Free Saved by the SEAL by Diana Gardin Page A

clench, my toes curl with regret.
    “Want some help?” I ask.
    She looks suspicious. “What can you do?”
    I glance around at her array of supplies, thinking. “I’m a good stirrer.”
    She pushes a bowl of something creamy into my hands, and I use the spoon inside to begin stirring.
    “So when did you buy this house?” she asks.
    “About a year ago.”
    Nodding, she continues preparing the ingredients in front of her. “It’s awesome. From what I remember, your parents live in town. Right? They must be so proud of you.”
    I drop my gaze, concentrating extra hard on my stirring duty. I give a noncommittal nod.
    “Last night, on the phone…you said you understood about my strained relationship with my dad.”
    She pauses until I finally look up and meet her gaze. Her blue eyes are laser-focused on mine; she tilts her head to the side, as if she’s seeing straight through the front I’m putting on.
    “Maybe sometime we should compare notes.”
    The idea of sharing what I went through—what I still go through—with my father is less than thrilling. But there’s also a sense of companionship there I don’t expect. Talking to her is easy, warm. Her voice, her gaze…everything about her wraps me up tight and soothes out the rough edges of pain and apprehension.
    “You want us to share? I did enough of that with my therapist. And he wasn’t as pretty as you. You might be able to get me to share too much. You’re dangerous.” I wink at her.
    She laughs, the tendrils of hair around her face drifting into her eyes. I step closer, and when she stops laughing abruptly, I can’t help but invade her space. Standing right in front of her, I brush the nearly raven hair away from her big, gorgeous pools. She blinks, staring back at me.
    “Better?” I whisper.
    Electricity sizzles between us, like we’re connected by a live wire. My arm wraps around her waist, and I snake my hand around to the small of her back, pulling her against me.
    Damn, that feels good.
    Her full breasts press into the top of my rib cage, and my heart thuds faster. My head dips toward hers, my body moving of its own accord. When I’m around Greta, I feel like I don’t need to think. It’s like muscle memory; my body just knows what to do. It needs to connect with hers.
    I want to kiss her. More than I want to breathe right now, I want to take her perky pink mouth as my own personal treasure. But if I do that…will I ever be able to stop?

8
Greta
    H e’s going to kiss me. Every part of my body is buzzing with desire at his nearness; the scent of him envelops me. He smells like fresh, clean musk with a hint of the salty ocean. I want to lean in and inhale him, but at the same time I want to pull back and run.
    Running from Grisham would be the smart thing to do. It wasn’t a year and a half ago that he was hung up on one of my best friends. He’s a wounded warrior, his head is a mess.
    But more than anything right now, I want to make him my mess.
    I want his lips on mine.
    The back door opens, and I jump backward like I’ve been caught doing something illegal. We both look to the door as Mea bounces in, a devilish smile on her face.
    “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?” Her feigned innocence earns a glare from me.
    Grisham clears his throat and takes a step back while my face turns an embarrassing shade of red.
    “Of course not. What do you need, roommie?”
    As Grisham perches back on his stool, I pull the bowl of potato salad ingredients toward me so that I can add the chopped potatoes and vegetables. Then I slide the bowl in front of him once more.
    “Stir,” I instruct without meeting his eyes. I’m pretty sure that if I look at him right now I’ll drag him somewhere dark and quiet where we won’t be interrupted.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “I just came to see if you needed any help with the potato salad. But it seems like you two have it covered.”
    I nod. “Yep. All good here.”
    We hear the front door open and close,