No Getting Over You (7 Brides for 7 SEALs Book 2) Page 5

  So when Britt pulled under the portico to let the valet take his car, she put her hand to the door handle ready to run.

  “See you later, Britt. I just—I need to go. Freshen up. Rehearsal starts in forty minutes. See you there.”

  ****

  “Mr. Ackerman, good evening,” the receptionist began her check-in spiel. “We have your suite ready for you.”

  “Hello, yes, thank you. The specific one I requested?” He’d ordered a suite so that his teammates could come in and have a drink, talk in private, feel the connection they did every day.

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes drifted to the hotel elevator doors that opened to reveal a slinky redhead in the clingy purple cocktail dress.

  Viv stepped out, and his heart clutched. She looked as hot as hell now, but all day she’d become more than someone else’s friend. She’d become his sidekick, his other half, his confidant…and as soon as she got out of the car, he’d missed her. Like a phantom limb.

  “Sir, to begin the process, might I please have your credit card?”

  When he’d said hello to Viv that morning, he’d shocked her badly, though he didn’t know why. The sight of her had sent rays of sunlight through him. As if she were someone he’d known before and had lost track of. Someone who fit him, head to toe, heart to soul.

  Everything about her fired him up. Her hair, sleek, wavy, and red. Her eyes green as the foliage of a jungle canopy. Her body. Damn. He shut his eyes. And saw her there before him as she’d been this morning in the skimpy jogging shorts. She was long and curvy, with legs that went on forever. Long, tanned, firm female thighs and calves that glided all the way to her elegant ankles.

  He couldn’t see her legs now as she turned into the bar and disappeared. But, man, he could detect every sexy taut muscle in her cut-up-to-there slit skirt. He had always been a leg man, so for a woman’s shapely gluts to light his fire made him take notice. Or rather made his cock sit up, straight and hard.

  But other parts of Viv murdered him, too. Her mouth. Generous. The lower lip dipping in the center. Meant to be kissed, thoroughly and often.

  Man, he wanted to nibble that. Suck it.

  No doubt though, since that first glance at her, Britt wanted all of Viv LaClare. Her svelte body. Her sultry laughter. Her sharp mind. And he wanted the whole package in a bed. Going nowhere for hours while he got into her in every way a man could take a woman. He was going to get her, too.

  And tonight was a good one to go for. Life as a jarhead in the Marines, four more as a Navy SEAL had taught him to seize on his instinct. Go for the prize while he could. Today was no easy day, but he could lay firm odds, tomorrow might not exist.

  He turned and looked into the amused gaze of the receptionist who raised her brows at him in question.

  “Pardon me.” He scratched the corner of his jaw and grinned. “I do know her.”

  “Lucky woman.”

  He laughed as he handed over his credit card. “And yeah, I am interested.”

  She widened her eyes, playing him. “I got that. Fast.”

  “Okay then.” He threw her a wide grin. “As you can see I’m really in a hurry. So would you please just tag my luggage and have a bellboy take it up to my room?” He fished out a ten from his money clip and passed it over as a tip for the service.

  “Of course, Mr. Ackerman. You are staying with us two nights?”

  “Right. I’m part of the Stuart-Reardon wedding party.” The optimist in him hoped he might persuade Viv to take a vacation with him. A day or two. A week. He had the time off, and his reservation for a cabin up in the Maryland mountains could be cancelled. Or maybe she’d come with him. That possibility revved him. “But how’s your availability if I decide to stay for a few days?”

  “Open. Shall I put you down as a tentative?”

  “Sure. And another thing?” He could dream, couldn’t he? “Would you please give me two room keys?”

  “Certainly, sir. Not a problem.” She clicked away at her computer while he drummed his fingers on her counter. He had to get to Viv fast and remind her of the kiss she owed him from this afternoon. His body turned to steel just anticipating the press of his lips on hers.

  “And here, Mr. Ackerman, is your credit card. You’re all set.”

  “Thanks. Let me give you my car keys, too. If you could have the valet park it? The silver Suburban out front.” He slid his keys over to the woman, along with another ten.

  “Yes, sir. Right away. I’ll have him bring you your keys. You will be“

  “In the bar.” If I don’t get my face slapped for rushing the lady.

  He smoothed the front of his uniform. He hadn’t had a chance to change since his interview. That was a good thing because wearing it always gave him a high—and it revved him for the challenge ahead. He summoned all the charm his mother had taught him and hoped to god he could play it right. Viv was no one night stand. No woman to give the grand rush. He needed finesse and luck. Pursuing her was easy. But seducing her might be tougher than BUD/s training. Good thing he wanted more than that.

  He froze in his tracks.

  And grinned.

  Yeah. He definitely wanted more than that. He wanted everything from her. Tonight. And every night he could enchant her after that.

  ****

  Viv LaClare needed a drink badly. Her day with Britt Ackerman had been glorious. He was smart, funny, easy-going, and yeah, gorgeous. The way they got on, the way they meshed, seemed effortless, smooth, as though they’d known each other months or even years. If the bubbles in her brain lifted her any higher, she’d float away, giddy as a sixteen-year-old.

  Did she want him? Oh. No. Question.

  Could she handle him? As a lover? Absolutely. Every cell in her body swelled with glee at the prospect. But she’d never slept with a man casually. Didn’t know the woman who considered that behavior. All she knew was that she heard a voice in her head singing over and over, Yes, please. Yesss. Let me have this man.

  She’d never yearned so completely—so quickly, so sexually—for a man. And she marveled at this new woman. This different Viv.

  All it had taken was one look at the height and breadth of Britt, noting his scar that the fortuneteller had foretold, to understand that this man, implausible as that was, was her next mad passion. But Britt was nothing like Paul. Nine years older than she, Paul had been tall, lean, patrician, a former college professor turned chief of staff to the senior Louisiana senator. With gray eyes and white hair, Paul had been the personification of southern gentility.

  Britt Ackerman was a beautiful beast. With china blue eyes and thick sable hair, he overwhelmed her with the raw power in his every movement. Being with him was like breathing fresh mountain air, invigorating, natural. She’d reveled in every minute of his company until she’d slammed into the wall of meeting Terry Stuart. Watching the disabled SEAL and his fiancée Catrina deal with their challenges had sent waves of despair over Viv. As if a tsunami had knocked her for a loop, she’d sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Flailing. Helpless. Remembering the daily fight to claw out positive solutions to Paul’s physical problems, she’d returned to the hollow shell where she had to rally all her resources each morning before her feet hit the floor.

  Viv had itched to escape Terry’s presence and the anxiety etched in Catrina’s face. Up in her room, showering, changing into her dinner dress, she’d recovered some of her objectivity. Focused on seeing Britt again and enjoying his company and the joy of the wedding events were her only goals.

  “What’ll you have, ma’am?” The bartender smiled at her. He was younger than she. And she frowned at him.

  Ma’am. She bristled. Had her remembrance today of Paul’s last months worn on her? Was she looking haggard? Old enough to be addressed as ma’am, instead of miss? If she did any more yoga, jogged more often, she’d look like a rope. Rubbing her hands together, she rallied and smiled at the bartender. “Gin and tonic, please.”

  “Comin’
up.”

  She glanced around the dim room. Seeing neither Monica nor Tracy here yet, Viv slid onto a leather bar chair. Can I just sit here and tell myself I’ll have a great time this weekend? That I’ll dance and laugh and flirt with Britt Ackerman? Then I’ll go to Venice, check out that painting, and take a few days to see the city. Relax. Forget about Paul, Terry…and Britt.

  She tapped her fingers on the bar. She was so over being the matron. So over being the widow.

  “There you go.” The bartender put her drink in front of her with a grin that could melt ice.

  “Thanks.” She took a sip. “Smooth. Love it.”

  “Can I get you anything else?” He hooked an elbow on the bar, looking like he wanted to hang around for a while.

  She considered him. He wore a black dress shirt, regulation probably for the bar and restaurant. Though his eyes were blue, they weren’t the charming hue of the man she’d spent the day with.

  “Nuts, maybe?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

  She shook her head.

  “Bruschetta? Great stuff from the chef.” His gaze ran all over her face, then down to her cleavage where her emeralds told tales of her wealth and maybe even her age.

  “Thanks, no. I’m having dinner soon.” If the rest of the wedding party will ever shake a tail feather and get down here.

  “Can’t sit here and drink all alone.”

  “She’s not going to,” a resonant bass voice announced.

  Viv caught her breath at the sight of him. In his dress whites, he was magnificent. His bronze complexion and bright blue eyes were a scrumptious contrast to the suit. Her tummy flip-flopped with excitement. “All checked in?”

  “I am.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  The feel of those warm lips on her skin was a sensation that lit up her libido like a flash fire. Her cheek burned. Her pulse hammered. What the hell was she doing, salivating for this younger man? A SEAL who could do nothing more than grin at her to make her ache and want and feel alive again.

  She squirmed and smiled at him.

  “You okay?” he asked with his gaze narrowing on her mouth.

  “Very.” She shifted. The damn leather seat was suddenly hot, and her sheer panties might be designer French, but they did not serve well for a lady having a wide-awake wet dream.

  “What’ll you have?” The bartender had shifted away from Viv, back to his professional self.

  “Same as the lady.” Britt grinned at her, his extraordinary blue eyes drifting over her low-cut décolleté and making her nipples bead. Then he took the seat next to her and leaned close to her ear. “You look fabulous.”

  She struggled to breathe. He was so much man she had to rein in her impulse to grab him and run for her room. He was a picture of health. Walking testosterone with mad Hollywood superhero looks. With arms that bulged and rippled and a chest so broad he could hold back the dawn.

  She gazed into his stunning eyes, but she didn’t want him just for his looks. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  In the back of his throat, he made a primal sound and looked straight ahead. “I had the staff take up my luggage and park my car. How are the cupcakes?”

  “Cool and stored.” She was so glad he took the lead in the conversation. She had no idea what to say to him, other than, Want to get out of this place and take the party to my room?

  The bartender pushed his G & T toward him.

  Britt picked up the glass and raised it in a toast.

  She lifted her own. “To you.”

  “To us,” he replied. “I hope there’s an us.”

  A long silent moment passed as she stared into his eyes, thrilled and skittish.

  His brows rose. “You hesitate. So…you don’t agree?”

  “I want to. This is fast—”

  “But it’s right.”

  She squirmed again. “How do you know?”

  He tipped his head to one side and swirled his drink. “I believe in vibes.”

  “Last night, I heard a fortuneteller predict I’d meet you. He was specific, describing you and how we’d—”

  “How we’d do what?”

  “Be attracted.”

  “And when you met me at the front door this morning,” Britt said and arched both dark brows, “you believed him?”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  His left eye twitched. “Why not?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Even though lately I’ve told myself I wanted to live again. Really live. I took one look at you and clutched. I didn’t want to let go of what I was.”

  “Care to explain that?”

  “I’ve been a widow for nine months. I gotten used to it. Gotten used to being alone.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “But I grew to hate being lonely.”

  He frowned and considered his glass. “If you’re interested in me, I wouldn’t ask you to forget what you were, who you loved. I’d just expect you to be what you are. Expect you to want what we might be. Together.”

  “I know that.” She smiled. “I believe in the vibes, too.”

  “Okay. So then the problem is what?”

  She exhaled and stared at the ceiling. Discussions with Paul had always been long, full of nuance. This rapid fire was uncomfortable, demanding. “I’ll be thirty-eight on Monday.”

  He shrugged. “If I needed your birth certificate, I’d have asked for it up front.”

  She shook her head.

  “You have a medical problem I don’t see here?” he asked, his eyes running over her torso.

  “No. I’m healthy.”

  He gave a laugh, one side of his mouth hitched up. “I’ll say. But birthdays are not what concern you, are they?”

  She shook her head.

  He covered her hand with his, one of his fingers outlining the edge of her nail. “Today was the best time I’ve had in years. Just living.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So then what you’re saying is you’ve got rules about time and men?”

  Right. “I don’t have men. Don’t have them often or quickly or— You know what I mean.”

  He nodded. “You think you can’t spend more time with me? Tonight? Tomorrow? After? Because why? You fear I won’t respect you? Or you’ll hate yourself?”

  She turned to face him. His dark hair dipped low over his brow in a rakish elegance. God, he was beautiful. Sweet. “Maybe I come from a different era than you or—”

  “How many years were you married?”

  “Ten.”

  He nodded. “Happily, I assume.”

  “Very.”

  “Good for you. Whereas, I’ve never been married. Never thought of it, except in abstract, cuz I never met anyone I cared for enough. But if I did, I told myself I’d grab her and keep her.”

  “Sounds right.”

  “Sounds like what you believe?” he asked but would bet a million bucks he was right.

  “Bingo.”

  “Great. We got that checked off. So then are you afraid if you hooked up with me, you’d like Chopin and I’d dig hip-hop?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I like hip-hop.”

  “And I like Chopin. So there.” He had to keep pressing her for whatever other little details gnawed at her. He wasn’t walking away from her without revealing every force against him. “What else you got worrying you?”

  She bit her lower lip. But the way she lifted a shoulder told him she had a question about sex, how long, how much, how significant it could be.

  He barked in laughter. “Having a good time together does not mean we have to jump into bed.”

  Her face fell.

  Her disappointment that they might not do the nasty was what he needed to run a victory lap. He beamed at her. “Well, then, I see we have agreement on one thing.”

  She blushed, her cheeks hot as flames.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered in comfort and squeezed her hand. “Trust your gut. I’ll give you time.”

  The wolfish look on his
face said otherwise.

  She snorted.

  He took a long swallow of his drink, then pinned her with stark blue gaze. “How much do you need?”

  His voice was so low, so rough, her body pulsed just imagining how the reverberations would feel if he spoke against her skin.

  “That’s my problem. I don’t want a lot.” She pressed her body to the leather chair and found no relief. I just want to laugh—and get laid.

  The bartender appeared. “Anything else, sir?”

  “The check for both, thanks.”

  Viv fiddled with the corner of her napkin. Then used her swizzle stick to beat the gin to a giant swirl.

  “Viv, listen to me,” Britt said, his voice gruff and low. “I’m never clear for weeks or months. I rarely know when I can count on free days. But I do have next week.”

  Her heart thudded to a stop, and she shut her eyes. Wouldn’t you know coincidence only went so far? “I fly off tomorrow to Venice for three days. Business.”

  He pulled on her hand. “Join me when you come back. I’ve rented a cabin in the hills of western Maryland.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she said.

  The dreamy look in his eyes turned to shadows. “But it isn’t yes.”

  She swallowed hard on temptation. What if she did do this and, somehow, word got out she’d slept with him? She still worked with people who were at this wedding. If she took the promotion to fill Frank Damon’s job, she’d be the supervisor of Tracy and a few others here. She was old school enough to know that, even if they never said a word about that, she would know and feel oddly.

  “What if I bribe you?” he asked.

  She shook back her hair from her shoulders and laughed. “Do it.”

  “I’ll cook for you.”

  She arched her brows. “Cupcakes?”

  “Beef Bourguignon. Belgian waffles and chocolate mousse.”

  She licked her lower lip and he flowed closer. “Anything else?”

  “Show you how to shoot a bear at ten yards.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, that I need.”

  “What else do you need?” He was serious.