No Getting Over You (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 2) Read online

  “And I’m compelled to help her make it so. She’s my best friend. Has been for more than six years.”

  “I understand.” He reached over and squeezed her left hand. “Go. See what this friend can do.”

  She nodded, grateful to escape the car. Unable to breathe deeply ever since she’d laid eyes on him, she jumped out and inhaled a gust of air. He was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. The height. Six-five or six? The hair. Lustrous sable. The eyes. Unique china blue. His lips. Oh, she could sob at how full and kissable they were. But the dark stubble on his wide jaw the most dangerous lure to her poor neglected libido. She bit her lower lip, just imagining how it would be to have his two lips on her mouth and drifting lower. Much lower.

  Oh, hell. She strode toward the back door to the restaurant. He was too luscious. And once Tracy and Monica got a gander at him, they’d agree he was worthy of the role of best man. They’d both melt into a puddle of goo. He’d want either of them, young and lovely and positive as they were. Not her. Old Sad Matron of Honor her.

  “Hi, Maurice,” she greeted Karen’s sous chef. “Is Karen in yet?”

  “Hey, Miz LaClare. How you doin’?” He hailed from New Orleans’ Tenth Ward and was invaluable to her friend in running the best Southern seafood kitchen in Washington.

  “Fine.”

  “Miz Rivers is upstairs checking the candles and linens. You know how she gets over that. She’ll be down soon. Can I make you an espresso?”

  “No, thanks, Maurice. I’ll just wait.” She strolled to the window and looked out to the SUV.

  Britt sat, reading the screen on his cell phone.

  She couldn’t get enough of looking at him. He was a mountain of a man, and she adored standing near him, feeling he’d protect her from anything. The killer, literally, were his muscles. Dear Jesus. They bulged and rippled with his every move. Under a gray T-shirt that clung to his chest were broad ribbons of flesh she could bounce pennies off of.

  She laughed and clamped a hand to her mouth. Two of Karen’s female staff looked up, smiling politely, but Viv was certain they questioned her sanity. If they only knew what a gorgeous man sat in their parking spot, they’d run her over to get to him. All she wanted to do was lock him in a room with her and throw away the key.

  “Hi, there, Viv! A nice surprise to see you.” Karen Rivers strode toward her, her arms full of crisp white tablecloths. Dressed in her white chef’s uniform, she hadn’t yet donned her toque. But she’d caught up her long caramel tresses in a ponytail. “Maurice, call the laundry, will you, and tell them these are not up to par. I need one more dozen fresh for tonight.”

  She handed them off to Maurice and threw her arms wide to welcome Viv. “What are you doing here? Thought you had that wedding this weekend.”

  “I do. I have a problem. And I’m hoping you have my solution.”

  Karen pushed a strand of hair over her ear. “I’ll try. What’s up?”

  ****

  A minute later, Viv bounded out to the parking lot. Britt rolled down the window, his gaze reading her as she approached. “Tell me we have lift off.”

  She clapped her hands once. “We’re on! The good news is that she can do chocolate mousse cupcakes. Eleven dozen. By five o’clock.”

  “Okay. And? What’s the bad?”

  “She’s catering a dinner party in Potomac at six, and she needs her catering staff and her van there at five.”

  He frowned. “What else?”

  “She has no way to get the cupcakes to the country club tonight after they’re done. She’s got no room in her refrigerator for them to keep overnight and deliver them tomorrow—”

  “And she needs a delivery system tonight.”

  “Yes.” She winced, pleading with him with her eyes. “Do you think you could get them? She says she has wooden tiers we can use in the back to stack them. We could turn up the A/C. I’d come with you to the country club and—”

  “Tell her she’s on.”

  “But you’re on tap to get Terry and Catrina at the airport, too.”

  “That’s three-thirty. Cupcakes are at five. We have to get these two people married, don’t we?”

  Oh, he was so sweet. Gratitude had her grinning. “You bet.”

  “And you’re my co-pilot so what more can we ask for?”

  She clapped her hands. She reached in the window and squeezed his forearm. His hard sculpted forearm. Tingles ran up her spine. “Do you know what an angel you are?”

  He feigned horror. “Not the image I want to cultivate.”

  “Still. I love it that you’re willing.”

  He smiled at her with disbelieving eyes. “To be an angel? Don’t tell Reardon or any of my team. I won’t hear the end of it.”

  She lifted onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “Best looking angel I’ve ever seen. Be right back.”

  ****

  Good looking, huh? He grinned like a fool.

  Rubbing his cheek, he winced, his flesh hot along his scar where she’d put her mouth. God, if he could only have more of her mouth on more of his body, he’d fall to his knees in thanks. What he really needed to do was talk down his raging hard-on. Everything this woman did worked him up higher.

  No. This is ridiculous. She’s married, Ace. Married. And don’t mistake her exuberance for life with her need to fix Abby’s problems as interest in you. Which, let us hasten to add, she could not have…because she is married!

  He ground his teeth. Put your eyes on the goal, man. Your goal. Practical. Today at noon. He checked his watch. Ten-fifty a.m. Hmm. She had to get her pretty ass out here so that he could get to his interview.

  He watched her open the door, hug her friend in the white chef’s uniform, and head for him.

  She climbed in, flushed with success and smiling like a kid. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” He set his mind to his purpose. Not on her. Get over it, man. “Do we need to do anything else?”

  She buckled her seatbelt. “No. But you need to get to your appointment. So—”

  “Yeah. And I’ll take you up to the country club now and—”

  “No. Don’t.”

  From his peripheral vision, he could see that she eyed him.

  “The traffic on Saturdays up along the Potomac is horrible. Better if you head to the center of town for your appointment. Plus, if it’s anything important, you’ll need to change your clothes, right?” She didn’t flinch when he shot her a hard glare.

  “Check.”

  She swung around, eyeing his garment bag hanging from the back seat hook. “Your suit?”

  “My uniform.” He liked her perception. He didn’t like her helping him out. Instead, he wanted to disassociate from her, get away from the temptation of her. She was off limits, and he did not come on to ladies who were attached to other men.

  Frowning, he turned at Wisconsin toward the White House and the business district. Immediately, they came to a full stop in a traffic jam. And he banged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.

  “Turn left at the next intersection,” she told him.

  “Look. I need to go that way.” He pointed east.

  She straightened her spine, digging in. “But if you continue on this road, you won’t get there in time. Trust me. I’ve driven this road for more than ten years. On Saturdays, it’s a nightmare. Turn left at the next intersection.”

  He figured he had her choice or a bad one, and so he took her advice at the next light. Yeah, he’d been cool. Chilly. Pissy. He felt her eyes on him, questioning his change in mood. Okay. Let her.

  We can be friends. Jovial. Happy. But I’ve got to stop salivating over you. Cuz I have ethics.

  “You could let me out here, and I’ll take a taxi.” Her tone was cold as she settled back in her seat. From the corner of his eye, he could see her clasp her hands tightly together.

  “With two suitcases and a long gown in a bag?” He hated being a shitty companion. He sure as hell was not used to l
iking a woman and not having her like him back.

  “Yes. Stop the car.”

  “No.” He met her cold green gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  She crossed her arms. “And I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You’re not.”

  His phone rang, and he grabbed it from the dash and read the name of the caller. “It’s Abby. Can you pick up for me?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed his phone, pushed it on, and set it on the dash. “On speaker.”

  “Hi, Ace.” Abby used the nickname that the team gave him. “I know you’re out and about with Viv. Hi, to you both. Thanks for helping with the cake disappearance. I am so relieved.”

  “You’re welcome.” He checked Viv’s expression. She must have called Abby inside the restaurant to notify her of the cupcake solution.

  “What’s going on, Abby?” Viv asked.

  He chimed in, over his hissy fit and trying to sound like a good Musketeer. “We’re out here solving challenges, doing our thing.”

  “Well, I’m hoping you can do one more thing for me, Ace.”

  “Okay. Best of my ability.” How he wished he didn’t have to say that. But no buddy of his was getting hitched without everything he and his woman wanted. He took the right turn that Viv silently indicated with her hand. “Tell me.”

  “I can’t get Nick on his cell.”

  “He must be in a bad zone along the road.”

  “I know. And I hate to ask you to do this, but I’ve got no choice. Catrina just called from Dallas airport, and there’s a challenge with Terry.”

  Alarm spread thru him like wildfire. He was happy to be stopped at a red light so he could focus and deal. “What?”

  “Catrina says he’s refusing to get on the connecting flight.” Her voice sounded thready, close to tears.

  “Oh, no,” Viv whispered.

  “You want me to call her. I can.”

  Viv motioned to pull over where there was a free parking space. He swung in, killed the engine, but left on his left blinker.

  “Please. Would you?”

  “Absolutely.” He glanced at Viv who had a dark, worried look to her green eyes. “What’s the issue?”

  “Oh, Britt.” She caught back a sob.

  “What happened?” he pressed her.

  Viv reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “Abby?” Did Terry not have his meds? Did he have a weak spell? Was his wheel chair not working? “Tell me.”

  “It’s—it’s his face.”

  Britt shut his eyes. “Go on.”

  “A child saw him a few minutes ago at the airport lounge and ran away screaming to his mother. Now Terry doesn’t want to come. Catrina says he’s ready to go back to San Antonio, and she can’t persuade him otherwise.”

  Britt ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Terry had run into that house after the camel jockey who’d taunted them turned tail. Certain the kid had a vest full of C-9, Terry figured the kid would destroy the whole unit. He thought he could outsmart the little bastard and catch him. He almost had. Who knew one of the kid’s wild ass companions would light him up and blow up the whole building, burning Terry in the process.

  “I’ll call. I will. He’ll hate himself if he doesn’t come see you marry Reardon.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you. My grandfather tried to call him, but Terry won’t pick up, and when he called Catrina instead, Terry wouldn’t listen. He barely heard me say three words.”

  “I’ll do it. Let me go. I’ll call you back.”

  “Do. Thank you. I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t. The man needs to be here to see his sister get married. Period.” Nick had told Britt that Abby initially hoped Terry would agree to be the best man. But when the couple had planned the wedding last month, doctors at Brooks Army Medical Center in San Antonio would not guarantee Terry would be able to leave the hospital in three weeks. Britt took on best man duties when it was clear Terry refused to come at all if Abby wanted him to roll down the aisle in his wheelchair and be on view at the front of the ceremony. Now a child had unwittingly caused Terry such distress that he refused to continue his journey.

  “I’ll call you back with the results,” he told her again and ended the call.

  Staring out at the sunny Washington street, Britt felt like someone had put ten pound weights on each ankle and sent him to the bottom of the ocean. Nothing for it. He had to swim up out of this, and for Terry’s sake, his fiancée’s, and for Abby’s and Nick’s.

  “Britt?” Viv squeezed his hand. “Britt? Get out. Let me drive.”

  He turned to examine her. She was all business, and all shades of her anxiety with him was gone. Instead, she was practical, kind, as she undid her seatbelt. “Come on. Do it. You need to call Terry, and I need to drive.”

  He nodded, and when he was safely locked into the passenger seat, he decided to give Viv an apology. Reason and politeness demanded he straighten out the mash he’d made of his relationship with this very lovely lady before he dealt with the challenge of Terry. “I’m sorry I barked at you.”

  She checked his eyes and then pulled out into the street. “Why did you?”

  He winced and looked straight ahead.

  “I need to know. If I did something or said anything that implied I was not grateful for your help this morning, I am sorry.”

  “You didn’t do a thing.” He looked at his phone and then at her. Her lovely face was lax with sadness and dismay. He owed her a good explanation. The real one. “I don’t mind taking you to the hotel. I don’t mind getting cupcakes. I don’t mind anything about you. I enjoy being with you.”

  She searched his eyes, and as she saw more and more, her lips curved in a small smile. “I enjoy you, too.”

  “So we’re good then?”

  “If you’ll tell me why you were angry with me.”

  All cards on the table. “Is your husband coming to the wedding?”

  Slowing for a red light, she braked, shook her head, and focused on her wedding ring. “No.”

  “Is he out of town?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  All right. He had just stepped in a big pile of crap. Give it up, man. It’s none of your business where the elusive Mr. LaClare might be lurking.

  “He’s not coming.”

  The light changed, thank heaven. And she stepped on the gas. Her silence ate at him like acid in his stomach. He’d been a fool to ask and should’ve kept his frustration about his attraction to her to himself.

  “He won’t be there. He would’ve liked to, I’m sure, because he liked Abby very much. But I’m going to the wedding alone. You see, he passed away in January.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’m so sorry,” Britt said as surprise rocked him. Viv wore her grief lightly…at the moment. He must be careful to observe her darker moments more clearly than he had and tread more softly.

  “Don’t be,” she said with equanimity and her eyes straight on the road. “He wanted to go. Long overdue, he said. He had cancer, and he loathed that a man who could do a triathlon every year and pump one-fifty at the gym each week could be defeated by something he couldn’t see.”

  Socked in the gut by surprise, Britt found no words.

  “Focus on Terry,” she said with a tone that connoted they’d cleared the air. “We’re good.”

  He fiddled with his phone. Fiddled with apologies, concepts, pep rallies that weren’t right for the mission here.

  “Shall I pull over? Do you want to walk around while you talk to Terry?”

  Maybe that would be better than sitting in a car searching for the right words to jolt his former teammate into doing what he should to witness his sister’s wedding.

  “Yeah. If you can.” Britt blew air from his lips, searching for the steel that formed his backbone. In training, in country, in hospital, Britt had been honed into a fighting machine. But Viv’s question shifted his focus to Terry. Also a SEAL, hardened by war, destroyed—at least in body—
by war, Terry needed his help, despite his conditioning. His burns to his face and body had affected him. As they would anyone. Now Terry, tough and resilient as one of America’s most efficient fighting machines, had to overcome the agony of frightening a child in an airport with the atrocity of his changed appearance.

  Viv pointed straight ahead. “Okay. I’m going to stop over there. It’s Lafayette Park. There are benches and pigeons, a view of the White House. Get out. Walk around. I’ll circle and pick you up. If you’re not here, still talking, no worries. I’ll keep circling until you reappear.”

  Gratitude flooded him, and without thinking or warning, he leaned over and kissed her on her cheek.

  She shot him a grin, and his body stood at attention. “Go. Take your time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pushed open his door and jumped out. He wanted her, a taste of her, a sample of her. More than the feel of her cheek, more than the touch of her hand or the sizzle of her smile. He wanted all of her.

  But before he could persuade her to the rightness of his pursuit, he had a job to do first.

  The mid-day sun glistened on the White House in the distance straight ahead. Britt loved the view, getting an electric charge just from the sight. He always did whenever he flew into D.C. and glimpsed historic buildings along the Mall. But he stood, arms lax at his sides, phone in one hand, digging in his SEAL repertoire for words to inspire his friend to brave the terrors of this new frontier he crossed.

  And Britt acknowledged the lack. What would he say? What could he do to return a discouraged thirty-something-year-old disabled man to his family and his friends?

  Britt shoved his phone in his jeans and strode toward the old alabaster house, built by slaves, inhabited by men who had the same responsibility as Britt did now. Those men constantly found words to uplift millions of men and women who had fought, suffered and given their finest for the sake of country. Presidents might be more articulate than he, but he knew a few of those words. He knew them as slogans, orders, rants and cheers, imperatives to drive onward, to never give up, to endure and to conquer. That thought warmed him.

  Reaching a park bench, Britt sat down. He closed his eyes, raised his face and let the sun bake into him.