Sweet Refuge (SEAL Team Blackout) by Em Petrova

Author:Em Petrova [Petrova, Em]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

TEN

With a takeout bag in one hand and a large lemonade in the other, Overstreet waited outside the door to Blackout HQ again. This time it was Frost who opened it for him.

They exchanged a look before Frost took in the food in his hand. “Did you bring me something to eat?”

“No. This is for Lena.” He shouldered past him.

Frost kept pace beside him. “Hope you have chocolate. She’s in a mood.”

His step faltered. “Chocolate?”

“Yeah, Graham’s on her period.”

He damn near dropped the lemonade. “Who said that?”

Frost shrugged. “Mustang.”

Jesus. Charlie team was tight, but this was fucking ridiculous. The fact that these guys believed they knew so much about Lena—his wife—irritated him.

It wasn’t worth getting in a fight over. With a shake of his head, he continued in long strides down the hallway.

“You’ll find her in the common room, Overstreet. Good luck.”

He raised the hand holding the bag in farewell and hurried on. When he entered, his gaze fell directly on Lena.

She was curled up in the corner of the sofa, a pillow clutched to her abdomen. Seeing him, she let out an irritated grumble. Her eyes slipped shut and then reopened as if he were testing her patience. “What do you want, Slade?”

He set the food and drink on the coffee table. “Brought you something to eat.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“When did you last put something in your stomach?”

“Since when do you get to ask such personal questions?”

He eyed her. “I bet you miss cooking.”

She drew a breath. “Until this nausea gets under control, I hope the team doesn’t notice until I’m ready to tell them.” She grabbed the bag. When she saw the logo on the side, her jaw dropped. “You brought me Clarence’s? I love Clarence’s.”

“I know you do.”

She snatched up the bag and carried it to the table. But she didn’t open the bag or take a sip of the lemonade.

“What’s the matter?” He stepped up behind her.

She shoved the bag away from herself and plunked into the chair with more drama than he’d ever seen from her before. Concern rippled through him, pinching his brows together.

When she let out a low moan and dropped her face into her hands, panic shoved out his concern.

He hovered over her. “Lena. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Food has not gone well with me lately,” she whispered.

His heart jogged. She’d confided in him. It was a start.

Sliding into the seat adjacent to her, he kept his voice low. “Just try the food. Please.”

She lifted her head from her hands and met his gaze. In the warm brown depths of hers, he saw how much it cost her to admit any weakness.

Pulling the bag toward her, she gingerly cracked it open and leaned in to give it a sniff.

She straightened. “Oh.”

He studied her. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. No need to puke. Nice,” she said as if to herself.

As she drew the foam box out of the bag and took off the lid, she contemplated the chicken, pasta and vegetables in a light sauce.

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