Saved by the SEAL(9)

By: Diana Gardin

There’s no doubt that Greta is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Any residual feelings I had for Berkeley died long ago, and I haven’t thought of her that way since she’s been hot and heavy with Dare. But thinking of Greta now…the way her dark hair contrasts so starkly with her milky skin. The way her eyes pierce mine, rather than just looking at me. The way her body is just feminine curves stacked on top of lithe limbs…

I hit the steering wheel lightly, trying to shake the image from my brain. I’m going to her place tonight for one reason and one reason only—to help her. Not to get into her pants like a fucking perv.

When I arrive, I sling my duffle over my shoulder and walk up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. I rap the back of my hand against the door and wait, my hands hanging on to the top of the doorjamb. My heart pounds a little harder when I hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching from inside. The door is yanked open, and I’m suddenly this close to the face that’s been playing on repeat in my mind all damn day.

I’m frozen in place, because those eyes of hers have the power to hold me hostage. I don’t even blink.

“Hey,” she says, her voice like satin as a slow, shy smile crosses her lips.

She’s fresh, her face free of makeup. I try to keep my eyes on her face, but they act of their own accord, making a languid trek down her body. She’s dressed for the late-summer heat in a ribbed purple tank top that hugs her tight, lifted breasts and her slim midsection. Small white cotton shorts that send a zing of awareness straight to my cock leave miles of skin free for my amusement. When I pull my gaze back up her body, her eyes are wide, and there’s an adorable blush dusted across her cheeks.

“Hey.” I clear my throat.

“Um…come in.” She scoots to the side so that I can move my large frame in through the small doorway.

I walk into the apartment. Expecting to be flooded with both good and not-so-good memories of Berkeley and the time I spent with her here, I let my gaze roam around the living room. Everything is decorated in shades of white and blue, with a beach theme. Navy-blue couch and oversize armchair, white wooden coffee table. Navy-blue drapes with vertical white stripes. Large white lamps on mismatched end tables with navy-blue anchors. It’s so kitschy and girly that I smile.

But the expected flood of regret and memories don’t come. Instead, Greta steps into my line of sight, and my gaze shifts to her with focused intent. I set my bag down beside the couch and crook my finger at her.

“Come here.”

She doesn’t hesitate; she walks straight over and stands, tipping her head back to look up at me. Something inside me twitches happily at her willingness, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grab her and let my hands roam over all of that exposed skin.

Instead, I cup her chin with one hand and brush feather-light fingers over her head wound with the other. “How is this feeling?”

She winces as my fingers touch it, and I pull them away. “It’s fine.”

One side of my mouth tips up. “Tough girl.”

Grinning, she turns and heads through an arching doorway to the open-concept kitchen. “You hungry?”

I wasn’t until she said that. Now, my stomach rumbles as the aroma of something delicious and homemade wafts under my nose. “Wow. Something smells amazing. What’d you make?”

“Smothered chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and corn soufflé.” She says it like she just made Hamburger Helper or something equally mundane.

“Holy shit. You really cooked.”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I cook a lot. It’s something I love to do.”

Instantly, curiosity rushes through me, and I want to know what else she loves to do. I pull out a seat at the bar top facing her and watch as she works to prepare our plates. She piles one high with a mound of mashed potatoes and a huge piece of chicken, and my stomach growls.

“You do? Huh. I didn’t know that. I guess we never really got a chance to get acquainted before, did we?”

She shakes her head, sending cascades of that thick, dark hair rippling around her shoulders. I’m betting it would feel amazing tumbling around my fingers.

Also By Diana Gardin

Last Updated

Hot Read


Top Books