Claiming Her SEAL(12)

"I …  want to see it that way. I want to get over feeling like I'm drowning the moment the water touches me."

"You can. With me. I'll show you," he promised. "You just have to trust me."

"I do," she said. "I thought I'd never trust a man again, but you're so different than-"

He froze, going so still she feared for a moment she'd said the wrong  thing. Then he drew back, cutting off all physical contact with painful  abruptness, and his mask of indifference fell into place. She was losing  him again to whatever darkness lived inside him that he seemed to think  she couldn't handle.

"Trust me in the water, Emma. Only in the water. I'm a guide to the other side of your fear of drowning. That's all."

"Don't tell me what to do." Hands on hips, she smiled to take the sting  out of it. "If I want to think you're an amazing, kind person, you can't  stop me."

He shook his head, his beautiful, talented lips stretching into a frown  that looked all wrong on him. "You're confusing the act of stopping a  jerkweed from manhandling you with some kind of heroic deed. I'm not  that guy."

"You're so silly. That's the definition of a hero."

Did he really not see himself that way? It was so clear to her that he  was a good man. Why was she having such a hard time convincing him of  it?

And that was the crux of this. He wanted her. His touch dripped with  desire and yet he held himself back from turning their interaction into a  highly charged fling-one she'd been angling for since day one. But  because he was such a good man, he wanted to protect her from being  hurt, even without knowing whether she needed protection or not. It was  what he did, without question, without hesitation.

It was as maddening as it was endearing.

"We'll agree to disagree," he said flatly. "What you call heroic is common decency. That's all."

"But common decency is rare," she argued. "Or we wouldn't need heroes."

He crossed his arms over his washboard abs, hiding them. But she still  knew they were there, just like she knew other things about him that she  couldn't see.         

     



 

"You can push this all you want, but it's not going to change anything. I'm not good for you."

This called for new tactics. Desperately. Because she wanted his mouth  on hers again, wanted to taste his sun-bronzed body, wanted to  experience life in all its glory, and Dex was the key.

"Maybe I need a little bad after what happened." She waded through the  surf, closing the gap between them slowly so she didn't spook him into  backing off. "Maybe I'm jaded and irreparably damaged inside from a  horrible relationship, and all I want is a man who will take me up  against a wall and screw my brains out, a man who knows enough to shut  up and kiss me instead of worrying about hurting me."

She risked placing her palms on his pectoral muscles, which were quickly  becoming one of her favorite things about him. So hard, so tight, and  so protective of what lay beneath-his huge heart.

His eyes darkened as fast as his jaw went tight. But he didn't move out of her reach.

"That's a crock and you know it, Emma. On the inside, you're hopeful.  Bright and optimistic, or you wouldn't be here. You're in the ocean  trying to heal yourself. That's the opposite of jaded. And you deserve  to be handled like a fragile piece of glass, not devalued in a course  encounter with a jackass who won't call you in the morning."

Emma's chest filled so fast her head spun. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

His bitter laugh cleared the dizziness in a hurry. "Yeah? You're a fan  of guys who flat out tell you they're going to sex you up and then  disappear? You need a new definition of romance."

"Okay." She cocked her head and zeroed in on his flinty gaze, refusing  to let him look away. He wasn't that guy, and she'd never believe he  was. "Then show me what's romantic to you."

He groaned, and her hand vibrated with it. "Why is nothing I'm saying registering with you?"

"Maybe because you're not saying the right things," she suggested. "I  have yet to hear what's so bad about you. What could possibly be so  horrible that you not only won't tell me what it is, you seem hell-bent  on making sure I know you're a one-time thing, when clearly you want  something more meaningful?"

At that, he did step back, and the shutter dropped back over his  expression, going so deep that she was pretty sure she'd lost him for  good this time.

"Remember how you had a bad feeling about your ex and it turned out to  be so much worse than you'd expected?" he said softly, his voice  gravelly with an edge that promised she wasn't going to like his next  statement. "Your track record for getting a sense of who a guy is under  his skin isn't so great."

Oh, God. No, she wasn't and as reminders went, that one was brutal.  Dropping her hands as fast as she dropped her gaze, she whirled away  before he clued in that he'd just torn a new hole in her gut. "Well,  then. Guess there's nothing more to say."

She couldn't sort out what hurt worse: that he was right, or that the  barb had come from the one person she'd thought might be the answer to  her prayers.

Without bothering to correct him-after all, it had been Rachel who had  the bad feeling, not her-she waded out of the water, leaving Dex alone  in the surf. Over her shoulder, she called out, "Thanks for the moonlit  swim."

It should have come off jaunty and carefree except for the part where  her voice broke. He didn't respond, nor did he try to stop her. Eyes  burning, she walked back to the resort in the moonlight, refusing to  shed one single tear.

And that's what she got for always trying to see the best in someone …  a  brutal reminder that she sucked at judging people, and no one had her  best interests at heart except Rachel.




The next morning Rachel bounced out of the bathroom, clearly still on a  Klingon-style orgasm high, and threw herself on Emma's bed with a  contented sigh. "I think we should go ahead and book our next visit to  this place. I could come back here about four times a year and never get  tired of the delicious panorama of sights."

"Yeah, the water is pretty," Emma intoned automatically and stuck a  pillow over her face in case Rachel wasn't distracted enough by visions  of Rico the bartender dancing naked in her head.

The last thing Emma wanted to deal with was a bunch of questions about  her horrifically unsuccessful midnight jaunt. Rachel had been asleep in  her bed, alone, when Emma had returned to the hotel room last night.  Which was perfect. Why had she told Rachel about Dex's offer to go  swimming with her anyway? It was the height of stupidity.         

     



 

"I meant the men. What's wrong, honey?" Rachel smoothed a hand over Emma's arm. "Didn't you find your guy last night after all?"

"No," she mumbled into the pillow.

It wasn't even a lie. The man she'd found wasn't the sweet, bighearted  man who had continually come to her rescue over the past couple of days.  She didn't know what she'd found other than more disappointment in the  male species. And herself.

That's why she'd vowed to stay clear of men in the first place: because  she couldn't pick a decent one out of a lineup. Enter a smoking-hot guy  with soulful gray eyes, and she'd forgotten all about her disability.  And he'd reminded her of it. She was done. For really real this time.

"Oh. So I guess that means no snorkeling today then."

At that, Emma flung the pillow off. "Who said that? I made you a promise last night. We're going snorkeling."

Rachel pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "But you didn't get your  personal snorkeling lesson. Isn't that what you said you needed to do  first?"

Yeah, she'd said a lot of things and done very little. It was time for  some action, and she didn't need Dex to get where she wanted to go. She  hadn't even known he existed before she got on a plane to come to the  Caribbean with Rachel. What did it matter if he'd made good on his  promise to go under with her or not? She could meet this stupid phobia  where it lived, on her own terms, like she'd planned to that first day.

Of course, she'd been interrupted by the handsy cretin before she could  make herself do it. But she'd gone in the ocean last night with Dex, and  even though she hadn't exactly put her head under the water, it didn't  matter. Knee-deep was farther than she'd gotten at home.

"We're going."

"Are you sure?"

The caution in Rachel's voice decided it for Emma. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll  even call the concierge to book it, so you just go put your contacts  in."

As Emma dialed the room phone, she sent up a little prayer that someone  other than Dex was helming the snorkeling excursion today.

But of course that was precisely who stood at the end of the dock  smiling at the other resort guests who had elected to take a snorkeling  trip that afternoon. Bare-chested, dark-haired, dazzling-in-the-sunlight  Dex. The universe must not be listening to Emma Richardson anymore.