot her a tense look. “Only if you want us around.”

“And if I don’t?”

He shrugged. His grin was beyond dazzling. It stole her breath. “Then we go back to skulking.”

Pansy fiddled with the hem of her dress. It was ripped. The entire outfit was no doubt a total write off. It was one of her favorites from the new line. She pushed the thought away and tried to focus on what he was telling her.

“So this security team?”

“Yeah?”

“Would it include you?”

He stilled, glanced away. “I…that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you want me.”

Oh good lord. She did. For one thing, she trusted him. She wasn’t sure why, but she did. And for another, plain and simple, she wanted
him
.

Not that anything would happen between them. How could it if they were under surveillance all the time?

And not that it should. He was hardly her type after all. All the guys she’d ever dated had been in the fashion industry, or movie stars. It was her life. Her persona. Her world.

There wasn’t room for a big burly muscled man in her bed. There wasn’t time for a fling.

Was there?

She glanced at him again and realized with a start he was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her response…to something. What was it again?

“Do you?” he prompted. “Want me?” Was that a hint of hunger in his tone? A simmering undercurrent of need? Did his eyes glimmer as he stared at her? His lips work? Was that his tongue peeping out to wet them as he imagined tasting her?

Or was she delusional?

“I trust you.” She did. She couldn’t deny it. She trusted him with her life. It was just something in his eyes.

Those eyes widened, as though surprised by her words; his cheek bunched. “You do?”

“I do. But the other men?”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers and fixed her with an intent stare.

“Do you know them?”

He lifted a large shoulder. “Most of them.”

“How can I trust
them
?”

“GAPS only hires the best.”

“GAPS?”

“Guardian Angel Protective Services.”

She tried not to grin. “Are you an angel?”

“Not hardly.” He was wrong. He was a fallen one, at least.

“Are you good?”

“One of the best.”

“What kind of experience do you have?”

He stared at her. “Are you interviewing me?”

Yes. She supposed she was. “Well?”

“All right. He settled back in the chair and crossed his arms. He’d taken off his leather jacket and his biceps bulged in the arms of his black t-shirt. The sight made her mouth water. “For starters, I saved your ass tonight.”

She growled at him. Lola’s ears perked up and she growled as well.

Mason glanced at the dog, now somewhat quiescent in her lap, and his lips kicked up. “Do you dress her up every day?”

Was that a hint of derision in his tone? “She
likes
it.”

“Yeah, I can guarantee you, she does not like it. Did you see the way she pranced around with those booties on? Dogs hate booties.”

“What do you know about dogs? Or booties?” Or fashion? Really. Did he have to be exasperating? But when he wasn’t looking, she slipped them off anyway.

“I used to put socks on my Lab. Trust me. Dogs hate booties.”

“Why did you put socks on your Lab?”

He shrugged and shot her that evil grin once more. “Because it was fun to watch. But it was a terrible mistake, I later discovered.”

She had no idea why she was fascinated. Why she leaned forward and asked, “How so?”

“He discovered a bitter hatred for my socks, and any chance he got, he ripped them to shreds.”

“Humph,” she sniffed. “Serves you right.”

“That’s what my mother said.”

He stilled then and his jovial expression shut down, as though someone had flipped a switch.

She thought to diffuse the tension with a joke. “I don’t know why I’m surprised to discover you have a mother.”

“Most of us do, somewhere in our past.”

And clearly, the past was not a place he wanted to visit at the moment. “As entertaining as this conversation is, I would really like to know what you bring to the table. As a guard dog.”

His eyes narrowed, but she could tell from the shift in his expression he was pleased she’d changed the topic. “First of all, I am not a guard dog.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“What we do is so much more than that.”

“Okay.”
Whatever.
“Tell me about your qualifications.” She was dying to know more about him. Though God alone knew why.

Or maybe she knew too.

“I was a SEAL.”

She blinked. “A SEAL? As in a Navy SEAL?”

“No. The kind you find at the zoo.” He clapped his hands together and made a barking sound. Lola hopped to her feet and stared at him with her head tipped to the side. She was too bemused to remember to growl. “Of course a Navy SEAL.”

“Like SEAL Team 6?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah.” A grunt. “Just like that. My specialties are threat assessment, hand to hand and navigation. I’m a sharpshooter—”

“A sniper?”

“Not a sniper. I’m not that good. But don’t get me wrong. I am good.”

“So why aren’t you a SEAL anymore?”

Ooh. He really didn’t like that question. His muscles bunched and his jaw firmed. “I got shot.” This he spat out, like it tasted bad.

“Where?”

“In Somalia.”

“No…I mean where did they shoot you?”

“In the chest.”

She gaped at him. “Isn’t that usually fatal?”

“I died.”

Well hell. What did one say to that? “Were there…angels?”

“I…what?”

“Were there angels?”

“How the hell should I know? I was dead.”

“There’s no reason to snap. I was just asking. I’ve never died before and I have to admit I’m a little curious…”

“Look, I don’t remember anything. Okay? Just a helluva lot of pain.”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t think you’d feel pain when you’re dead.”

“The pain was after they revived me.” He rubbed his chest. “My buddies did CPR and cracked a couple ribs. And then they zapped me out of v-fib. On top of that, there was the impact where the bullet hit the plates.”

“Plates?”

He sighed again. It must be so trying to have to explain everything to an idiot civilian. “Ballistic plates. In the vests we wear.”

Fascinating. But still. “So why aren’t you a SEAL anymore?”

That same expression descended. One threaded in regret and anger and pain.

“They didn’t want me anymore,” he said, but he said it so softly she barely heard.

It nearly broke her heart.

Chapter Four

“All right then.” Pansy’s surprisingly chipper voice cut through his dismal mood. It had been mortifying admitting his weakness, his failure, especially to her. It was something of a relief that she didn’t seem to understand the deep implications of his confession.

He dared a glance at her. Even bedraggled and tattered as she was, he wanted her. She shot him a bright smile. It made him glower. “All right then, what?” he muttered.

“All right, then. You’ll do.”

You’ll do?
You’ll do?
Irritation riffled through him. When she tipped her head and her ponytail swung, his ire blossomed.

“But I don’t know about the others.”

“The others are excellent.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing with her.
He
wanted this job.  He wanted to be with her. He wanted to keep her safe. And for some reason, thought of some other dude, even one of his brothers in arms, stepping into the duty rankled.

“But I don’t
know
them.”

“We’ll arrange a meet.” It was standard procedure…when they weren’t on a covert job.

She put out a lip. God he wanted to suckle it. Maybe it would be better if someone else took over. He was far too attracted to her to keep a clear mind. “But I want you,” she said.

Again, her words made something hard and needy sizzle through his bowels. He knew what she meant. He knew she was talking about her protection and not some scalding, savage coupling in the big bed in the next room that was far too close to be successfully ignored.

It was a testament to his delusional state that all he could think about was sex. All he could think about was stripping her naked and taking her here and now. That she wanted it as much as he did.

He imagined he could smell her arousal in the air, which was ridiculous.

A woman like her and a guy like him?

Yeah. Nucking futs.

“No worries. I’ll be on your team. But we’ll have at least three others.” Two on days and two on nights. Although, if he had his way, she wouldn’t be going out again. Certainly not to clubs where he couldn’t guarantee her safety. On that note, he fixed her with a dark look. “We need to talk about security. You’re going to have to make some lifestyle changes until this threat is contained.”

“Like what?”

“Like going out in public.”

“I have a business to run.”

“Is that what they call it? Partying all night with entitled socialites like Monique Dupree?” He didn’t mean to snarl it as he did. But it hardly mattered. She was utterly unaffected by his ferocity.

“Those
entitled socialites
are my customer base. More than that. They are my
influencers
.”

He had no idea what that meant. “Too many people. Too many blind spots. We need to keep you in controllable environments.” Like this hotel. Like this suite. That bed…

“Controllable environments?”

Again with the pouting lip. God. It was driving him crazy.

With a grunt, he pushed to his feet—ignoring the sharp string of yips this elicited from Ratacus—and prowled to the wall of windows, pulling back the curtains and peering out at the night in a pretense of assessing any potential hazards. Her suite was on the thirtieth floor. Doubtful anyone would enter from the balcony. Still, he checked the lock on the door. Probably wouldn’t hurt to install a door brace on the front door. He strode back to the foyer and jiggled the handle. Yeah, definitely a brace. He made a mental note of other upgrades the suite needed, of the things he needed to check. First order of business was to sweep for any bugs and check for hidden cameras.

He glanced over at Pansy and immediately revised his priorities. She was leaning back with her head resting on the sofa, her eyes closed. Her face was a cameo of perfection, but it was wreathed in exhaustion. First order of business was to get her to bed.

Lust lanced him.

Shit.

No. Get her
in
bed.

Alone.

By herself.

So she could sleep.

Aw, hell.

His gaze skated over her and he took in the rips in her dress, the scrapes on her legs and the dirt smudging her cheek. He should have tended to her wounds right off the bat. He should have seen to her comfort. He should have—

An ominous clicking sound and a sudden riffle of movement near his ankles captured his attention and he glanced down.

Lola, in her pink tutu glared up at him, her lip curled over impressively pointy teeth. Mason tipped his head to the side and met her challenging gaze with one of his own. It said:
Really? Whatcha gonna do, Ratacus?

He probably shouldn’t have.

She lifted her leg.

And peed on his boots.

“Son of a bitch.” He didn’t mean to boom as he leaped back, but he did. Pansy shot up, her eyes wide. “What?” she cried. “What is it?”

He shot her a contrite look. “Your dog peed on my boots.”

“She does that.” Pansy huffed a sigh and headed for the powder room to grab a hand towel. “One of the reasons I don’t date.” She knelt before him and mopped up the puddle.

He should have stooped to help her, but honestly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t move to save his life. Because there she was, kneeling before him, with her head so close…

A scintillating thought, a captivating vision, a scalding need rose like the hydra. That, and a lowering realization.

He was a pervert. A goddamn pervert.

She was cleaning his fucking boots for God’s sake.

“You need a shower.”

Right. No idea why he blurted that.

Well, maybe one idea. He desperately needed her to stand. To move away, before he lost his mind and did something insane and necessary, like pull her closer.

She looked up at him. He forced himself to step away, he had to. Or his erection might have brushed her cheek.

And that would have been a disaster.

“Yeah. Um. You’re all banged up. We should get some antiseptic on those scrapes. Do you have a first aid kit?”

She said nothing so he glanced at her. That she was staring at his crotch sent a bolt of lightning through him. Her tongue peeped out and she lifted her gaze. He could have sworn he saw something simmering there. He tried mightily to ignore it.

Surely it wasn’t what he thought. Imagined. Ached for.

“Do you? Have a first aid kit?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.” Nearly a whisper.

“I’ll call the concierge.” This was a penthouse suite. Surely there was a concierge. “Why don’t you go…um, clean up and I’ll call down for something.”

She stood slowly, holding his gaze. Something about her, her energy, her intensity, had shifted. It made him antsy. It made him restless. It made him hungry. She turned around—his heart sank—but then she said, softly, with a tentative quiver to her voice, “Could you unzip me?”

Holy. Fuck.

She peeped at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, so beautiful and blue, bore into his. “I can’t do it myself.”

He was certain she could. She was a grown woman. She’d been dressing—and undressing—herself for years. But he couldn’t refuse. Not when she asked so politely. “S-sure.” Hopefully she missed the stutter.

She could not have missed the fact that his fingers shook as he tried to grasp the tiny teardrop at the top of her zipper. Why the fuck did it have to be so tiny? It took forever for him to make the long journey down her spine, partly because the damn zipper kept catching and partly because he really wanted to savor the journey. As it advanced, more and more of her creamy skin was exposed. He wanted nothing more than to place his palm on her, to stroke her. To feel the heat of her skin against his.

But she’d asked him to unzip her. Not make a move.

It was a damn good thing he’d developed indomitable willpower as a SEAL. Denying himself things crucial to his being—air, water, food—was par for the course in their training.

This was by far the most difficult denial of all.

When he reached the bottom of the zipper, when a hint of a crease at the base of her spine was exposed, he stepped back. Though it cost him. “There,” he said.

Jesus, God. He was going to heaven for this.

He fucking better.

His restraint was nothing short of a penance.

But then…

Holy God.

But then…she shifted her shoulders and the scrap of material drifted to the floor. She shot another glance at him, something that was too much of an invitation to be misunderstood or misconstrued, and, wearing nothing but her skimpy bra and panties, padded into the bathroom.

Please, let him follow.

The wordless entreaty to God, the universe, and everything wailed through her soul.

Please, let him follow.

It wasn’t in her nature to seduce men—she’d never had to do it before—so Pansy wasn’t certain how such things were done, but stripping almost naked before them was probably a good start. She’d never realized how nerve-wracking it could be. The niggle of doubt that he might refuse her, was agonizing.

She nearly collapsed in relief when she sensed, heard, felt him follow.

The bathroom was large and lavish. Still, he seemed to fill up the room. He was huge, hot, and stared at her with an intensity that made her belly seize.

He kicked the door shut before Lola could skitter in and then he faced her. His gaze scorched its way down the length of her body and back up. “Are you sure about this?” His low rumble rippled through her.

“Yes.” Yes. Oh, God yes. She’d wanted him since the moment she’d seen him.  It had built in her, this craving, this longing, this need, all night.

Her heart stuttered when doubt rippled over his features. “I shouldn’t—”

She silenced his demur by removing her bra. His jaw dropped. His eyes glazed over. He fixated on her breasts. His bemused attention thrilled her.

He swallowed heavily and tried again. “It’s probably just reaction, what you’re feeling.”

“Mmm hmm.” She stepped closer to him and did what she’d been wanting to do all night. She found the waistband of his jeans and slipped her hands up under the hem of his shirt. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Glory be. His skin was hot and smooth and so fucking perfect. His abs were a panoply of enticing ripples and hard ridges. A light sprinkling of hair scraped her sanity.

She wanted to lick him all over.

Well, after the shower.

“Take it off,” she commanded, tugging on his shirt.

His nostrils flared and he yanked it off. The play of his muscles mesmerized her. She raked his chest with her nails and he shuddered. He garbled something that sounded like “God almighty.”

“Get undressed,” she said. “You need a shower too.”

Ah. And he obeyed. As he sat and yanked off his boots, then peeled off his jeans and briefs, she turned on the shower and eased off her panties, but her gaze didn’t leave him. She wanted to memorize this, every moment.

Her love life had not been terribly scintillating, mostly because she was too busy to give it much thought, but the times she had indulged, or had a boyfriend of note, it had been with a different kind of man. Someone stylized and sophisticated. Someone urbane. Someone who wanted something from her.

This man was different.

For one thing, this was a man not of her world. He had nothing to gain by being with her. No collaborations to propose, no franchise pending, no designers to peddle, no movie to promote.

All he wanted—at least at this moment—was
her
.

For another, he was a wild beast, not tame in the slightest. She had the sense he didn’t give a shit what he wore as long as it did what it was expected to. Most specifically, cover his body. Which was, all things considered, a damn shame, because he was exceptional in the nude.

But there was something more about him. Something she couldn’t name. A rightness, an energy, an anticipation that met and tangled with hers.

It was a mutual desire. And for the first time, hers was equal to his. It was a dizzying experience.

He stood and her attention snapped to his cock. Drool pooled in her mouth. Ah, God. Rampant and ready, it stood against his belly. A tiny pearl glimmered at the tip, a sign of his readiness.

She held his gaze as she stepped into the shower. It was practically a room on its own—a large tiled enclosure with a rain shower featuring twenty-five spigots and a cushioned lounger built into the wall. As she stepped back, the multiple showerheads pummeled her in a glorious torrent and warm rivulets sluiced over her sensitized skin, washing away the tension and the horrors of the night leaving nothing but this. Nothing but him. Nothing but want.

His eyes glowed as he followed her in; he stepped close and sealed them together. But he didn’t stop there. He pressed her deeper into the shower until he backed her up against the wall. The cool tile on one side and his hot body on the other were a shock to the senses. He pressed closer still, closing her in, but making her feel safe, protected, desired. His cock, that splendid cock, pressed against her belly with a damp insistence. She felt in it each thrum of his heart. She rubbed against it. It was meant to be a playful tease, but his response was feral. With a snarl, he cupped her chin in his big hand and tipped it, held it, just where he wanted it. And then he took her mouth.