No Getting Over You (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 2) Page 11

  Then she knocked. And waited.

  And knocked again.

  She spun around and spotted a black sedan over by the barn. That had to be his. He’d probably returned his SUV to the rental agency when he was no longer giving Terry and Catrina a ride.

  Or me.

  She sighed, screwed up her courage, and knocked again.

  He was here. Had to be. Close by. Wherever he’d gone, he was on foot.

  She turned in the opposite direction and heard the strains of music coming from the cluster of maples to the west. The sound of an axe splitting wood punctuated the notes of the Stones singing how they couldn’t get any satisfaction.

  She took the steps at a jog. Off to the front lines fast. A good way to face incoming fire.

  The clearing where Britt stood massacring chucks of logs was wide, visible easily through the line of old maples, oaks, and pines. His back to her, he didn’t see her, intent on his task.

  So as not to startle him, she circled around so that he could see her coming straight on. He looked like a lumberjack in a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and tall brown jack boots. More than that, he looked fit and mighty, a man to savor and to treasure.

  He spied her in an instant, paused, stared, turned away to pick up another log to set it on the stump in front of him and attack the thing with a mighty swing of his axe.

  She walked straight up to the stump, but he waved her away. “Get back. You don’t want splinters to fly.”

  “Won’t you please stop for a few minutes?” She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. The wind was brisk, and she was already scared he’d send her away. The frost of his attitude didn’t give her much hope. Nonetheless, she gave him a small smile.

  “I’m busy.”

  That stung. But she held her ground. “I wanted to talk for a few minutes. If you can spare them.”

  He fished a big white handkerchief from his back jeans pocket and wiped his brow. She couldn’t help but notice that his shirt, a blue plaid that complemented his eyes, lay open to the waist.

  The urge to wrap her arms around him was so strong, she stepped forward. “Please.”

  He swung the axe into the stump and narrowed his eyes at her. “How’d you find me?”

  “A combination of an address from Abby and Nick, plus the bad directions from my phone.”

  He took a long leisurely look at her as he wiped his hands on the handkerchief. “When’d you get back?”

  “Last night. A day early. I was finished, and I wanted to see you.”

  “That urgent, is it?” He turned the dial on the portable radio to cut the din.

  “Yes.”

  He tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket and crossed his arms. “Okay. Talk.”

  She inhaled and shook her head. His antagonism was not how she’d expected this to go down. But then, she didn’t blame him for it. “The conflict between Terry and Catrina got to me. I saw them struggling with his injuries, and it brought up memories of my own challenges when my husband came down with cancer.”

  “Understandable,” he said, even though he didn’t appear as though her words meant any difference to him.

  “My experience with my…my failures then—and they were my failures—was not a happy memory.”

  He dropped his arms, his expression softened, his mouth no longer a harsh thin line. “You are hard on yourself.”

  “I had to be,” she shot back. “Being a caretaker is no easy thing. It’s constant. Twenty-four/seven all year long. Every year. No end.”

  She exhaled and ran a hand over her mouth. “It’s not just your energy levels that are sapped. It’s your brain. You’re trying to figure out how to do the grocery shopping, fit the doctors in, drive to therapy, and make sure you get your own work done. The house doesn’t get dusted. The garden goes to weeds. You feel attacked, harried. Like you never have a minute when you can sit down and read a novel until the end. And often, you don’t. You can’t fit it all into those twenty-four miserable hours.”

  “I hear you, Viv.” His tone was so mellow that she chanced a look at him.

  “But that’s not all.”

  “Okay.” Now that did sound like he was listening to her with his mind open.

  “I heard Abby talk about Nick and the working conditions of SEALs.”

  Britt snorted and looked away. “Not polite conversation for ladies. Not good conversation for men, either. The conditions are risky at best. And—”

  “Deadly odds.”

  “They are,” he confirmed with a nod. “The longer you stay in, the higher the chances you come back in a body bag.”

  “How do you live with that?”

  “Easy. You prepare for every eventuality. You prepare so you don’t fail. We say we do it right the first time, and then we do it right again. Every time.”

  “But some don’t. Terry didn’t.”

  “Terry ran into conditions that he had nothing to do with. A true accident.”

  “And your face? The jihadi with the knife who cut you?” she asked, her voice raw.

  “He didn’t live long afterward. So he got some skin off me. No big deal. I got more from him.”

  She sagged, tired of sparring with him. “Still, you got hurt.”

  He offered her a tiny smile of consolation. “Good of you to hurt for me. And to think, you didn’t even know me then.”

  “Sympathetic me,” she said with cynicism.

  “Boy, you are critical.” He took two steps forward.

  “I am. I cared for you. Fast. Hard. I saw a future where I could love you. But one where I could lose you, too. Or one—” She stopped, shivered, and rubbed her arms. “One where you were injured, disabled like Terry, and I—I wasn’t measuring up. One where I failed you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t know that, Britt.”

  “I know you probably worked your pretty ass off trying to care for your husband and you take some of the guilt of his loss like a cross. That’s not right, Viv. You must stop that. I’m sure your husband wouldn’t attack you for your devotion.”

  She wanted to dissolve into a little puddle. “You don’t know.”

  “I do. You wore yourself down. I bet if I asked Abby or Tracy, they’d confirm that.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t.”

  “Of course not.” He sighed. “Look, it’s getting cold out here. Come back to the cabin with me.”

  “No, I want to finish this.”

  “Why? Are you planning to leave when you’re done?”

  “No. Not if you’ll let me stay.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” He looked down at her, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “How much more do you have?”

  “A lot.”

  He flapped his arms in surrender. “Give it to me then.”

  “I called my director this morning at the gallery and told her about the portrait of Martha Washington. It’s an original by Harrison Portland, an artist whose works were superb but few. He died young of tuberculosis, so we are just learning about him.”

  “But you’re happy you found this painting?”

  “Yes. And I’m sure the authentication team will reconfirm it’s worth and provenance. But more than that—”

  He was smiling at her now. “What?”

  “I told her, too, that I would not be taking the promotion. I want to continue in my current role. I like what I do.”

  “Good for you.”

  She swallowed hard. “And then I made another decision.”

  “Did you?” he asked, humor lighting up his bass voice. “What?”

  “I called my real estate agent and told her I was putting the house up for sale.”

  He studied her. “I saw the sign in your front hall. So you debated selling it?”

  “I did. Hanging on to the past is not what I’m about anymore. I want to move forward. With a few things.”

  He was still, silent.

  “I want a new life. A different one.”

  “How
different?”

  Oh, she had to really let it all hang out now. She licked her lips, locked her gaze on his, and went for it. “I’d like to live in a smaller place, more manageable. A condo.”

  “In Washington?”

  She nodded. “Or maybe northern Virginia. Some place where I’d get to work easily and…and…” Or she just had to blurt it out. “You might easily drive up from port? Would you? Drive up from Dam Neck to—to—see me? Be with me? Go to the movies like ordinary folks?” The warmth, the pull of his arms going around her, answered her better than any words. She flattened her hand to his bare chest and locked her gaze on his. “Would you?”

  His mouth met hers with hot urgency. She gasped and kissed him back, his declaration the most heart-felt victory she’d ever had.

  “I know I was a coward. So much of one that I couldn’t even agree to see you without coming to terms with my past.”

  He laid a finger across her lips. “I understand. You don’t have to explain.”

  “But I do. This attraction— Me and you.” She wound her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his. “This was so strong, so new, so compelling, I felt like I was in a wind tunnel, a roller coaster. I was happy and thrilled and scared.”

  He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “I gave you the big rush. My fault. I was so afraid you’d disappear on me, I held on tighter.”

  “And I hated myself for being a wuss.”

  “You’re not,” he insisted. “Most people take weeks or months or years to figure out they care for each other. We took hours.”

  “Minutes,” she admitted. “But I learned something while I was away.”

  He hugged her close. “Tell me.”

  “No matter where I went in Venice, to the cathedral or the Doge’s palace or even my appointment, I realized no matter where I was, I thought of you. I wanted you there with me. Or me with you wherever you were. Wherever you are.”

  “Viv, what we have doesn’t require time or place or circumstance.”

  “I know that.”

  “I love you, Viv.”

  Her mouth fell open. What she’d been thinking of all morning had centered on those three words she wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to utter. “Oh, Britt, I wanted to get over being a widow. Wanted to be done with grief. Wanted to remember how I loved Paul and he loved me when we were younger and—” She caught herself from sobbing, biting her lip. “I learned when I was in Venice that I could get over all that. I could stop focusing on the sad parts of my past. I could get over my fear that you and I would never have enough time. That you’d be taken from me. I learned that I could concentrate on what I did well in my job and how I loved discovering new works to save. I could work hard and play hard. But there was one thing I couldn’t do.”

  She cupped his handsome jaw and gazed into his eyes. “I realized there was no getting over you.”

  “Viv,” he whispered her name in reverence and kissed her sweetly. “Don’t ever get over me.”

  She shook her head. “I had to tell you I love you.”

  “Oh, Viv. Bet on me living for a damn long time. Count on me loving you. Depend on me making you the center of my life no matter where I am, what I do.”

  “I can. I want to.”

  “So, I’d say that means you’ll marry me.”

  That she hadn’t expected. Not today. Not this way, so fast, so smoothly. But then time or circumstances wouldn’t prove how she felt about him. Her love would only magnify. Deepen. Expand to a new universe where rules or limits failed to exist.

  She smiled, admiring through the prism of her tears, the man she adored. “I will. “

  “Because, Viv, there’s no getting over how I love you.”

  About the Author

  Cerise DeLand loves to cook, hates to dust, lives to travel—and write! A popular author of contemporary military romance, she also writes enchanting historical set in the Regency and Victorian periods.

  Jo-Ann Power Bio:

  Whether the story calls for immersion in history, the always-volatile corporate world or the demanding environment of journalism, Jo-Ann Power brings her expert writing talent to draw readers into exciting, realistic worlds.

  Her versatility with genres has brought her success as well as thousands of readers in genres such as mainstream, mystery and romance, and drawn praise from multiple reviewers and readers.

  Romantic Times said of her work, "She draws readers into a carefully constructed novel that is brimming with...passion, brilliant colors and fascinating history...” Others compare her “power-ful” style to that of Daphne DuMaurier and Phyllis Whitney. Publisher's Weekly said, "Her ability to "cleverly weave politics, murder and romance, creating intense, breath-catching suspense" is a hallmark of her works. Her mysteries have been Featured Alternates of The Mystery Guild, and her historical romances were selections of both Rhapsody Book Club and Doubleday Book Club.

  In her latest historical novel, HEROIC MEASURES, Jo-Ann takes us from the coal mines of Pennsylvania to the battlefields of France in World War One. Recreating the decision of one young nurse to join the Army Nurse Corps, sail to France and serve on the American front lines, the novel follows her courageous journey under brutal conditions. The story of the hardships and triumphs of these women has been woefully neglected. Fascinated by the valor of these nurses and their grace under pressure, Jo-Ann researched the topic for decades, including trips to the actual battlefields where much of the book takes place. Now, as we approach the Centennial of the outbreak of World War One, she brings the bravery of these women to life in the person of Gwen Spencer, a young girl from Peckville, Pennsylvania whose heart led her to serve others in their time of need.

  Read more about HEROIC MEASURES at Jo-Ann's website, http://jo-annpower.com

  For more information, pictures and details about the Army Nurse Corps, American experience in World War One and Jo-Ann's research trips in the States and to France, read Jo-Ann's blog, http://theyalsofought.blogspot.com

  ~*~

  Visit Cerise at

  http://www.myspace.com/cerisedeland

  ~*~

  To chat with Cerise Deland and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewilderroses.

  Also Available

  You Were Always Mine

  7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book One

  by

  Cerise Deland

  http://a.co/bkWwwJg

  She offers him her first class seat. He offers her dinner.

  When Abby Stuart accepts hunky Navy SEAL Nick Reardon's invitation, she gets a red-hot one-night stand that becomes an irresistible weekend interlude. But a glimpse of a ghost and other supernatural events suggest they could be more than a brief affair.

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  http://a.co/5igAxRc

  Sometimes what happens in Vegas follows you home.

  Jumping into a cliché Vegas fling is the last thing on Dani Parker’s mind when she flies to Sin City for some R&R. But an innocent night of flirty fun with a sexy hunk whirlwinds into a hot weekend. Back home, she discovers her boss has been murdered, her Vegas fling is heading the investigation into financial irregularities for the company she works for, and she's smack-dab in the middle of both.

  Matt Collins wants is Dani in his bed and in his life, but the odds are against him. She can't accept his conditions for love, there's evidence suggesting she embezzled from the company, and the cops arrest her for murder. His gut tells him he wasn't just an alibi, but his heart remembers the brutal past that still haunts him.

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