The SEAL's Second Chance: An Alpha Ops Novella by Anne Calhoun

Author:Anne Calhoun [Calhoun, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781250084590
Google: rCjFCgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B016VJ6RVE
Publisher: Swerve
Published: 2016-04-04T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Six

She rubbed her forehead, off-balance, worn-out, lost. But she couldn’t blame the tangle of emotions slowly knotting in her belly on life. That was all Jamie. And her. If it were just Jamie, she’d cut through the knot and end it. The only thing that hadn’t changed in the last decade was that the problem was them.

“Hey,” Jamie said softly. He was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his arms folded, his feet bare.

She tried to imagine him in the white uniform she’d seen on television shows, his jaw ruthlessly shaved, his shoulders broad and straight in the tailored coat, shoes polished to a sheen so bright they’d reflect the lights at the Metropolitan Club. “Do you have many…?” she asked, vaguely gesturing to her left shoulder, her brain shorting out on the image.

“Service medals and ribbons? More than some, fewer than others.” He studied her for a long moment while she tried to think of something else to say. “If you’re tired, I can go.”

Maybe it was time for a little honesty. “I am tired,” she said. “I don’t want you to go though.”

His expression, solemn and tender, didn’t change as he pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the short distance to stand beside her. “Shoes off,” he said as he eased her jacket from her shoulders and hung it up on an empty hanger, then went to work on the buttons of her blouse. With methodical, slow movements he slipped each button through its hole, gently tugging the shirttails from her waistband and unfastening her cuffs before slipping it down her arms to leave her in her trousers and bra.

“Wash or dry clean?”

“Wash,” she said.

The blouse went in the basket on her closet floor. She balanced herself with a hand on his shoulder as he took off her trousers and hung them up next to the jacket. She wore utilitarian cotton underwear, nothing sexy or fancy, just keeping her covered. Jamie didn’t seem to care one way or the other, just took off her bra with the same pragmatic approach, and guided her to lie facedown on the bed. “Do you have any lotion?”

“Sure,” she mumbled into her folded arms, “but I keep sweet almond oil in the bathroom. It’s good for rubdowns when I get sore.”

All she could think was that this was a really bad idea. It wasn’t basketball and it wasn’t sex, but since tonight had been all about bad ideas, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. For a moment she wondered if this was how her mother slid down the slippery slope, one questionable judgment sliding into another, but then Jamie came back with the bottle, dropped it beside her, and stripped off his shirt.

Electricity sparked along her nerves, staticky and hissing in the long moments while he straddled her hips. The bottle cap clicked open, then closed. The sound of palms rubbing together, then he put his big hands to the slope where her neck met her shoulders and pushed.

Hard.

Her brain shut off, the circuits connecting so the sparks lengthened into a steady hum of desire.

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