CHAPTER 8
Finn
I bury my face deeper in the pillow.
Emma Clark is a threat to my peace of mind, the smooth-as-glass serenity of my psyche. And my dick, which seems to jump to attention in her presence.
I can’t stop thinking about her. And I’m not entirely sure why.
Yes, she’s gorgeous. That’s the first thing I noticed about her. I was stunned to see that pale, perfect face peek inside the event tent. Those dark, uncertain eyes. All that stick-straight long brunette hair.
And sure, why not acknowledge the rest of it? She was dressed in dusty old clothes and basically starving, but even that couldn’t hide the beauty of her small body. I saw it—the slim legs. The shapely ass under the shapeless jacket.
When I grabbed her by the shoulders to save her from hitting the ground, I felt thin-but-strong arms. I noticed the soft pout of her mouth. Perfect skin. Her extravagant eyelashes and classic cheekbones.
Emma’s a true beauty.
I made the mistake of shaking her hand. It was supposed to be a quick acknowledgement of our stupid one-week trial period. But it was more. I felt it. Awareness coursed through me. That jolt of need nailed my feet to the fucking hallway floor.
Emma’s in my house.
And now I’m helpless to stop my mind from spinning in all those places it has no business going.
I imagine what it would be like to gather her up in my arms and devour her with kisses. How pleasing her small frame would feel against me, underneath me. How sweet she’d taste if I laid her on her back, spread her legs, and devoured her until she came all over my lips.
I punch my pillow again.
This is ridiculous. This can’t happen, and there’s no point in fantasizing about it. Emma Clark has to go. She can’t stay here.
She’s pure torture.
I’ve not felt this kind of helplessness in the presence of a woman since my Amy. It’s a travesty to even allow these words a place in my thoughts, but the way I’m reacting to Emma reminds me of my first encounters with Amy.
Amy made me drop everything and pay attention, not because she was demanding or the center of attention, but because she wasn’t. Amy captured me in a trap formed of sweetness and shy laughter and affection. I was powerless in Amy’s presence, and damn happy about it.
I’ve had many lonely years to think this through, and I think what drew me to Amy was how open and honest her heart was. There was no subterfuge or complexity. And my life working in Joint Intelligence Ops was nothing but that shit. Layers and layers of deception. Nothing was ever as it seemed.
Amy balanced me out, and I loved her for it.
And Emma… I don’t even know her. I don’t know the first thing about her story or why I would even want to know it. But there’s something so incredibly special about her. I’ve already connected with it, even if it’s the absolute last thing I’m looking to do.
That’s the threat. She threatens the wall I’ve built around myself, bricks made of grief and pain. And if I’m totally honest—fear.
I’m a SEAL. I don’t fear death and I don’t fear danger and I don’t fear the most extreme trials that a man can face. But I do fear losing those I love.
Like my mother when I was thirteen. Amy at the very beginning of our life together.
That’s why I made the choice not to add anyone to my list of potential losses. Jasmine and my family and friends are already more than I can fucking handle.
I don’t want to bring a woman into the mix. Into my heart. Because then I would fear losing her.
Hey, I’m not proud of this, but it’s where I am. And I will forever abide by the foundation of my SEAL training—Know your strengths. Know your weaknesses. Know your attributes. Know yourself.
And oh, shit, do I ever know what I want with Emma Clark.
I want to roll with her in my arms. Torture her with pleasure until she can’t take it. I want to hear her beg for me. I want to taste her as she comes in my mouth and feel her soft lips on my cock.
I want her to ride me. I want all that silky dark hair to flow through my fingers as she cries out in pleasure and I come in her.
I want Emma.
A sliver of light rises above the mountains and shoots over the windowsill.
Fucking finally.
I’m free.
I jump from the bed. Time to screw my head on straight. Time to let go of the fantasy and focus on what’s real, what’s important. It’s time to appreciate another twenty-four-hour opportunity to love and protect my daughter.
I stagger into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Automatically, I select my preferred hot water setting and then think better of it. I turn that fucker all the way to ice cold and jump in under the spray.
My body jolts. I wait for the shock to the system to set me back on the rails. The cold water pours over my head, my face, my shoulders, my back, and my dick. I wait some more. I lather up and rinse off. Any moment now.
I laugh and turn off the water, then towel myself off.
Nope. Still half hard. This is going to be one long-ass day.
I shave. Get dressed. Make my bed. As I reach out to open my bedroom door, I know there’s one last thing I need to do. I still. Take a breath. Center myself. “I’m sorry, Amy,” I whisper into the emptiness. “I’m sorry for betraying you.”
I leave my room and tiptoe down the hall so I don’t wake up Jasmine… and Emma. As I turn to go downstairs, I can’t help but stare at Emma’s closed door. My foot hits the top stair and I stop.
Temptation bangs against my head. I’m paralyzed. I’m also stupid and crazy. What am I thinking? What am I going to do—throw open Emma’s door and tell her I want her?
I don’t want her. I can’t. All I want is for her to leave. I want her to not exist.
As I stand there, unable to continue down the stairs, I hear the front door open. I look down to see Evander standing in my living room with a sleepy Phyllis. He raises his face to me.
“Move your ass, big brother. It’s time to torture Cal.”
I double-time it downstairs. “Right. I forgot we’re doing that,” I whisper. “Thank you, Phyllis.” She yawns and pushes me out of the house.
“You boys still act like you’re twelve.” She closes the door.
Declan and Special K are on the front porch waiting for us. Their arms are full of materials that wouldn’t be out of place in the garage of a beer-guzzling serial killer.
Declan hands me a rope. Special K shoves a knife in his holster, hands Evander a canvas tarp, and grabs the handle of the beer cooler. We start walking to Cal’s house, which is just down the lane from mine.
“What if the groom is in corpus delicti?” Evander asks.
“You mean banging our new sister-in-law?” Declan asks.
“The word ‘banging’ shouldn’t be used when talking about our sister-in-law,” I say.
“Don’t be a pussy, Evander,” Special K says. “Don’t matter what he’s doing. We’re already in the execution phase of this mission.”
“I’m not a pussy, Kevin.” Evander uses his real name when he wants piss him off. I guess we all do.
“Now, now,” Declan says. “Can’t we just be friends and get along? Especially the pussies and the Kevins?”
I smack Declan upside his head. “Don’t stir up trouble, chucklefuck.”
He rubs his head. “Next time I take you up in my heli, I might forget to lock your door when I do a barrel roll. Just sayin’.”
We stand in front of Cal’s house and look up at it.
Our insults and bullshit are forgotten now that we have to figure out how best to torture our just-married brother.
“He’s probably still up there,” Declan says, looking up at the single-story home constructed on a steep hillside. “I can scale the house in about fifteen seconds.”
“The bedroom is on the other side of the house facing the lake,” Special K points out.
“He’s right,” Evander says. “You’d have to scale the deck and make your way across the house. It will give him too much of an opportunity to detect movement.”
“None of that shit matters,” I say. “As soon as the window’s cracked, Cal will hear that fucking chirping noise from the alarm system.”
We all turn to look at Evander. He’s the insertion specialist, an expert at disabling surveillance and defense systems. A home alarm is nothing for him.
“Damn it,” Evander grumbles. “This is a brand-new suit.”
I snort. “Only you would wear a suit to a kidnapping.”
Evander dusts an invisible piece of lint from his lapel. “I have standards, Finn. Unlike you mouth-breathing heathens.”
“Please stop,” Declan says, his hand clutching his chest. “You’re giving me a hard-on.”
“Are we doing this or not?” Special K complains.
“Fine,” Evander grumbles. “I’ll disable the alarm. He won’t hear a thing, but on the off chance that he does…” He points to Declan. “You’ll have to scale the house in eight seconds and make it to his bedroom window in another three.”
Declan nods. “Got it.”
Special K hands Declan the taser. “Use this on him before he wakes up. It might increase your chances of survival.”
Declan studies the weapon. “This isn’t going to work. I’ve seen Cal take out dudes with taser coils lodged in his neck.”
“We’ll breach the front and help you out,” I say. I display the rope.
“I really hope Victoria isn’t naked,” Evander says. “I don’t want to see her naked.”
“I’ll shield your delicate eyes,” Declan tells him.
“I hope she doesn’t have heart issues,” I add. “We don’t want to kill her. I don’t think Cal would be in favor of that.”
Special K rolls his eyes. “Are we doing this, or are we just going to stand around and jack off?”
“I did that before I got dressed,” Declan says.
“Gentlemen, synchronize your watches,” I say.
“I’m not wearing a watch,” Declan says.
Evander shakes his head in disgust and mumbles, “M.B.H.”
“What’s that mean?” Declan snaps.
“Mouth-breathing heathens.”
We all synchronize our watches, except for Declan, and the operation starts.
Special K and I watch Evander disable the alarm system.
I signal Declan, who scales the house in less than eight seconds.
We give him exactly three additional seconds to breach the bedroom window.
Then we bust through the front door, run down the master wing hallway, and crash into the couple’s marital chamber.
Immediately, I notice that things are not going according to plan.
Cal is a buck-naked wild man.
I think I hear him growling.