“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Seducing you.”

Damn. That was what Brody had been afraid of.

“You were trying to pretend we’re just friends. Except we aren’t,” Genna murmured. “What we are is crazy attracted to each other. We need to act on that attraction … The total act, with you naked. I’m willing to be on top if you’re still holding on to that friendship myth of yours. That way you can tell yourself I took advantage.”

He made some sort of choking sound, sure if he had any blood left in his brain it would have been words of protest.

Then Genna let her dress fall to the floor. Brody actually gulped trying not to swallow his tongue.

She was gorgeous.

Ivory limbs glowed like silk, the long sleek length of her interrupted by tiny pieces of black lace. He didn’t know where to start. At the top, where the lace cupped the gentle slope of her breasts. Or at the bottom, where it was barely held in place by two tiny strings.

His gaze as hot as the blood rushing through his body, he decided to settle for the middle. At the cherry-red jewel decorating her belly button.

Screw friendship. And screw good sense.

He was gonna let Genna Reilly seduce him …

A SEAL’s Salvation

Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author Tawny Weber has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Mills & Boon® Blaze® was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrap-booking and hanging out on Facebook.

Come by and visit her website, www.tawnyweber.com, for hunky contests, delicious recipes and lots of fun.

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To Birgit.

Here’s to many fabulous books.

I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Excerpt

1

Ten Years Before

“GENNA, YOU’RE CRAZY. You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I do. You dared me.” Genna Reilly gave her best friend a wide-eyed look. The one she used whenever she wanted to appear extra sweet and innocent.

The sweet part was usually an act. The innocent part was pure truth, though. But fingers crossed, tonight was going to change that.

“I didn’t dare you. Dina did. You could just take the truth instead. C’mon, I’ll even ask a different question,” Macy said, her desperate tone matching the intense worry in her eyes. She grabbed both of Genna’s hands, hanging on tight as if her body weight could anchor her to this spot. Since Genna was a lean, mean five-ten and Macy topped out at five-two, as anchors went, the girl wasn’t very effective.

“That’s not how the game is played,” Genna said, carefully extricating her hands, not wanting to hurt Macy but desperately wanting to be gone already.

She’d had no idea tonight’s slumber party would turn wild. Oh, sure, the potential was there. That’s why they always had sleepovers at Dina’s, because her mom fell asleep by ten and didn’t do spot breathalyzer inspections like Genna’s dad. It was easy to sneak out and do fun things. Like play truth or dare.

She’d figured on a fun weekend with three of her best friends, one of the last leading up to graduation. But she’d had no idea it would be this fun.

She needed to do this. Now, while the anticipation was still zinging through her system, making her feel brave enough to take on the world. Or, in this case, to take down the sexiest bad boy of Bedford, California.

She wanted Brody Lane.

But he had practically made a career of ignoring her existence.

Time to end that.

Class vice president, squad cheer captain and the daughter of one of the most influential men in town, at seventeen Genna was no stranger to attention. Her exotic looks, long silky black hair and sky-blue eyes ensured that she got plenty of male attention, and not only in her high school classes. Nope, even though they were three years her senior, her brother’s friends were always staring and flirting with her, too.

But she wasn’t interested in any of them.

Not the boys in school.

Not the guys her brother ran with.

Not until he’d started hanging out with Brody last winter.

For the first time in her charmed life, Genna was smitten. Hooked. Hot....

Over a guy who was deemed off-limits. Not only by her parents, who were ridiculously overprotective. But by the town itself, all of whom considered the Lanes just this side of the devil’s minions, and Brody as a hell-raiser with an overdue ticket to prison. Heck, even her brother, Joe, had told her not to be stupid when he’d caught her checking out Brody’s butt.

And Brody? He looked right through her as if she were made of cellophane. It wasn’t as though she expected everyone in the world to adore her. But the guy could drool a little when he saw her in shorts, couldn’t he? Or at least stare when he showed up to give Joe a ride and found Genna in a bikini, strategically washing her car.

But did he?

Noooo.

The guy acted as though she wasn’t even there.

Genna wasn’t the contrary sort. She’d never had to be. But no matter who told her or how many times, she couldn’t get Brody Lane out of her head.

So tonight, thanks to Dina’s dare, she was going to do something about it.

“Genna,” Macy pleaded, as if she were peeking into her best friend’s thoughts. “Don’t do this.”

“And be known as the girl who doesn’t meet her dares?” She’d rather be known as an ax-murdering floozy who wore designer knockoffs and ugly shoes.

“Maybe Macy’s right,” Sylvie said quietly, always ready to jump in as the voice of reason. “This isn’t like daring you to stand up in Mrs. Bellevue’s class and sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ while shaking your tail feathers. If your dad finds out, he’ll kill you.”

“He’ll kill us,” Macy intoned wisely, knowing full well that Sheriff Reilly was just as likely to punish any possible accomplices as he was the actual perpetrator.

“My dad’s not going to find out,” Genna said dismissively, the negligent wave of her hand stirring a tiny breeze in the sultry night air. Her father was too busy keeping the peace and freaking out over Joe’s latest escapade to pay any attention to what his little angel did.

“I hear he’s wild. He likes kinky stuff.”

She assumed Dina was talking about Brody now and not her dad.

“What kind of kinky stuff?” Twisting her carefully streaked blond hair around one finger, Sylvie sounded somewhere between fascinated and terrified.

Genna wasn’t between anything. She was smack-dab solid in determination. And feeling hot, of course.

“I dunno. But I’ll bet Genna can tell us tomorrow.” When Dina’s loud giggle earned her three glares, she slapped both hands over her mouth. But she didn’t stop laughing.

It was just nerves over being on the rougher side of town combined with a little too much hard lemonade. Or maybe she really thought it was funny that Genna was going to put all her virginal skills to use and seduce one of the baddest of the town’s bad boys.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Genna decided. That sounded mysterious, didn’t it? And kinda sexy. Besides, she figured any kissing she did deserved to be savored. Which meant kept to herself, where the gossips and tattletales couldn’t whisper it around.

“You mean you don’t kiss or do anything else,” Dina corrected, rolling her big blue eyes.

“Dina,” Macy moaned, wringing her hands in a way that proved Genna’s assertion that her friend took far too many drama classes. “Don’t encourage her. She’ll do something crazy.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like she’s really going to jump the guy,” Dina retorted. As usual, she’d picked the scariest dare she could think of when they were playing. She’d had no idea it was also her friend’s secret dream. “This is Genna. She’s gonna go in there, because it’s a dare and she can’t resist those. She’ll try to flirt, Luscious Lane will do his brick wall impersonation and it’ll all be over.”

“The dare was to kiss Brody Lane,” Sylvie pointed out quietly, casting a nervous glance toward the golden glow emanating from the garage light twenty feet away. “Genna’s not going in there unless she’s gonna follow through. You know that.”

Genna stood a little straighter, her chin a smidge higher at that character evaluation. She liked being known as a girl who followed through.

She looked toward the garage, the silhouette of a man working on a motorcycle. Since Brody’s dad, Brian, was working behind the counter and probably three-quarters to drunk at the bar next door, that meant it could only be his son in there.

Time to put up or shut up.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, head home,” she instructed, fluffing her hair and slicking a coat of Racy Red on her lips, then tucking the tube into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

Before they could launch into warnings, cautions or any more stupid arguments, Genna hurried off. Her sandals made slapping sounds all the way to the garage like some kind of early-warning seduction device. She shot a quick glance back at her nervously huddled friends, then figuring that warning Brody wouldn’t serve her plans, she slipped off her shoes.

Barefoot, she tiptoed up the last few feet of sidewalk and carefully peeked around the open doorway.

And there he was. Brody Lane, in all his bare-chested glory. Black hair, as stick-straight as her own, fell across his eyes as he bent over the Harley. Facing away from her, she had the perfect view of his denim-clad butt. And oh, what a butt it was. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to run her hands down the hard planes of his back, glowing gold in the poor garage lighting. Then she wanted to curl her fingers over those biceps. Rock-hard arms were so sexy in a guy, she decided then and there.

Genna fanned herself. Because, oh, baby, he was sizzling.

She took a deep breath, hoping it did intriguing things to her form. When a girl wasn’t blessed with a whole lot on top, she learned these little tricks.

Then she stepped through the doorway.

She knew it was impossible given the distance, but she swore she heard a chorus of gasps from her friends. Not looking back, she stepped over the threshold, leaning her shoulder against the door frame; she rested one hand on her hip in a seductive pose she’d seen in a magazine.

And waited.

Nothing.

Genna rolled her eyes. Even when he didn’t know she was there, he ignored her. This definitely had to change.

“Hey, Brody,” she called out, relieved when her voice only shook a little. “How’re you doing?”

His body went still; his head turned. His eyes, golden-brown like a cat’s, narrowed.

Slowly, like a dream, he straightened away from the bike, the light glinting off that sleek golden skin. So, so much skin. Her gaze traveled from the broad stretch of his shoulders down his tapered waist to his jeans, slung low and loose on his hips.

Her mouth went dry. Oh, wow.

“Genna?” He cast a glance behind her, then back with an arched brow. “Joe isn’t here.”

She knew that. After the third screaming match with their father that week, her brother had torn off on his motorcycle before dinner, heading for the highway. To see one of his girls, Genna figured. Leaving the way clear for her to pay a visit to his best friend.

“I’m not here to see Joe.”

Not the answer he’d been expecting, if his frown was anything to go by.

“Then what’s up?” he asked, grabbing a rag and sliding the wrench through it before placing the tool in its spot in the big red toolbox. The area around him was as an oasis of tidy organization compared with the chaos of the rest of the garage. His space versus his dad’s, Genna figured.

At her continued silence, he took a step closer, then stopped. She almost pouted. It was as if he’d heard a signal warning that she was there for something naughty.

“You have a problem with your BMW?” Frowning now, he gave her a quick once-over. Not in a sexy way, more as though he was worried she was hurt.

Genna’s heart sighed. Wasn’t he sweet?

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, having to clear her throat after pushing the words through a mouth as dry as the Mojave. “So how’re you doing? Is something wrong with your bike?”

It was all she could do not to wince at her own inanity. Seriously, Genna? That’s the best you can come up with? She gave herself a mental slap upside the head as if it’d knock her back to normal. Normal Genna had no problem talking. And she’d spent the last three months practicing her flirting skills for an opportunity like this.

One where it was just her and Brody. Alone. Together.

Time to put all that practice to good use.

“You came to ask about my bike?”

“I came to visit with you,” she corrected, taking another one of those deep breaths. His gaze didn’t drop to her chest, though, so she let it out. No point hyperventilating. It wasn’t going to make her breasts any bigger.

“Why?”

“Why not? You’re a friend of my brother’s. You’re over at our place all the time.” An exaggeration, since he’d been over maybe three times in the last year. Sheriff Reilly didn’t care for troublemakers on his property. But that was beside the point. “You never visit with me, though. I figure it’s because Joe’s such an attention hog. My mom says he takes the title ‘son’ in the wrong way, figuring the whole universe revolves around him.”

She grinned, waiting for him to join her. When he just stared, those gold eyes intent and cautious, she dimmed the smile a little. Obviously friendliness wasn’t something he was overly familiar with. No point scaring him.

“And tonight I was out and about, and saw a light on.” She gestured to the bulb swinging overhead with its halo of moths. “Since Joe’s not around, I figured why not stop by and say hi.”

“If Joe were here, you wouldn’t have bothered?” He looked around, then spying the portable phone, grabbed it. To call her brother?

Genna’s lips twitched. Wasn’t he the gentleman? That’s what was so fascinating about him, though. He didn’t play the games boys her age did. From what she could tell, he didn’t play games at all.

“Do you ever smile?” She wanted to see those lips turn upward and his gaze light up almost as much as she wanted to feel his mouth on hers and his eyes filled with desire.

He didn’t respond. Just tucked his phone into his back pocket, crossed his arms over that sexy chest and stared.

“You gonna tell me why you’re here? You lose a bet or something?”

Won a dare. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll tell you as soon as you smile,” she teased, stepping farther into the garage. She was hit with the scent of hot concrete, metal and oil she associated with car repair, and something else. Something earthy and appealing.

Soap. And man. Her belly quivered and her thighs trembled.

“Genna.”

The sound of her name on his lips sent shivers through her, eliminating every niggling doubt or cautionary concern.

Leaving only excitement and desire.

“Actually, I’m here to seduce you,” she blurted out. As if her words were gasoline on a fire, the already sultry air flared even hotter.

Good.

She was ready to get hot and wild.

* * *

SHIT.

Brody Lane had been in trouble plenty of times in his life. So many, it’d be easier to count the times he hadn’t been in trouble.

But he’d never been as screwed as he was right now.

He was smart enough to know that.

What he wasn’t was smart enough to know how to get himself out of it.

Genna Reilly.

Sugar-sweet and wickedly exotic.

The popular, preppy princess who got good grades, cheered at games and helped old ladies across the street.

About as opposite Brody’s type as an eighty-year-old nun.

And the star of four out of five of his sexual fantasies.

A problem considering that at the tender age of seventeen, she was pure jailbait.

And so off-limits, she should be wrapped in barbed wire and sporting an alarm button.

Nobody messed with Sheriff Reilly’s little girl.

Nobody.

And nobody’d have to be a total dumbass to not only cross that line, but to mess with Joe Reilly’s little sister. The sheriff was a mean son of a bitch, but Joe was meaner. He didn’t believe in letting a silly thing like the law get in his way.

Joe’s mean side rarely bothered Brody.

Unless he was facing the possibility of having all that mean aimed his way.

Smart thinking said shoo Genna right back out of his garage and out to the very edges of his life again. The edge where she only showed up on the opposite side of the street from time to time. And in his hot, sweaty dreams every night.

“Are you gonna offer me a beer?” she asked, tilting her head toward the six-pack minus one he’d left in the cooler.

“You’re underage.”

Eyes rounded in amusement, she gestured to the one he’d cracked open an hour ago, then forgot about after one swig.

“Pot, meet kettle?”

Brody’s lips twitched. Damn, she had a smart mouth.

A very sexy, pouty-lipped smart mouth.

One he spent way too much time fantasizing over.

One he’d worked damned hard to ignore.

“I’m not aiding and abetting underage drinking,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t mind the hypocrite label. He’d sported worse. And he didn’t think Genna, with any fewer inhibitions than she had already, was good for his peace of mind.

“So why are you here again?” he asked with his darkest glower. “Because we both know you’re not the seducing kind.”

He wanted to shove her out the door. Except that’d require touching her. So maybe he could mean her out instead. It always worked for his old man. The guy opened his nasty mouth and cleared a room in less than a minute.

“Why am I here?” she repeated, clearly buying time as she wet her lips and took a nervous breath. The move sent the ruffles of her halter fluttering in a way Brody had no business noticing. “I’m here because of a dare.”

Figured. Brody crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re here to use me?”

Her lower lip dropped, then jutted out in a pout. He didn’t figure she had the experience to realize just how freaking sexy that move was.

He did, though.

His rapidly hardening dick echoed its agreement.

“I wouldn’t use you.”

“No? So you came in here to talk to the bad boy of Bedford because you were craving my scintillating conversation?”

She started to giggle, then pressed her lips together, her face so amused she looked as if she were going to burst at any second.

“What?” he prodded with a growl.

“You said scintillating.”

“Yeah? So? I know how to read, too.” Damn, he hated this town. Everyone—even the sexy wannabe seductress in front of him—thought they had him so figured out. Labeled and dismissed, they never looked past his last name.

Hell, Genna’s own brother, Joe, was way worse than Brody when it came to trouble. But people looked at his Harley, a brand-new, off-the-showroom-floor graduation gift, and smiled. They looked at Brody’s, bought after years of scrubbing dishes in the back of the bar, pumping gas and wrenching at Lou’s Garage, and saw trouble.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you were stupid,” Genna said with honest bluntness, her expression somewhere between indignant and horrified. “I just think it’s a funny word.”

“Right.”

“I do. Like grandiose.” Brody grinned at the way she seemed to relish the word, drawing it out in a tone worthy of a royal princess.

“You like things really big?” he mused before he could stop himself.

Her eyes lit, the worry leaving her face and her smile returning like a ray of sunlight. It made him want to smile back. Almost.

“Participle?” She offered the word like a hostess offering a drink. As if inviting him to indulge.

“Does it dangle?”

Her laugh gurgled out, about the lightest, happiest sound to ever ring through this murky garage.

Brody couldn’t help himself. He grinned. He just had to.

“You’re cute,” she decided, still smiling.

“Yeah?” He’d never been called cute before. Any number of other four-letter words, but not that one.

“Yeah,” she said, stepping closer. Too close. Her scent wrapped around him, light and tasty, like the daiquiris he mixed in the bar on nights his old man passed out before closing.

Brody’s smile disappeared.

Shit. She thought they were having a conversation.

He should have stuck to grumpy and silent.

“You need to leave.”

Please.

“I don’t think so,” she murmured, her words so quiet they were a whisper on the heavy night air.

He could actually feel his brains start to slip away. Bad news, since he needed them. They were there to remind him to stay away from her. To caution him to keep his hands to himself. To warn him about those male relatives of hers. The ones he was supposed to watch out for. Whatever the hell their names were.

But she was close enough now for him to see the band of midnight encircling her pupils, all the more vivid against the pale blue of her irises.

“You really need to go.” Desperate, he reached out to move her aside. Because if she wasn’t leaving, he was.

But the minute he touched her, all thought of either one of them leaving fled. His fingers curled over the smooth, deliciously soft skin of her upper arms. She was so slender, but he could feel the muscles there. She was so warm, he felt like a tiny piece of him, forever frozen, was melting in his chest.

It was terrifying.

Those fascinating eyes huge and locked on his, she reached out to trail her fingers over his chest. Her touch was so soft and tentative, as if she were petting a wild animal. Or a rabid dog.

Brody wondered if he bared his teeth and growled, would she run?

He should try it.

But those fingers had shorted out his ability to think.

It was as if she’d reached in and flipped the last switch.

Brain, off.

Dick, on.

When she leaned closer, he realized she was the perfect height.

She fit perfectly against his body, her slender curves hitting all his favorite spots.

Her mouth was right there. Waiting.

He dropped his gaze, noting the slight quiver in the full, red cushion of her lower lip. He met her eyes again. No nerves there. Just heat. Pure, hot, intense.

Insistent.

“Kiss me.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Sure it is,” she agreed, her gaze not leaving his as she leaned in, closing those last few infinitesimal inches between them. Her breath warmed his mouth just before she brushed the slightest whisper of a kiss against his lips.

“So be bad.”

2

GENNA’S ENTIRE BODY was quivering. Nerves. Excitement. Desire. She couldn’t tell which was which. Just knew they were all there.

She stared up at Brody, her entire being engulfed by his presence. Everything was brighter. Stronger. Bigger.

The overhead light glinted blue in the vivid black of his hair as it fell over his forehead, stick-straight strands hanging in his golden-brown eyes.

Her heart beat so hard against her chest she was surprised it didn’t jump right out and glom on to him. She wanted him so much. Breathing deeply, she filled her lungs with his scent. Clean like soap, but earthy. All male. All man.

Her lips trembled so much, she wanted to bite down to keep them still. But she was afraid that might discourage him from taking her be bad suggestion.

She really wanted him to be bad.

She needed him to take over. Because that kiss, that tiny little brush of her lips, that was about the extent of her experience.

“Please,” she whispered.

Ah, there it was. The magic word. Brody closed his eyes as if in prayer. When he opened them, the caution was gone. Instead, he was looking at her as though he was starving. As though he was the big bad wolf, and she was a delicious treat.

His gaze locked on hers, demanding that she watch him kiss her.

His lips were so soft. Tension she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge seeped away as they rubbed over hers. Angling this way, shaping her mouth that way. So wonderful.

Then his tongue slid over the seam of her lips. Wet heat.

Oops, there came that tension again. And it’d brought a whole slew of wickedly enticing feelings with it. They whipped through her body, making her knees weak. Her heart race. And her panties damp.

His lips were just a whisper against hers. Still soft as he seemed to be memorizing the shape of her mouth with his tongue. He was touching only her shoulders, his hands so light she could barely feel them.

But the look in his eyes was so intense, so demanding, that she shivered. It was as if he were promising that she’d have to strip naked and share her every naughty secret. That she do all sorts of things she’d only heard in whispers, read in her favorite romance novels and sneaked peeks at on the internet.

She’d never realized that fear had a sexy edge. That the aching physical lure of it could beckon, even as her mind cautioned her that this kiss, this man, and whatever was coming next, were way, way out of her league.

Then, as if he couldn’t stand the teasing any longer, his tongue swept into her mouth and, thankfully, his eyes closed. Releasing her.

He tasted so good. His tongue was pure power as it slid along hers, teaching her how he wanted her to respond.

Genna moaned, her stomach feeling as if she’d just taken a dive on a roller coaster.

Relieved, she closed her own eyes, concentrating instead on the clamoring of sensations spinning through her body. It was easier this way. It felt safer. As though she could just let go and not worry about what might happen next.

Her hands trailed, whisper-soft, over his chest. He was so hard, muscled but not bulky. Her fingers found a scar, long and rigid. As she wrapped her arms low around his back, she discovered a few more. She wanted to kiss them, every single one. To wish away the hurts she knew he’d suffered. She wanted to make him happy. To make him feel so good, he’d forget about all the bad he’d ever felt.

As if hearing her wish, her fingers—and she swore it was of their own volition—skimmed the waistband of his jeans. The fabric was soft. Worn. And so easy to slip her hand beneath.

His breath caught, the action pressing his hard chest against her aching nipples. He groaned, a low rumble against her mouth, before pulling away.

She wasn’t sure, since her blood was pounding too hard for her to hear, but she thought she whimpered.

“No.”

“Yes,” she whispered back. She wanted to smile, to marshal together a clever argument that’d convince him that this was a good idea. But deep inside, beneath the crush that was driving her past reason, she knew it really wasn’t. Just as she knew he wasn’t going to listen to a thing she said.

Which left only one option for getting her way.

And that was physical.

More nervous than before her driving test, her SATs and opening her letter from Stanford combined, Genna took a deep breath to calm the dragons dancing in her stomach and leaned back a little. Not enough to put any real distance between her and Brody. Definitely not enough to give him the silly idea that they might be done here. But enough for her to reach up, sliding her hands under the heavy curtain of her hair. Her fingers quickly picked apart the bow tying her halter behind her neck.

His eyes wide and worried, Brody shook his head as if he could deny what she was about to do. But he didn’t stop her. Instead, his gaze dropped, watching first her hands, and then the fabric of her blouse, drop to her waist.

Genna bit her lip to stop their trembling.

And waited.

His eyes weren’t worried now. They were hot. Hot and intense and greedy.

His lids lowered, but didn’t hide the sensual gleam. She could see the pulse beating, fast and furious, in his throat. He looked as if he could eat her up in one big, juicy bite.

So why didn’t he?

She’d heard that sexual frustration was a bad thing, but she didn’t think it was supposed to come with a big fat dose of anger.

Wasn’t he supposed to do something? Be so overcome by lust that he grabbed her and took all the choices and moves and decisions out of her hands? That’s how it happened in all the books. Clearly, he needed to read more.

“If you don’t do something, I’m gonna kick you,” she told him through gritted teeth.

“Baby, this is wrong.”

Genna melted. The way he said baby, sort of low and growly, was so sexy and sweet.

“Then show me how to do it right.”

He gave a laughing sort of groan. It was the first time she’d seen him laugh, she realized. The first time she’d been close enough to watch how it made his eyes light, his face look younger. Softer.

Sweeter.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it to her bare breast. His palm was like fire on her skin. Her nipple tightened to an aching point, shooting a swirling shaft of desire straight down to settle between her thighs.

His pupils were so big, they made his eyes look pitch-black. His face was sharp in the shadows. She swallowed hard, wanting to ask if it felt as good to him as it did to her, but afraid to say a word.

Then he stepped closer. His body, hot and damp in the sultry night air, heated hers. A bead of sweat trickled down Genna’s spine.

Eyes huge, nervous, she watched and waited.

As if he was moving in slow motion, Brody leaned forward, his hair sweeping down to curtain his face in black silk. It was so soft as it slid against her skin. Then he took her nipple into his mouth.

Hot and wet.

His lips brushed, his tongue swirled. Then he scraped the edge of his teeth over the aching bud.

Genna cried out, her fingers clutching his shoulders.

Brody sucked harder, his long, sure fingers pressed against the seam of her jeans. Need unlike anything she’d ever felt, more than anything she’d ever imagined, gripped her. Not sure what she was doing, how to quench the tightening demand of her body, Genna swiveled her hips in slow circles against his hand. Her fingers dug into the waistband of his jeans. Then, desperate to feel him, even as she hoped he’d take it as a hint to do the same, she unsnapped his jeans.

Lightning fast, Brody’s hand grabbed hers and his head shot up.

It was like being speared by gold light, his eyes were so fierce. Nerves joined desire to swirl in an uncomfortable dance in her belly.

Genna bit her lip, waiting.

Was he going to stop?

Did she want him to?

Before she could decide, before she could even identify all the feelings bombarding her, he swept her into his arms.

Oh, God. Genna melted, body, heart and all, as he carried her three steps to an old bench-style car seat leaning against the wall.

It was so romantic.

They fell together onto the ratty black surface, with her on Brody’s lap. He immediately rolled so she was underneath him. His mouth took hers again. This time it was harder. More demanding. He wouldn’t let her play passive. He wanted everything she had to offer.

As soon as her tongue ventured out, sliding into his mouth, he rewarded her by cupping his hand over her bare breast again.

She flew higher. His fingers plucked at her nipple. She swirled, stars crowding the edges of her vision. She mewed in protest when his hand left her breast, then purred as it cruised down to her jeans. Her heart stopped, waiting for him to unsnap the denim.

He slipped right past the zipper though, again, pressing tight against her aching core through her pants. The heel of his hand rotated and his nails scraped.

Breath ragged, Genna tried to figure out what was happening to her body. It kept getting tighter and tighter, curling around and around, spinning out of control.

His mouth, so hot and wet on her nipple, moved away. She gasped when he blew on the wet flesh. Then he bit down.

And she exploded.

Lights flashed behind her eyes. Her pants were whimpers now. Her body on fire. She arched against his hand, wanting more. Needing more. Her thighs pulsated, the flesh between them throbbing.

“More,” she murmured as she floated back to earth.

She slid her fingers into his hair, scooping it back off his face. He looked like one of those fallen angels. Too gorgeous to be real, too tempting to resist.

“I want more,” she said again. “I want everything.”

Brody looked as if he was at war with himself.

Before she could find out which side won, though, there was a loud racket by the door.

“Lane? Brody Lane? You here?”

Genna jumped so high, she was pretty sure she bruised her ass when she landed.

Passion fled so fast, it was as if it’d never existed. Panic gripped her belly in a greasy, vicious twist, making her want to whimper. She didn’t have to look toward the door to know who was yelling. She’d heard that voice every day of her life.

Ohmygod. She was so dead.

They were off in the corner, out of view of the door. Were they hidden enough? Maybe if they didn’t move, he’d go away.

Her eyes, wide and blurred by a haze of terror, met Brody’s. His face, so soft and sweet and passionate only moments before, was like granite now. His lips pressed tight, his eyes chips of gold. He looked scary. As though he was taking that threat seriously and about to go to battle for his life.

Genna wanted to reassure him, to say it’d all be okay. That this wasn’t going to be as bad as whatever he was imagining. But she was a lousy liar.

And that hadn’t been an idle threat.

And she was pretty sure whatever he was imagining had nothing on the reality.

’Cause they were seriously dead.

When the knots in her stomach did a sickening lurch from side to side, she closed her eyes and breathed through clenched teeth and prayed she wouldn’t puke all over Brody. Not that he was ever going to want to talk to her again after this. But still, that’s hardly the last impression a girl wanted to make on the guy who’d given her her first orgasm just before her father killed him.

Maybe if they stayed here, didn’t move, it’d all go away. Like the bad dreams she still had every once in a while. She just lay there, eyes closed, and waited.

The silence was broken by the sound of a shotgun chambering a round.

Genna gulped.

Waiting was probably out of the question.

Clearly in agreement with her brilliant assessment, Brody shifted. He didn’t wait for her to pull up her top, instead yanking the halter so high she was afraid it’d end up tied around her mouth.

Taking her cue, she reached behind her and tried, three times, to tie it. Finally she managed some sort of knot that included a lot of her hair and a broken fingernail.

As soon as her fingers cleared the knot, he stood. If she’d had a voice, she’d protest his hurry. Didn’t the guy know it was always better to put off ugly confrontations?

Genna stared at the hand he held out. The long fingers that, only minutes ago, had been teaching her what pleasure really was. At his impatient look, she grimaced and took his hand. He pulled so hard, she almost flew to her feet.

Midflight, she got a look at her father standing in the doorway.

Holy hell.

She tried to swallow, but couldn’t get any spit past the knot of terror in her throat.

Her entire body started shaking, but this time she knew it was pure fear. Knowing it was insane to touch Brody, but needing the support all the same because her knees had just turned to water, she gripped the back of his jeans, the fabric still slack thanks to her quick work with his zipper.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, not at all sure he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

* * *

FOR JUST A BRIEF, blissful few minutes, Brody had come as close to happy as he’d ever been in his life. Heaven couldn’t feel as good as Genna Reilly did in his arms. And heaven, like Genna, was obviously not available to guys like him.

He should have known better. Hell, he had known better. Brody had to wonder when he’d finally learn. Anytime something looked too good to be true, it was. And a girl like Genna, she was not only too good to be true, she was so far off-limits that he was only surprised her cop father hadn’t shown up earlier. The guy had to have a warning alarm planted on her somewhere. Brody just wasn’t sure what’d triggered it. His hands on her body, or his lips on her mouth.

And it totally pissed him off that he considered both worth whatever price he was about to pay.

Teeth clenched, he eyed the shotgun. It was gonna be one helluva price, too.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Sheriff Reilly growled, fury radiating off the guy in waves.

Brody braced, feet planted firm and fists loose at his side. His body was wired tight, ready to dive to either side. He’d spent most of his life facing one attack or another. He figured at least he’d earned this one.

He didn’t wait long. The sheriff was on him in a flash. The guy was a lot faster, and in better shape, than Brody’s old man. They flew backward, trapping Brody against the wall right next to where Genna had stripped down and blown his mind.

“Daddy!” Genna jumped forward, grabbing on to her father’s arm and tugging. She was a tall girl, but as slight as a wish and no match for her muscular father when he shook her off. She fell backward, stumbling over Brody’s bike and sending the Harley crashing to the floor. It barely slowed her down, though. She was back and grabbing on her father, tugging and demanding that he let Brody go.

Apparently unable to effectively threaten and deal with his daughter at the same time, the sheriff spun with a roar, grabbed his daughter by the shoulder, swept the shotgun off the floor where he’d thrown it before his dive. He shoved Genna toward the door.

“Get the hell in the car, Genna Yvonne. Now. I’ll deal with you later.”

“You’re not going to hurt Brody. You can’t. He didn’t do anything.” Tears soaked her cheeks, but Genna didn’t budge from her position between her father and Brody.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m going to do,” her father growled, his face contorted in fury.

The cop raised his fist in the same move he’d pulled on Brody. Would he follow through? Rumor was that Genna was a pampered princess. Joe would have gladly outed his old man if the guy hit her.

Still...

“Don’t.”

That’s all Brody said. He wasn’t getting in the middle of family drama. He’d spent enough time in his own to know that bystanders were safer on the sidelines, and participants never appreciated interference. But he’d be damned if the guy was gonna get violent with Genna. Not in front of Brody, not later in private, not ever.

“Shut your mouth and sit down, Lane,” the sheriff barked, confirming Brody’s take on bystander interference. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“There’s nothing to deal with. I didn’t break any laws, you have no reasonable cause to be here and this is private property,” Brody pointed out quietly.

“You were in here with my daughter.”

“When did a kiss become illegal?”

“When she’s my daughter,” Reilly growled, lunging again. Brody grimaced, knowing this time the guy was going for more than intimidation.

“Daddy! Stop or I’ll call 911.”

Genna’s horrified cry was like a bucket of water over the man’s head. It only took a blink for the rage to clear from his eyes and the cop-face to fall back into place. Brody didn’t take a lot of comfort from that. He’d been kicked around plenty by cops wearing that same neutral look. But he wasn’t worried about getting shot any longer.

“You touched my daughter.”

Expressionless, Brody returned the dead-eyed stare, but didn’t say anything. Why bother? The sheriff had walked in on them together. Lying was pointless and admitting it was probably admissible in the ass-kicking court the guy was convening.

The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up to the point that even Brody was shifting uncomfortably. He hated inaction. Kick his ass or get the hell out already. He managed—barely—to keep that suggestion to himself, though.

Finally, Reilly gave a grunt. He shouldered the shotgun, took his cuffs from his belt and gestured with his chin for Brody to turn around.

“You arresting me?”

Reilly’s gaze shifted from Brody to Genna, then to the bottle of beer on the workbench.

“We’ll discuss it.” He lifted his hands, the cuffs dangling from one finger. “Turn around.”

More intimidation. He had nothing. The beer was warm enough by now that it could have been Brian’s, left there before the old man had gone to work his shift in the bar. Getting hot and heavy with Genna was stupid, but not a criminal offense. Fine. Brody sighed, then turned around. Let the guy cuff him and play hard-ass.

“Dad—”

“You say another word and it’ll be on his tab,” Reilly warned Genna, his icy glare making it clear the bill was already more than Brody could afford.

Whatever.

“Let it go,” Brody murmured. Not that he expected her to take his advice. Hell, they didn’t even know each other. But there was no point in her making it worse for either of them. Let it go and move on, was Brody’s motto.

“I’ll be right back,” the man promised, giving the cuffs a smack that ricocheted painfully through Brody’s arms.

“I’ll be here.”

Shifting his shoulders, trying to find an angle that didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch since the guy had hooked the cuffs around the steel grip on a huge toolbox. To, what? Keep him from running away? Brody silently cussed up a storm and watched Reilly drag his daughter out of the garage.

The last sight Brody had of Genna was the tear-filled apology in those big blue eyes.

Damn, she was pretty.

He should regret it.

She wasn’t his type, and she came with an insanely high price tag.

But the sweet taste of Genna was still on his lips. His fingers still tingled with the memory of her silky skin, the soft weight of her hair. Yeah. She was a mistake. But, even as he shifted again trying to ease the pressure on his shoulders, he couldn’t regret making it.

“Took your time,” he snapped when Sheriff Reilly sauntered back into the garage. Thankfully without the shotgun this time. He didn’t look any happier, though.

“You in a hurry?”

“I have things to do.” More importantly, he’d like to get this over before the old man was off shift. Nothing pissed him off more than hearing Brody had been in yet another scrape with the law.

“You’re gonna have to reschedule.”

“Why? You’re seriously hauling me in?” Brody wanted to laugh. Another black mark on his record wasn’t going hurt, but it was gonna irritate. Worse, it was going to disappoint his gramma. And he’d been trying hard the last few years to stop doing that. Irene Lane had this crazy belief that Brody could build a good life. Could be the kind of guy she could tell her friends about, could brag on and be proud of.

“I figure there’s only one answer to this little problem you’ve presented me with tonight.”

His expression bored, Brody arched one brow in question.

“You’ll have to leave Bedford.”

Hell, yeah. It was like the guy had poked into Brody’s brain and picked out his secret dream. Still...

“You can’t kick me out of town.”

“Boy, I can do whatever I damned well please.”

Brody considered a testament to his control that he didn’t roll his eyes. Because they both knew the guy was claiming powers he didn’t have.

“Let’s see. I’ve got you on underage drinking. Driving on a suspended. That fight last week with the Kinski boys, I’ll bet they’d file charges if pressed. I can call that aggravated assault. Your bike has modified pipes, violating the sound laws.” He went on reciting his list of minor offenses, boring the hell out of Brody. Was that the best he had?

Clearly reading his disdain, the sheriff shifted gears.

“You’re a bad influence on Joe, and I know you’re both involved in gang activity. I can make your life hell figuring out which gang, and what you’re doing. Or I can put the word out that you’re playing nice with me and let the gangs take care of you.”

That caused a twinge, but Brody shrugged it off. He was clean and gang-free, but his friend wasn’t. Still, Joe was a big boy. He knew what he was getting into.

“So that’s all you got?” Brody asked, his laugh just this side of a sneer. “A handful of petty offenses and a few threats?”

Reilly stared. Just stared. For so long, Brody’s neck itched and he wanted to squirm.

“Son, you’re getting the hell out of here one way or another.

Hell yeah, he was. He’d spent the last four years saving up, cleaning up and getting his act together so he could see the end of Bedford.

Three more months.

That’s all he needed to have enough cash to pay back the last of what his gramma had spent bailing him out of juvie, paying a lawyer to seal his records and covering his hospital bills. She’d mortgaged her house for him, and when he’d promised to pay it off himself, she’d doubled down with guilt, demanding he stay in town until it was paid. Her way, he knew, of watching over him as long as she could. She’d tried to get him to move in with her, but they both knew that was a bad idea. The few times he’d lived with her, Brian inevitably showed up, remembered he had a mother who might have some money and happily pounded on both of them. So Brody made a point to do as little as possible to remind the old man of Irene’s existence.

But he hadn’t been able to ignore her plea that he stay in town. The minute his slate was clean, he was outta there.

And never coming back.

“I’ll be gone soon enough,” Brody said. Then, pissed that he sounded weak, as if he were giving in to cop intimidation, he pulled out his best sneer. “You don’t have to worry about your pretty little girl. I promise I’ll keep my hands off her between now and then. No guarantees that she’ll reciprocate, though.”

Brody instantly regretted his words. He had no issue taunting the cop. But waving Genna around like that was cheap. Wrong.

And clearly the equivalent of a red flag in front of a charging bull.

Sheriff Reilly went from calm cop to furious father in an instant. His eyes, the same blue as Genna’s, Brody realized with an audible gulp, narrowed into slits. His fists clenched, then as if making sure he hadn’t broken any of his own bones, he slowly flexed his fingers before wrapping one hand over the butt of his gun. The sound of the release tab loosening was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Loud, painful and threatening.

Brody had spent the first half of his life a punching bag, the convenient focal point for every frustration, irritation or random violent thought his old man had entertained. He’d spent two idiotic years on the streets, honing his fighting skills and learning just how viciously painful a knife in the gut was.

But he’d never been scared for his life the way he was now.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said with his usual cocky assurance, even though he was nothing but. “You’re not gonna risk your badge, or your self-respect, breaking those laws you love so much.”

At least, Brody hoped he wasn’t. Because Sheriff Reilly looked furious enough to kick his ass inside out, then rip the pieces to shreds.

And then the guy pulled it all in. Brody had to admire that, the way he could control all that fury, channel his emotions. It was seriously impressive. And not because it meant Brody wasn’t gonna get beat up.

“As I see it, I have a couple choices,” the sheriff mused in a cool tone. “I can do just what you said, and accept the results of those risks. Or I can make sure you get outta here.”

“And I have no choice in leaving?”

“Actually, you do have a choice. You can choose army or navy. But that’s about as much say as you’re gonna get in this.”

Brody laughed. There wasn’t a damned thing funny in the sheriff’s expression, but that had to be a joke. The guy could toss him in jail; he could probably get away with kicking his ass. But he couldn’t force him to join the military.

“I’m not soldier material.”

The sheriff smiled his agreement. “You’re gonna be.”

“Or?”

Reilly nodded, clearly pleased that Brody saw the reality. This was definitely an either-or situation.

“Or I haul your ass in on statutory rape charges. Genna’s seventeen.”

“We didn’t—” Brody bit the words off, not about to share details of just what they had and hadn’t done. “I didn’t rape your daughter.”

“Legal semantics,” Reilly mused. “Statutory rape might not denote force, but that word, it’s a lightning rod. And a case like this, the town bad boy and a straight-A student, a vulnerable girl whose life is now ruined? That’ll make the news. Throw in your record, your rumored gang affiliation? I’ll bet this goes national. Won’t that be interesting? All that attention here on Bedford. Bet your gramma will be bursting with pride. She got anything left to sell off to pay legal fees?”

Brody swore a blue streak, yanking out every cussword and vile epithet he knew. The cop didn’t blink.

By most accounts, Sheriff Reilly was a fair cop. He cozied up tight to the letter of the law and prided himself on his position in town. But Joe had said more than once that his old man was a prick who cared more about appearances, about that precious rep of his, than he did his family. That he’d do anything to keep their reputation as shiny bright as he did his badge.

But Brody couldn’t believe that included punishing his daughter with public humiliation.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe it.

But shock didn’t blunt his anger. He’d done a lot of shit in his life that probably deserved punishment. But not tonight. Not like this.

His gramma didn’t hold out a lot of hope that her family would meet any decent standards. But having her grandson branded a rapist would pretty much kill her.

Genna would be publicly humiliated, dragged through the drama of a court hearing. She’d have to face reporters and gossips and nastiness in the form of support. Brody had seen plenty of that over the years, the gleeful joy others took in their hypocritical sympathy.

Numb, as if the fury had pounded itself out against his temples, he met Reilly’s eyes. Brody wasn’t a poker player, but he was the product of violence. He knew absolute determination when it stared back at him.

If he didn’t fall in line, he’d pay.

And he was fine with that.

But Genna and Gramma Irene would pay, too.

Trapped, Brody quit struggling against the cuffs. His shoulders sank low and for the first time in his life, he felt defeated.

He vowed then and there that this was the last time he would ever let his dick get him in trouble.

3

The Present

“YOU BLOW MY MIND, DUDE. We’ve been on this aircraft carrier for what? All of a day and you’re already making trouble?”

“Trouble? Dude, that wasn’t trouble. Believe me, I know the difference.” Petty Officer First Class Brody Lane, call sign Bad Ass, dropped to his rack with a grin, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his booted ankles.

“Farm Boy said some wet-behind-the-ears recruit threatened to kick your ass.” Masters gestured to their teammate who’d returned from the poker game a few minutes before Brody.

Their SEAL team had hitched a ride on a navy aircraft carrier on their way back from a training mission. And while they weren’t treated as dignitaries as they crossed the Atlantic, they were given a ten-man berthing area to use instead of having to bunk with the rest of the sailors.

“What’d you do, tell everyone between mess deck and our berth?”

Carter just smiled. Gossiping like an old lady clearly didn’t faze him. With that fresh face of his, it was hard to believe he was a SEAL. Hell, it was hard to believe he was even old enough to serve, let alone two years older than Brody’s twenty-nine.

“It was getting interesting, with the recruit mouthing off. And Bad Ass just sitting there counting his winnings. I thought the kid was gonna dive across the table. Then Bad Ass stood up and the wuss realized he was in serious danger of getting his ass handed to him.”

“He was a NUB, Farm Boy. He didn’t know any better.” Brody had been a NUB, or new useless body, once. Fresh out of boot camp and on his first tour, thinking he was ready to take on anything. Anyone.

That kind of thinking had been forcefully adjusted pretty fast.

“Why are you playing with recruits?” Masters asked.

“I’d already cleaned out the officers,” Brody admitted with a grin.

“Trouble,” Masters muttered again, but he was laughing as he said it.

“We don’t reach port till morning. What was I supposed to do? Sit in here like a good boy reading a book?” And the crew was providing Brody with a fat wad of poker winnings.

Masters snickered, then angled the book to one side. “I wasn’t reading a book. I’m writing home.”

Brody gave a jerk of his shoulder to show it was all the same to him. Truth be told, in his ten years of service he’d read a lot more books than he’d written letters home.

“You settle it or are we gonna be getting company?”

“It’s done. He just didn’t like losing.” Too bad, since Brody liked winning. Not enough to cheat, though. He didn’t need to. He was damned good. Something he made a point of being, with anything he cared about. Thankfully, that list was pretty short, so he wasn’t spreading himself too thin.

“Mail call.”

“You get demoted to mailman?” Brody grinned at Lieutenant Blake Landon. As officers went, the guy was all G.I. As friends went, Blake was aces.

“Nah, I came to make sure you weren’t hiding a body.”

“Did you have to tell everybody?” Brody gave Carter an exasperated look.

“I heard one of the seamen talking about a hosing some booter got in a poker game and how he was schooled by some visiting badass.”

“And used mail delivery as an excuse to come by to make sure I didn’t do more than pull rank?” Brody guessed.

“Maybe I just wanted to see your pretty face,” Blake shot back, dumping a handful of letters on Brody’s cot. “Or find out if you’d lost a bet and had to find yourself some pen pals. You’re not known for your communication skills, pal.”

“Snipers don’t have to do a whole lot of socializing.”

“Good thing. ’Cause you suck at it.”

True. Probably another reason that Brody almost never got mail. He didn’t do relationships. Oh, the occasional weekend fling or a few dates, but no woman had been able to hold his interest longer than a leave lasted. Definitely not long enough to reach the letter-sending stage. Sure, his gramma sent a letter and cookies every month, something that still made him squirm a little. But nobody else wrote. Hell, everyone else he knew was navy. His team here on the ship, or his platoon back in Coronado.

He snatched up the letters, all four of them, and glanced at the package. Yep, cookies from Irene. He tossed her letter on top of the box to read later and thumbed through the others. His brow creased. They all had Bedford return addresses. Two he recognized.

“Letters from home?”

Brody lifted the two while frowning at the third. “Guys I used to run with. I didn’t know they could write.”

“And that one?” Blake asked, poking his finger toward the last, the one with the flowing feminine writing. “Girlfriend?”

“From Bedford?” Brody’s laugh held no humor. “Hardly.”

No need to say more than that. Once, on a drunken bender, Brody had shared the details of his first hitch in the navy with Blake. Since the lieutenant had about the same love for his hometown and the people there, he’d gotten it.

Blake, ever the Boy Scout, didn’t push the uncomfortable subject. Instead, he thumped his knuckles on the box he’d delivered.

“You bringing the cookies to Friday’s poker game?” he asked, referring to their monthly game whenever they were on base in Coronado.

“Without a doubt,” Brody confirmed. Irene’s snickerdoodles were worth a buck apiece; her macadamia white chocolate anted up for five. And her fudge brownies? Those babies were pure gold.

Blake handed the other guys their much bigger bundles of mail and, after warning Brody to stay out of trouble, left them to enjoy their letters from home.

And Brody to stare at his.

The only woman who’d ever written him was his grandmother.

Not because he avoided women. But letter writing was nowhere on the list of things he did with them. Nope, they were a sweeter treat than the box full of cookies sitting on Brody’s pillow. And they lasted about as long, too.

While Masters and Carter ripped through their mail, Brody looked at the envelope again.

Curiosity fought intuition. He wanted to know what woman’d be writing to him. But he had a strong feeling that opening that letter was gonna end up on his already-too-long list of things he regretted.

So he tossed it on his pillow, tearing open the one from Skeet Magee instead. It didn’t take long to skim the page. There were only a handful of sentences.

Shit.

He blew out a heavy breath, hoping it’d relieve some of the pressure suddenly pushing on his chest.

He hated death.

Brody stared at the wall, seeing nothing but a gray blur.

He’d served on dozens of missions in his five years as a SEAL. He’d killed, and he’d watched death. He’d lost buddies and he’d mourned. That was the name of the game. A simple fact every soldier, sailor and military personnel faced.

So why was this hitting him so hard?

Knowing who the third letter was from now, filled with even more reluctance than before, he lifted the slender envelope off his pillow. The soft scent of something flowery filled his senses. Whether it was the paper itself or just a memory, he didn’t know.

Sorta as though he was in a dream, Brody slid his nail under the flap, careful not to tear the writing. Wetting his lips, he took a breath and pulled out the letter.

Dear Brody,

I know it’s been a long time, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear from. But I felt it was important that I write, that I let you know that we’ve lost Joe. He never quite made it out of that self-destructive cycle, and after you left town, he sank deeper into ugly gang activity. He was in San Quentin on robbery charges and got killed last month in a fight.

I know the two of you stayed in touch. I found your letters, a couple of photos, in Joe’s things.

Please, write me back.

It was like being sucked, unwillingly, into a pit of memories. None good, except the ones that involved tasting Genna. Brody didn’t deny his life before the navy. He wasn’t proud of it, but neither was he ashamed.

But Genna was more than just a specter from his past.

He didn’t think about her every day. He didn’t dream about her every night. He wasn’t that big of a sap. But he wasn’t a liar either.

He thought of her.

A lot.

Too much.

In the navy, he’d found his calling. He’d found his pride. He’d found himself.

And in a weird way, he had Genna Reilly to thank for it.

But he couldn’t.

It was easier to keep the door to the past closed. To try not to think about her, or everything that’d led up to his ignominious entry into the navy. Too much.

And now Joe was dead.

And Genna wanted him to write her back.

Why?

What the hell was there to say?

Why’d they have to kick that door open?

All of a sudden, fury like he hadn’t felt in years pounded through him.

“Genius, got something I can write with?”

Masters spun a pad of paper across the room, Frisbee-style. Brody caught the pen that followed, glaring at them both for a second before taking a breath.

He sketched out a short sentence. Then, still riding on a wave of anger he couldn’t explain, he shoved the paper into an envelope, used Genna’s as a reference to address it and licked it closed.

Then, ignoring his cookie ante and the other letters, he headed for the gym to beat the hell out of something. Anything. Sweat, hard work and pushing his physical limits had saved him before. Maybe it would again.

* * *

GENNA REILLY HATED DATING. Seriously hated it. She’d almost be willing to marry the next guy who asked just to never have to date again. Almost.

It wasn’t the interaction that bothered her―she loved people. And it wasn’t that she was anti-relationships. She’d had a few, she’d given them her all. But inevitably they’d left her wondering what was the point. Now, she was just holding out for a great relationship. Her dream relationship. Which didn’t include this “good-night at the door” awkwardness that made her want to scream.

“This was great. I’m glad we finally got to go out,” Stewart said in a hearty tone, one foot forward already prepared to follow her into the house. For what? Coffee? They’d had it with dessert. A second round of dessert on her couch? Ha. Genna didn’t think so.

“Thanks so much for the lovely evening.” Before he could lean in for a kiss, Genna offered her brightest smile and slipped through the screen door, keeping her expression cheerful and giving a little finger wave. After a long second and a flash of irritation, he nodded and turned to go. She waited only until he cleared the bottom step before shutting the door.

Leaning against it, she held her breath and listened for the sound of his car. Too many of the guys she dated seemed to choose this point in the evening to suddenly forget their cell phones and need to make a call, or have a bathroom emergency, or worse, think she needed convincing that the night was so awesome it couldn’t be over yet.

“Fun time?”

Genna pried her lids open to give her temporary roommate a dead-eyed stare.

“Fun? The guy collects troll dolls, Macy.”

The pretty brunette snickered once before plastering a proper look of conciliatory concern on her face. It was hard to hold it with all that newly engaged, soon-to-be-a-bride smugness she was wallowing in, though.

“Troll dolls? Those ugly little things with all the hair? He was probably just joking. C’mon, he’s an attorney with great prospects. I don’t think you’re giving him a chance.”

Genna wrinkled her nose. How much of a chance did a girl have to give? Either the guy made her heart go pitty-pat or he didn’t. And Stewart definitely didn’t. Genna wanted a guy who made her feel special with just a glance. A guy she could count on to be her own true hero. She shouldn’t have to work at it.

“I went out with him, didn’t I?” She dropped onto the couch next to Macy, who was multitasking her way through addressing her wedding invitations, eating a disgusting-looking diet bar and watching reruns of Friends. “I’d have had a better time staying here with you. Lousy food choices and all.”

“Quite a statement, considering how much you love your food.” Macy winked before taking a bite of the dry-looking carob-coated cardboard she claimed was going to slim her down a dress size in three months. “But one date isn’t enough. You need to give guys more of a chance. When’s the last time you went out with someone a second time?”

Genna sighed. First dates were testing grounds. Nobody got hurt if she said no after a first date. But second dates built expectations. Made guys think there was a chance.

“If I know on the first date that I’m not interested, why would I go on a second date? That just leads to hurt feelings.”

“That’s silly,” Macy said dismissively.

“Oh, yeah? I dated Kyle for a year, and when we broke up, he moved away he was so upset. I dated that dentist for two weeks, and when I didn’t accept his invitation to a cruise to Greece, my mother cried for a week. My father pouted all through Christmas when I didn’t go out with his new deputy after a few dates.” Genna threw her hands in the air, as if to say so there.

“But that’s the point. Those were all perfectly nice guys. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t go out with them longer.”

“Because I didn’t feel anything for them,” Genna said, the words tight with frustration. Why didn’t anyone accept that she didn’t want to settle for just any guy? She wanted a special guy.

“But you’re in a rough place right now. Maybe the date wasn’t that bad, you just didn’t want to be there?”

Although delivered in a gentle tone, the words had the blunt force intensity that only two decades of friendship could offer.

“I’m not in a rough place,” Genna denied. “I just wasn’t interested.”

“And your brother was murdered two months ago,” Macy reminded her quietly.

Genna wanted to ask what that had to do with her lousy date. But they both knew it had everything to do with it.

Stewart Davis had moved to town a year ago. Being a lawyer, he’d gotten to know her father fairly well—and had quickly become the answer to Sheriff and Mrs. Reilly’s prayers. The perfect potential son-in-law.

But Genna had repeatedly turned down his invitations, not interested despite everyone’s claims that they’d be perfect for each other. Until two months ago, after Joe’s funeral. He’d asked her out in front of her father, and the way her dad’s eyes had lit up, she hadn’t been able to refuse.

So in addition to disowning his family, causing no end of stress for their parents, stealing her car and putting her in the unwanted position of the favored perfect child, she was laying blame for this date on Joe, too.

Damn him.

She sniffed, wiping a tear off her chin and looking at her fingers blankly. None of those were things to mourn. Why was she crying?

“It’ll get better,” Macy promised with a sympathetic pat on Genna’s knee. “And your next date will be better, too. Maybe give it a week or so. Give yourself time to heal.”

“I don’t want to go out with Stewart again.”

“You should, though.” Macy shrugged off Genna’s glare. “What? It’s only fair. And your dad wants you to, your mom is over the moon at the idea of you dating a lawyer and you need to do whatever you can right now to help them out, to make them happy.”

She paused and took another bite of her carob-coated cardboard, then offered a questioning look, as if daring Genna to deny it.

She wished she could. She felt like all she did was try to make her parents happy. The worse Joe behaved, the harder it hit their parents. The more miserable they were, the better she behaved to try to make up for it. It’d been a vicious circle.

Joe’s first arrest and time in jail had put their mother in the hospital, making Genna give up her plans for Stanford to stay close to home. Joe’s first stint in rehab had been followed by Genna’s quitting her job in San Diego because the hour-and-a-half commute worried her father. By the time Joe had hit prison, she was working the most boringly safe job imaginable to go with her boringly safe life. It wasn’t as if she wanted to jump out of airplanes or hitchhike across the country. But, man, she wished she had a little excitement in her life.

Instead, she’d been this close to being fitted for wings and a halo when Joe had been killed.

Now she didn’t know where she stood. If he was done behaving horribly, didn’t that mean she could ease up on trying to be perfect? Guilt poured through her, sticky and sour, turning her stomach.

“I’m getting something to eat,” Genna said quickly, pushing off the couch as if she could run from her thoughts.

“You have mail on the counter.”

Genna muttered her thanks as she headed straight for the freezer. She pulled out a pint of double-fudge ice cream, then got the milk from the fridge. She grabbed the jar of caramel sauce she’d made the previous week for good measure. Hopefully, it’d be hard to be sad while slurping down a chocolate milk shake with extra caramel.

Waiting for the blender to work its magic, she flipped through her mail with about as much interest as she’d felt in that date. Which was just about zip.

Then she came to a letter with an APO postal cancellation. There was no name, nor an address, so there was no way to know who it was from.

But she did.

Hands shaking, Genna didn’t even notice dropping the rest of the mail on the counter as she held up the letter in both hands. Heart racing, she wet her lips, wanting to open it. Terrified to see what he’d said.

Ten years ago, Brody Lane had shown her an all-too-brief glimpse of awesome. In return, she’d landed him in the navy. She hadn’t known where he’d gone at first. Partly because she’d spent a month on in-house restriction, partly because nobody—not her parents, not anyone in town, nobody—was saying a word. It wasn’t until Joe had gotten out of the county lockup that he’d told her what Brody had done, had sacrificed. Because of her.

She stared at the letter, a little ragged and worn-looking against the soft pink of her manicure. She was the one who’d made this reconnection by writing him. She’d always wanted to. Always wished she’d had the nerve to tell him she was sorry for her part in landing him in the navy. But she’d been afraid. Afraid he’d hated her for it.

He was like the bridge between the two sides of her life. That side, fabulous and fun, filled with possibilities and excitement and wild times. And this side, with its day-in-and-day-out practicality, focused on doing what was smart, what was right, being perfect.

And she was scared that opening the envelope would somehow suck her right back to the other side of the bridge.

And even more terrified at how much she wanted to go there.

Figuring it’d be confetti soon the way she was shaking, she grabbed her brass letter opener, and with a deep breath, slit the envelope open. She gently pulled the thin paper out and, without blinking, unfolded it.

And stared.

Frowned and blinked. Then stared harder.

“Is he kidding?” she asked the empty room in bafflement.

Then she looked at the paper again.

What are you wearing?

What was she wearing?

That was it?

She’d risked family disapproval, her father’s fury, and had sucked up every last bit of nerve she had to write to him. She’d sent horrible news, informing him of the downward spiral and death of a guy who’d once been his best friend.

And this was how he responded?

Grinding her teeth, Genna held the letter out at arm’s length, peering at it again. But the words didn’t change.

What was she freaking wearing?

Jaw set, more alive than she’d felt in forever, she stormed over to the small rolltop desk in the corner and grabbed her stationery box. She yanked out a sheet of paper, ripping it in the process. She snatched up another and let her pen fly across the page.

She’d show him.

* * *

A teeny, tiny nightie the same shade as your Harley. You remember the Harley, don’t you? Midnight-blue, so pretty it glowed. I used to dream you’d take me for a ride on that bike. In my dreams, I always thanked you by taking you for a ride in return. I could do that, in this little nightie....

BRODY READ THE letter for the fifth time, still not believing what it said. She was trying to kill him. That had to be it. Somehow, she knew this time he was floating in a submarine in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with a crew of men.

He looked at the letter again and nodded. Yeah. She was getting revenge for something. Maybe she was pissed that he’d made her scream with pleasure, then hadn’t called the next morning. Girls were weird like that, even when the not-calling excuse was being shanghaied into the navy.

Brody realized he was grinning.

How far could he push her? How far was she willing to go?

He grabbed a piece of paper and pen.

Might as well find out.

* * *

“DID THE MAIL COME?” Genna asked as soon as she cleared the front door, her arms filled with grocery bags, her purse and the box of fliers the mayor wanted folded just so for distribution.

“It’s on the table.” Macy gave her a narrow-eyed look. “You’ve been awfully interested in the mail lately. Are you expecting something important?”

“Important? Nope, not at all.” Genna wet her lips, trying to be subtle as she edged toward the kitchen. “I’m just waiting for the latest Cosmo. I heard there are some great book recommendations in there.”

“Books. In Cosmo?” Macy shook her head and went back to sewing tiny roses on an array of tulle circles. “I can just imagine what kind of stories those are. Naughty, right?”

“Very naughty. Red-hot, in fact, I read one last month called Fearless. Very hot,” Genna said, spying the APO return and dropping her armload of stuff to grab it up. “And speaking of, I’m going to hop in the shower. Long day.”

She might have babbled a couple more things as she hurried for the bathroom, her only guaranteed privacy. She loved having Macy here, but it’d sure be nice when her friend was married and Genna had her house to herself again.

The door locked, she twisted the shower on with one hand while ripping the letter open with the other.

You’d look good in a nightie while I bent you over my Harley. But you’d look even better in nothing.

What’d you taste like? I wonder.

What do you think I taste like?

What would it feel like to find out?

Whew.

Genna caught her reflection in the mirror as she puffed out a breath. Her face was red. Not from embarrassment. Nope, that was the color of sexual need. Hot, vivid, intense.

Seeing no other option, she stripped naked, turned off the hot water and slid under the icy spray.

And imagined Brody as she searched for relief.

* * *

I’m craving ice cream. Something cold, rich, delicious. I’ll share it with you. But you have to eat it off my body. You can choose where to start. But to help you along, I’ll pour a little drizzle of caramel sauce here, just below my belly button. Want to lick it up?

BRODY GROANED—actually groaned aloud—reading those words.

He’d always been more of a chocolate than caramel kind of guy, but now he wanted it like nobody’s business.

He wanted Genna even more.

Grateful to be back in Coronado, in the relative privacy of the barracks instead of on a ship with a bunch of guys, he closed his eyes and visualized Genna as she’d been the last time he’d seen her. Then he imagined himself pouring caramel sauce over her body. Top down? Bottom up?

Aching hard, his body demanded the only solution possible. One he’d have to provide for himself, since no woman other than Genna would do.

He’d start in the middle.

* * *

I’d prefer a Popsicle to ice cream. Something long and hard I could watch you eat. You should run it over your lips first, so they are nice and wet and sweet when I kiss you. Then you can trace it around your nipples. The cold will make them rock-hard, like they’re begging me to warm them. I’ll do that while you move the Popsicle down to your thighs, leaving a sticky sweet trail for my lips to follow.

I think you’re going to need another Popsicle. We melted that one.

GENNA LAY IN HER BED, the dim glow from her bedside light pooling over the blankets, shining on the paper. She imagined Brody, looking like he had ten years ago, writing those words. Pictured his eyes glowing with a wicked light as he watched her pleasure herself. As he brought her pleasure with just his words and the look on his face.

Her fingers slipped under the hem of her nightie, trailing over her skin in the same path he’d suggested she trail the icy treat. Reading the words again, she edged her panties aside and let her fingers go to work.

Nothing cold here.

* * *

I hope you like cherry. Because that’s the only flavor Popsicles I like.

I’m all sticky now. I need a shower. You can watch, but you can’t join me yet. I’ve turned the water up so hot, the room is filling with steam. The shower nozzle is set to pulse. Fast, hard bursts against my skin, water droplets sliding down my aching flesh. I want you still. But you’re not allowed in the shower. So while you watch, I’m going to pleasure myself and pretend it’s you. I’ll take the showerhead off its hook and slide it down my body. The water pools between my breasts, gurgling and bubbling before pouring down my body. I’m wet. And not just from the shower.

What would you like to do about it?

BRODY DIDN’T KNOW whether to damn Genna Reilly, or worship her. She’d got him into hot water when she was a teenager, now she had him living under a cold shower.

Brody ran a towel over his head, the rough terry soaking up the droplets and quickly drying his short hair.

Just the thought of a shower brought to mind Genna’s last letter.

Of course, so did taking a shower. Seeing water. Hell, just breathing had the words flashing through his brain.

Scowling, Brody threw the towel on his bunk and grabbed his fatigues, shoving one foot in, then the other with enough force he was surprised the fabric didn’t rip.

He wasn’t writing her back.

This whole crazy game had to stop.

If he didn’t respond, neither would Genna.

And they could both get back to living their lives.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking he’d forget about the letters over time. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the taste of her that night in the garage. He could still hear her soft cries of pleasure and see the rosy flush on her skin. Ten years hadn’t dimmed that memory.

So, no. The images weren’t going anywhere.

But the game was.

Brody finished dressing on autopilot, his brain ricocheting between the plan for the coming mission and every contingency. Their strategy was solid, they’d be solid.

“Lane. Heads up. The helo is ready to fly.”

Brody nodded. All suited up now, so was he.

Time to rock and roll.

Habit had him glancing around before shutting the locker, making sure he’d left no traces of anything personal. Nothing was left out except the letter. Brody grabbed it, ready to tuck it away with his few personal effects. But it was like Genna’s loopy handwriting was curled around his fingers, not letting go.

Damn. Brody felt like a fool.

He looked to the left, then to the right to make sure he was alone. He grimaced at his behavior, then pulled the letter from the envelope to read it one more time.

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