You Were Always Mine

You

You Were Always Mine

by

Cerise Deland

7 Brides for 7 SEALs

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

You Were Always Mine

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Cerise Deland

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

Publishing History

First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0979-8

Published in the United States of America

PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

Cerise Deland

Sinfully hot!

~Romance Junkies

Bring a fan, and plenty of ice water, you’ll need it!

~Long and Short Reviews

POWER POSITION

Prepare yourself for a wild, hot ride. The steaminess never lets up as they rock, glide and slide their way to ecstasy. Amanda and Jack are as opposite as they come but they find a way to make each other vulnerable, needy and sexy all at the same time. Amanda is dealing with a new lover after the death of her husband. Jack is dealing with uncontrollable hunger for his boss. The scenes are well-written and will leave the reader wishing they were one of the characters in the book if only to get some relief.

~You Gotta Read Reviews.com

Chapter One

Nick stood up and offered his chair to the little old lady in blue.

Thank you, young man, she said in a thin, scratchy voice that reminded him of his grandmother. And thank you for your service.

You’re welcome, ma’am. He kicked his duffle closer to the window and watched a plane soar into the clear blue July sky. He rarely stood in an airport terminal looking at passenger jets, but today he had no choice except to fly commercial. His buddies, who usually gave him a hop anywhere he wanted, weren’t headed for San Antonio. But he had to travel today to make the seminar at Fort Sam Houston on new battlefield treatments for burn victims. Aside from the fact that he never knew when he’d get the call to move to San Diego, he wanted to squeeze in two visits—one to his half sister and the other to his former teammate in Brooks Army Medical Center Hospital.

Give me a call Sunday o-seven-hundred, Reardon, his friend stationed at Andrews had told him this morning. The President may go to San Antone for a fund-raiser that morning. If so, I’ll add you to the manifest to give you a lift back.

On Air Force One? Nick had held up a hand. Hey, there. I may do POTUS’s bidding, but I’m not worthy to hop a ride on that bird.

Call me, dude. The Prez would be happy to do one of his SEALs the favor of a free ride.

Yeah, what a story that would make. His teammates would rib him for the next twenty years about his special friend.

Nick grinned at the idea and turned around. The sight that greeted him had him pushing his aviators up his nose to get a better gander at the vision at the check-in desk.

Damn. He hadn’t seen legs like that in the flesh in forever. Maybe on an old poster of Rita Hayworth. But geez, this woman lived and breathed. She flicked her long mahogany hair over her shoulder, giving him heart palpitations…and a hard-on that stretched his service uniform into tighty whities.

He shifted and let his eyes take a leisurely stroll from her shapely ankles in the sky-high black pumps to her nice calves. To her slim thighs. And the sweet curve of her ass.

Clearing his throat, he fought with himself about his irrepressible stiffie.

Careful. She’ll turn around and probably kill you with her plain-Jane looks. The steel gray suit was the giveaway. Okay, so this was Washington and women always dressed like robots. But wow, the get-up hugged her like a second skin with the hem at the knee and the little jacket tailored snuggly to her waist.

A nun in office clothing. That’s what she is. Off limits to a man who is here today and gone tomorrow. Out of professional necessity, he kept to the easy breezy types.

Like the chick across the terminal in the pink slip of a dress. False eyelashes, false breasts, fake motivations to take up with a SEAL. He knew the type. He understood that kind of woman. In for the night. In for the gymnastics.

Which was fine. But he wasn’t up for that today.

Clearly.

He snorted and let his wandering eyes slide back to the brunette in the smart gray suit. She still gabbed with the gate attendant, her hands flying around, expressive as a Mexican mamacita’s. Was she one of those demanding broads who had to have everything precisely the way she wanted?

Then she spun toward him.

All thought left his brain.

Blinded by the light.

Who wrote those lyrics?

Damn. He blinked. They were true because the little gray nun was a knockout.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. Drooling was not acceptable. Not in uniform.

She looked straight at him with big amber eyes. Caught in the act of gazing at him, she blinked. Fluttering those dark lashes, she stared at him. Why?

Did they know each other?

No, they couldn’t. He would have remembered her. Every detail.

Her hair—all those waist-length curls that movie stars and rockers wore—framed an oval face. She had large expressive eyes, the color of a thousand shades of gold. A perfectly straight nose. A wide, almost too wide, mouth. Pretty lips glistening with a pale natural gloss.

With a jerk, she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Her rejection hit him like a blast of heat.

Rejection?

Not what he usually got. In fact, he experienced too many women ready to seduce the SEAL.

He watched her stride away in the six-inch killer heels and wondered how on earth he could suffer her dismissal like a loss. He didn’t know her. Hadn’t ever met her. As she settled into the only empty chair left in the waiting area, he shook his head and put his feeling down to fatigue. His last mission, six weeks in the jungles of a South American cesspool, had sapped him. He needed more than this four-day stint on stand-by to get over the losses of two of his SEAL team members.

Lieutenant Nicholas Reardon, the gate attendant announced his name over the PA system. Please come to the check-in desk.

Okay. What was wrong? He already had a boarding pass. No stand-by today, thank god. Picking up his duffle, he wended his way through the banks of chairs.

Hi. I’m Lieutenant Reardon.

Lieutenant, I’m happy to tell you that you’ve been upgraded to first class. May I have your pass, please? I’ll exchange it for you.

What? I didn’t—

I know, sir. The attendant cut him off with a grin. One of our first class passengers has given up her seat for you. Exchanged it for coach.

Suspicion of just who that woman might have been tickled the back of his neck.

Your ticket, Lieutenant?

Sure. He handed it over. Was it the woman who was just here? In the suit?

Yes, sir.

I’d like to thank her. He’d also like to bang her, but he pushed that to the back of his grateful brain. No need to be a reptile. The lady had been generous. He could be a gentleman.

The gate official handed over a new pass and nodded toward the vision in gray. Go ahead.

Can I have her name?

No, sir. Company policy.

I see. Thanks.

You’re welcome.

Name or not, he owed her at least a few words and wove his way through the aisles to get to her. Hi.

Digging in her carryon, she brought out sneakers, but froze when he spoke. She set her jaw, looking like she braced for a shock. Slowly, she raised her face, her gaze moving up his aroused body, as if she didn’t want to make eye contact. He was a man trained to detect body language and the emotions that inspired them, and she definitely seemed reluctant to even look at him?

He thought he’d been enthralled before, watching her across a crowded terminal. But a foot from her, with her glorious eyes flowing over his face, he was tempted to gape. Her skin was ivory perfection, her dark, finely arched brows elegant over almond-shaped eyes. Her cheeks were high, the hollows sculpted. Her lips were…kissable. Her hair flowed around her like a dark halo, and he had this urge to sink his hands into the silk. Of course, it would be silk, wouldn’t it?

And he had this rush of warmth through his bloodstream that had nothing to do with his hard-on. Oddly, a light in his brain told him he had met her before. He knew her. Her eyes. The shape of her face. Her lips.

Hi, Lieutenant.

So she knew how to read rank on his uniform? Worked for him. Thanks for the upgrade.

My pleasure. You looked like you could use a good meal, a stiff drink, and a nap.

Ah. She must have been looking him over before he discovered her at the counter. Where was his honed sense of place and time that he hadn’t detected that? He must be really exhausted not to spot eyes on him. Too many nights sitting watch in the company of snakes and monkeys. You’re right. I could.

She curved her lips into a perfunctory smile. Was she tense, talking to a stranger, even one she’d given her seat to? Enjoy it.

Can I buy you a drink? My way of reciprocating.

No, thanks. She tapped her fingers on her briefcase in her lap. I’m going to work on the flight.

She wore no wedding ring. No engagement ring either. Was that a green light on this mission? Maybe then I could buy you dinner in San Antonio.

Dinner? She scanned his eyes, his stripes, and the icing of ribbons and medals on his shirt. She focused on one in particular and thinned her lips.

Was she trying to decide if he was safe? If she knew how he could kill a man with his bare hands, she’d run screaming. He tipped his head and smiled gently, as an old friend would, trying to make his six-foot-four frame appear harmless. "The least I