SEAL Of My Heart (2 page)

After a short pause, she asked, “You don’t think they’re manly?” She was enjoying this a bit too much. A fall was coming. She knew it just as surely as she knew the plane had started to move and announcements were being made over the loudspeaker.

Mr. Gorgeous had to lean in closer to her to be heard, and she found herself meeting him halfway—involuntarily, of course, just so they could hear each other over the blaring intercom.

“Kinda embarrassing about all the sex scenes,” he said. “I mean reading them in public, with a cover like this.” He ran his finger over the front cover and touched the back of her hand in the process. The male torso on the cover looked oddly familiar.

She looked back up at him. “That’s you on the book?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “She says she uses me as her inspiration. My sister. My sister wrote the book.”

“She
writes
romance?”

“Yes. Does quite well, I guess.”

This was definitely not the twist she’d expected. She examined the shirtless torso on the cover again, the ripples of muscle, the huge arms, veins that snaked out along his shoulders and forearms, and one dangerous vein that disappeared into the top of a pair of jeans hung almost low enough to—to—He was hotness personified. And as handsome as he was on the cover, all wet, dark and brooding, in the flesh he was even more impressive.

She didn’t know where her next comment came from. “Your girlfriend must be jealous of all the women who fantasize—”

“Don’t have a girlfriend. So does your fiancé get jealous of you reading romance?”

Fiancé?
Oh, yes…there was that huge two-carat diamond on her left hand that people practically had to wear sunglasses to admire properly. How could she have forgotten? But still, it meant he’d checked her hand out. Not like she’d waved it in his face to draw attention to it, but the thing was hard to miss, all the same.

“My fiancé—my fiancé—” That’s when she realized the answer to his query. She was about to marry a man who knew nothing of her tastes in romance. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d approve of her reading them. And how was that going to work? “He’s never said anything. I doubt he notices.”

“Really?” The guy gave a puzzled smirk. “Lets you wander around, reading about strange men and the things—” Now it was time for him to stop. He leaned back into his headrest, his eyes straight ahead as if fascinated by the texture and pattern of the fabric on the seat in front of him. He adjusted his pants discreetly. Rested his hands palm-down on his massive thighs. A circle of thorns was tattooed onto his forearm. His chest expanded with each inhale, expanding a good two inches, then his upper body relaxed back into the seat, his abdomen going concave. His jeans were loose-fitting, and she was busy figuring out they were loose for a reason when he suddenly opened his eyes and caught her examining his package.

Oh shit.

She darted a peek back out to the little window to her right and blushed in spite of herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said out of the side of her mouth, knowing he was still looking at her.

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” It was a deep, luscious rumble. “That just made my day.”

They were interrupted as the plane accelerated to takeoff speed. She felt the pressure of the G-force against her chest as they were lifted into the air, swinging around San Francisco Bay below until everything began to resemble a miniature scale model of Silicon Valley.

After they leveled off, the stranger extended his huge, callused hand, flexing the tat on his forearm, and said, “Hi. My name is Tyler Gray.”

“Kate Morgan,” She lay her palm against his and enjoyed the warm squeeze he gave her. She could feel what those fingers were capable of.

He was the first to withdraw his hand. He clutched his right thigh as he cleared his throat, licked his lips, and began speaking with a croak until he paused to clear his throat again. “Having a sister who writes romance is kind of embarrassing. I don’t normally tell people about it.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Most of the time on her covers, they cut off my head, so all you see is, well, my chest and a little below.”

“I noticed.”

Where in the hell did that comment come from?

“I’m happy to do it for her.”

“For her. Sure. Nice of you to do it for your sister.” It was her time to tease. Was he blushing? “You’re actually blushing, Tyler Gray. Do cover models blush?”

“When we’re affected.”

That one was going to have to hang in the air a bit until she could figure out what it meant.
Affected?

“Sometimes I do a shoot with a model. Things can heat up even though I don’t know the girl.”

Did she want to hear this?

“I imagine it can affect her too.”
The girl would have to be blind!

“Well, sometimes funny things happen. I’m sure you can imagine.”

She could. She really could. And her mind shouldn’t be going there at all. Not. At. All.

The pause between them felt a little awkward. “What brings you to Portland, or are you going on further north?” she asked.

“I’m going home to spend some time with the folks before—” he hesitated. “I’m in the military and I deploy in ten days.”

“Ah.” So that hard body was beginning to make sense. And his longer hair triggered a realization. She’d read enough romances to peg him as a Special Forces guy. “I’m guessing you do something dangerous.”

He seemed to like that statement. “Some would say so.” He was studying her reaction like his life depended on it. Without her meaning to, her eyelids fluttered and she found herself looking at his smooth, full lower lip, the clenched jaw muscles bunching under a day’s stubble, and the swallow that moved his Adam’s apple down his powerful neck. He had exactly the body parts she loved to see in a man. The soft lips that could give pleasure, the eyes that wouldn’t waver from her face. Honest and relentless. Full of courage and unflinching. She liked men who would look back and not hide their attraction.

Because that meant she didn’t have to hide hers.

And there it was, like a dragon coming to life, the danger and the power of getting swept away. The fantasy coming to life again, transporting her from where she sat on a plane to visit her sister before her upcoming wedding, to the edge of an adventure next to a man, God help her, she wished she could get naked with.

‡

N
avy SEAL Tyler
Gray was heated up with testosterone like he sometimes got just before a firefight overseas. The urge to act with swift resolve and commanding force was a little misplaced, since he sat in the middle of a bevy of heavyset travelers cocooned in their seats. Some were falling asleep, some were talking nervously. Babies cried and kids wiggled. But Tyler Gray had the biggest hard-on he’d had in weeks.

It was damned inconvenient, but the lady was affecting him in such a lovely way, and he was absolutely powerless to act on it. His libido was heightened, cheering for a total lack of control in a breakout move that couldn’t accomplish anything but alienate her for all eternity. He understood the urge to mate, to procreate. Boy, did he have that in spades at the moment. In fact, he almost felt fated, like characters in some of his sister’s steamy vampire books.

The woman next to him had an athlete’s body, slim in all the right places but not too muscled. She had a firm grip, and in spite of herself, when he’d grabbed her hand, he felt her answer his strength with her own. Did women understand how much of a turn-on that was? He shouldn’t be thinking about all this, but he couldn’t help it. She was telling him she could handle his intensity, that she was capable of feeling the full force and power of his body as he pleasured her. He was usually careful. Was he misinterpreting things? Damn, he saw that if she was willing, this kind of woman would let him take them both to heaven and hell and back without a breather.

Holy fuck. Stop it, Tyler. You have no right here.

Of all the fucked up ideas, he’d given her Linda’s book, too. What was he thinking? So now sex, reading sex, modeling with a half-naked woman selling sex, was front and center in their discussion. And she’d made that comment about him doing something dangerous. He normally didn’t like to mention it to a woman he’d just met, and he’d learned not to brag about being a SEAL, but for some reason he wanted to tell her. If she asked again, then he’d tell her. Maybe it wouldn’t scare her off or make her cling to him like a rag doll. Either one of those reactions was a total turn-off.

No, he was snared in the net she had no idea she was casting. And he wanted to be caught. Her hair, her warm eyes, and the scent of her perfume, the way she smiled, crossed her legs, and laughed. Whatever it was she was dishing out, he wanted more. A lot more.

But when he chanced a quick glance down at that huge crystal on her fourth finger, he realized it was pure folly. Someone with lots of money had made a spectacle of his claim on her. Most of his buddies could ill afford a plain gold band, and that’s always what he expected his wife’s ring finger to wear someday. He saw the rock on her finger as evidence he couldn’t measure up in the financial department.

But she
liked
him. He knew she did. They had great chemistry for sure. He’d be very sensitive to any little change or shift in her attitude telling him to back off, but that’s not the message she was giving him right now. So he’d play along a little while longer and just go with it.

She didn’t disappoint.

“I’m visiting my sister. We’re going to do some fun things we haven’t done in a while.”

“Girls’ night out?” he asked before he could check himself.
Damn.

She had that delicious wrinkle on her forehead, and her lips were all bunched up and kissable. “Not with my sister. Ew.”

“Sorry.” He forced himself to stare at the back of the seat in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tilt her head that way ladies did, just before they were going to ask a question. When they played with him, fishing for an answer or a reveal, without wanting to be direct.

“So you grew up in Portland?”

It was an answer he could have given without looking at her, but it gave him the excuse, and damn, the more he looked at her the more he liked what he saw. “More or less. My parents went to Reed and UW, art majors, hippies. We moved around a little at first, but settled in Portland. They’ve been there over twenty years, so I guess it’s home although San Diego is where I live now.”

He was feeling he’d told her too much, so he inhaled, their eyes still locked. Her expression was one of pure delight. “My parents were hippies too. Do you have all that great music around?”

“Yep. And the posters. They still like incense and candles.”

“Oh, yeah, and when the oldies come on…”

“My dad still does a mean air guitar to anything by Jimmy Hendrix.”

“I love listening to the Moody Blues.
Knights in White Satin
sort of puts me in a dream state,” she said lightheartedly.

“My mom still has her ticket stubs to a Beatles concert in LA.”

“My mom has all the Avalon Ballroom posters and the early Haight-Ashbury ones. What a time they lived through!”

Her dancing eyes were so beautiful. He wanted to tell her so, but didn’t dare. Instead he said, “A lot of people don’t really understand those times. I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed some of my parents’ extracurricular activities, but I’m glad they had that time.” He searched her face, saw her nodding.

“Like they had their whole life ahead of them. They were just being young and crazy, and they’d find their way eventually, but for then, during those times, they just wanted to live and to…”

She stumbled on a word. He knew what that word was: Love. It was a good word to stumble on, because it meant she gave it consideration. That she didn’t think it was a word that should be thrown around carelessly. He liked that about her.

Now she was staring at her hands in her lap, thinking about something. He hoped he hadn’t said something wrong to make her pensive. Then he noticed her eyes had filled up with tears, which worried him.

“Hey, you okay?” He wanted to touch her, lift her chin, get as close to her face as she’d let him, but he stayed put, with the empty seat between them. Something was definitely bothering her.

“Doorways. I’m sensitive to doorways.”

It was a strange phrase, and he wasn’t sure he understood her properly.

“You are here,” she said, with her right hand outstretched, palm up, “and then you go through this doorway and now you are different.” She demonstrated it by cupping her right palm and swishing it through the air, to mate with her left.

“Changes. You are talking about life-altering changes.” He wanted to keep the conversation and her flow going.

“Yes!” She looked up at him.

“Things like getting married,” he whispered as he looked at her lips. He couldn’t help it. Nor could he help licking his.

Why did he have to go bring that up? What kind of a stupid gene had suddenly possessed him?

“Exactly like getting married,” she said to her lap.