Sexy SEAL Box Set: A SEAL's Seduction / A SEAL's Surrender / A SEAL's Salvation / A SEAL's Kiss. Tawny Weber
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fisted tight in his gut, the same as it always did at the memory of that night.
As he had so many times in the past, he reminded himself that it was stupid to get worked up over a woman he’d barely known. The only reason Alexia was still intriguing was because he hadn’t got to spend enough time with her for the shine to wear off. Great sex, a body that haunted his dreams and a personality that had almost convinced him there was such a thing as relationships outside of bed... Nothing to obsess over.
He’d slept with plenty of women in the past few months, enough to wipe away the memory of that wild encounter. He wasn’t a sentimental guy, nor was he the kind who fanatically crushed on some long-forgotten—or supposed-to-be-forgotten—chick.
Nope. No reason to be angry.
No point in remembering the exact texture of her lips, the scent of her hair in the moonlight or the feel of her soft curves pressed into his chest. It was ridiculous to wish he could see her, just one more time, poised naked above him, waiting to ride them both to the heights and depths of passion. The last thing he needed in his life was the distraction of wondering how she was liking her new job, whether she’d adjusted to life in San Diego or if she still missed New York. If she’d unpacked everything and if she’d got to the beach yet this year.
With the same discipline he used to push his body to its limits, to train with the elite and to succeed in missions that most would deem impossible, Blake shoved the memory—and all its accompanying emotional tension—out of his mind.
Better to focus on wondering why the hell he was here.
More for distraction than because he figured he’d find an answer, he started running through a mental list of all the known conflicts that might require a one-man mission.
He hadn’t come up with a single idea by the time the rear admiral wound up his phone call.
“Landon,” Lane acknowledged when he hung up the receiver.
Already at attention, Blake shifted all of his focus—physical and mental—to his commanding officer.
“Sir.”
“You were recently in Syria.”
Since it was a statement, not a question, Blake didn’t respond. Still staring at the eagle, he was aware his mind raced. The last mission had been a success. The team had even received a thumbs-up from the commander in chief on a job well done. Where was this going?
“In the last year, you’ve spent six months deployed in the Middle East, completed seventy-two missions and earned yourself three commendations.”
That sounded about right. The rear admiral wasn’t looking for confirmation, though.
“You have a reputation as a strong team player. A man who understands orders but can think on his feet.”
What SEAL didn’t?
“You’ve proven that you’re a stickler for the rules of engagement, and will follow them to the letter.”
It was all Blake could do not to roll his eyes.
Any guy on the team could be standing here. None of this commentary was unique to Blake’s career. So where was the old guy going with it? He wasn’t evaluating Blake’s service history to fill conversation gaps. It was some kind of test.
One, Blake figured, that he’d already won—or lost, depending on the perspective—given that he was standing here.
But what was at stake?
“While your service record shows an affinity for teamwork and leadership, your C-Sort indicates a leaning toward autonomy and self-reliance. That suggests that you work well alone, possibly even better than you do on a team.”
His C-Sort? The admiral had dug all the way back to Blake’s initial psych screening for this assignment. What the hell was going on?
For the first time since he’d walked in, Blake stared at the rear admiral. Frowning, he processed the furrow in the older man’s brow, the cold sheen in his narrowed eyes.
Whatever was going down, it was big.
“Am I being removed from my team?”
“Temporarily reassigned.”
With a quick jerk of his chin, Blake acknowledged the new assignment and waited for further orders. And, hopefully, clarification.
The rear admiral looked out the window for a few seconds, as if sorting through which information he wanted to share. Then, his lips compressed almost white, he met Blake’s gaze again. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, took a deep breath then spoke.
“There’s been a kidnapping. A civilian with military ties and potentially dangerous information was forcibly removed from her home two days ago. Operatives have discerned the group behind the act and pinpointed her location.”
The words her and military ties added a layer of urgency to an already volatile mission.
“The cell is based inside the continental United States,” the rear admiral informed him. “The leader of this branch of terrorists, as well as a number of those serving him, is a U.S. citizen.”
Touchy. And way outside the SEALs’ usual M.O.
“In two days’ time, a team will neutralize this cell. Every effort will be made to keep the targets alive.”
Blake gave a mental grimace. Targets had an unfortunate way of becoming collateral damage. Hostages, even more so.
“Your orders are to extract the hostage. You will go in alone, answering only to me. You will have twenty minutes before the team deploys. You will inform nobody of this assignment, nor will you coordinate with the team itself.”
His mind took off in multiple directions. One part wondering why the hell his role in the mission was on blackout. Another part assessing what he’d need to do to pull it off without risking the team’s mission or the safety of the hostage. Yet another part was already shifting into mission mode, emotionally distancing himself at the same time he set in place the expectations for victory.
“You were specifically requested for this assignment, Landon.”
Blake frowned.
As a SEAL, his training was intense and his skill set diverse. But so was the rest of his team’s. He was the Assault Force commander, the radioman and a linguist. And he was damn good at what he did. But, again, so were a lot of the team. So why him, specifically? Blake waited. If Lane wanted him to know who’d put in that request, he’d say so.
The rear admiral shifted. It wasn’t the uniform, the rank or the shock of white hair against a rock-hard face that made the man intimidating. It was the cold look of determination that said this was a guy who’d do whatever it took to get the job done, not because he felt the consequences were worthwhile, but because he didn’t even see consequences. Only the goal.
After giving Blake another assessing look, he pressed the intercom button on his desk. He didn’t say anything though. Just waited.
Blake waited, too. But for less time than it took to exhale. The private door to the right of the rear admiral opened.
His mentor, his recruiter, the man who’d shaped the direction of Blake’s career and had fathered the sexiest woman alive, stepped through the door. Pierce didn’t say a word. He just stood at ease, his face unreadable as he stared at Blake.
The rear admiral lifted a file from his desk, tapped it a couple of times against his thigh while giving Blake another of those assessing looks. Finally, with a lengthy stare at the admiral, he handed over the file.
“Your assignment.” Unspoken was the order that it be read and memorized here in this room. Blake had access to the information, but the contents would stay under lock and key.
Used to that, Blake glanced at the admiral again, but got nothing. Then he unwrapped