This far from the lights of Coronado, the stars burned brightly, and he slowed down to appreciate their beauty. The stars were another reminder of the vastness of the world and drove home to him that he didn’t have to limit himself to this small space in San Diego. SEAL training would take him to many places, some even more dangerous than the last mission, but he drew comfort from the fact that he would have a team at his back. It was something he could depend on one hundred percent. Home or away.
“You are even more gorgeous with your head shaved. I was right about the bone structure.” Shea said the last part with almost a slight air of resentment, though with some dry amusement thrown in as well to temper any actual attitude, but he was sure the woman had it in spades.
His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, urging him to do something—anything about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn’t his type when the sexual tension between them was clouding the night in a thick fog.
“What’s your take on the class as a whole?”
Her abrupt shift of gears had him taking a moment to shift along with her. He frowned, wondering at her question. “Some good guys, hard chargers, some duckers, but those will be weeded out.”
“Anyone stand out as problematic?”
Wilson came immediately to mind with his buddy huddles. “A few.”
“Like whom?” She’d said it lightly, as if she were just making conversation. She wasn’t focusing on him, instead moving sand around on the beach with her foot.
He liked Shea, and it was no secret he was intrigued by her. She seemed down to earth, which, he realized, most of the young women he’d met weren’t. She was herself—not playing or enhancing her femininity only made her more sensual and attractive.
“One of my roommates. He’s been off since he got here. Grumpy, antisocial…secretive.”
Her brows rose. “Secretive? How?”
“He’s got these buddies he groups up with during chow and at down times. They seem like they’re in heated debates half the time, but that could be about anything.”
“Sure. What’s his name?”
“Daniel Wilson.”
He started back the way they came. “Couple of his buddies rang out and that seemed to make him even less social. Maybe they all had some pact.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Do you know their names?”
He rattled them off.
They got back to the bonfire, loaded up some plates with food and settled down to eat with a bunch of his friends. The conversation was lively, the laughter helped along with the beer. He noticed that Shea drank very little and listened to all the conversations with a deep interest. Hemingway also wasn’t a big drinker, a beer or two his limit. He liked to remain in charge of himself, keep a level head, and avoid any trouble that imbibing too much alcohol brought along with it. If he had even one incident with alcohol, he was out of BUD/S.
He got caught up with a couple of guys and lost track of her. For a moment, he thought she might have left without saying goodbye. Then he spied her chatting with Wilson.
He figured that was normal. She was doing the documentary on the class, and he had suggested she attend to get a head start on interviews. After about a half an hour, he glanced back over to her and noticed Wilson getting a bit too close. But before he could make any type of move, Mad Max materialized and set some distance between them.
She gave Max a smart-ass look, and they started up a conversation, but this one was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminded him of Daniel Wilson and his cohorts. Intense, serious, and strategic.
She said her goodbyes and turned to look for him. He rose, said his goodbyes amid plenty of ribbing from Professor and came up to her.
“I’m heading out,” she said.
“Alone?” he asked.
She chuckled and nudged him, then sobered. “I was just looking to get laid that night. Nothing more.”
“Yeah?” He turned his body toward her. “Didn’t expect it to be so good?”
“No.” She looked out toward the horizon. “I’m not looking for anything complicated. You don’t need that right now.”
“What could be complicated about having a good time together?”
“Your focus should be on training. I have my own reasons for avoiding distractions.”
His lips curved. “Are they as good as that night three weeks ago?”
“No,” she sighed.
“I’m in training, Shea. I’ve got a long time before I’m a SEAL. This is only temporary. Why can’t we just enjoy it?”
She grabbed the buttons of his shirt and fondled them, then looked up at him. There wasn’t a coy bone in her body. She knew what he wanted, and he was sure she wanted it too.
“No strings, right, sandman?”
“Yeah, so you going to invite me home with you?”
She stepped closer. “Was that ever in question?”
“Not for me,” he murmured. “I assume you’ll drive?”
6
“The Navy gave me a temporary place near base. The hours filming you guys will be grueling.” Shea hadn’t been idle during the time the one hundred and sixty-three candidates had been going through BO. She’d been busy researching each one of them and working up a suspect list. Out of that number she’d whittled the list down to forty-eight men. Her criteria for these guys to make the short list were: whether they or their family had been touched by 9/11—either the Twin Towers, the crash of Flight 93, the Pentagon or any deaths of first responders, and any military related deaths in the war on terror. After strategizing with Mak, they decided to wait until after BO to start tracking the men. Fourteen men had DOR’d since the beginning of the class. Five of them had been on her list, narrowing it down to forty-three. One of them who had rung out that morning was also on her list, leaving forty-two to watch. She had a folder on each at home where she was keeping her notes. She’d be watching them closely at BUD/S.
“Yeah, in your warm, dry clothes.”
“Are you whining?”
He flashed her that quick grin. “Maybe a little.”
“Wuss.”
He laughed. “Embrace the suck.”
She glanced at him. “Do you dread it?”
“What?”
“The PT, surf torture, O-course, those massive logs, all of it. Is it looming over you?”
“No. I don’t dread it.” He turned to her in the dimness of the car. “This is going to sound strange, but I want to be tested down to the very fabric of my soul. I want my endurance measured, and I want to serve this country as a Navy SEAL. This is just the first step toward that goal.”
“Wow, that’s commitment.”
“Is this for the story, or are you interested?”
“Very interested.” She reached out because she couldn’t help herself. This was a special man, but she knew that from the get-go. Touching his arm released some of the tension in her. God, she couldn’t explain this in any way that made sense to her. She craved him, his touch, his attention, his mouth, body and brain. All of him. She wished she didn’t have to pretend to be someone else with him, pump him for information, but that was for the best. When she finished this assignment, she would soon be on another, probably far from here. He wasn’t the only one who would be globetrotting.