A SEAL's Pleasure. Tawny Weber
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Even if he’d let one fly, Gabriel would have reacted with the same easy disregard. Because there was nothing Jackrabbit could dish out that Gabriel couldn’t take.
The easy confidence he’d been born with had been carefully honed to a razor-sharp edge in his years in the military.
“Dude, do you ever lose?” another of the men surrounding them asked in awe.
“Romeo? Never.” Scavenger laughed as he collected his own winnings from the other three men. “I warned you not to bet against him.”
Gabriel shook his head. Leave it to Scavenger—aka Petty Officer Shane O’Brian to anyone not on the SEAL team—to make sure the odds were as even and fair as possible. Sooner or later, he’d learn that it didn’t matter what he did—life just wasn’t gonna turn out fair. But Gabriel figured it was his job to watch his buddy’s back, not to offer up that particular lesson.
“You keep him around to carry your ego?” Jackrabbit asked with a laugh that held no amusement as Scavenger expanded his praise to include Gabriel’s legendary success with the ladies.
“Nah. I keep him around because he can turn a tin can, a pile of sand and a couple of rocks into a tactical communications device that will get our ass out from behind enemy lines,” Gabriel retorted, only half joking since he was sure the communications specialist could do just that.
He ignored Jackrabbit’s skeptical snort because he understood it. A SEAL team wasn’t a team simply because the group of men had been assigned together. They had to work together and prove themselves to establish real trust.
Gabriel, or Romeo as he was more often referred to, Scavenger and their pal Irish, aka Mitch Donovan, had been reassigned from Virginia to the West Coast less than seven months ago and had been otherwise deployed for most of that time. So while they were a part of the team on paper, until they’d deployed on a mission with the rest of the men, he knew they were still proving themselves.
“So that’s the shooting range, the pool table and what was the other one?” Tall and dark haired with a muscular build that leaned toward lanky, Lt. Taylor Powell gave Jackrabbit an amused look. “Beer guzzling, wasn’t it?”
“He can’t win them all.”
“Sure he can,” Scavenger disagreed with a friendly smile. “I’ve never seen him lose a bet.”
“All that means is he only takes sure bets,” Jackrabbit said with a growl, obviously still pissed.
Gabriel didn’t blame him. Losing sucked. Or so he’d heard.
“Ops, bets, women,” Scavenger said in a musing sort of tone. “We’ve served together for six years now and I’m pretty sure he’s won them all.”
To prove his point, he continued regaling the others with a few of Gabriel’s exploits.
Gabriel ignored the stories and the ensuing laughter as he racked up the balls for whoever wanted to play the next round. He didn’t need to defend himself. His record stood solid on its own. Jackrabbit would see that soon enough, since they were heading into training together next week.
He’d learn that Gabriel was used to winning.
Define your path, stand your ground. That was what his grandfather had taught him. That and to never let anyone else’s actions define his own. Simple rules that’d defined his life. Because of them, he’d survived leaving the reservation and living on the streets after his grandfather died. He’d got out of the slums, he’d joined the Navy, he’d become a SEAL. Because of those rules, he’d never met a challenge he couldn’t meet, beat or defeat.
It was what he did.
It was who he was.
Maybe it hadn’t always been that way, but it was now.
And now was all that mattered.
Gabriel glanced at the clock again, noting how fast time was flying by.
“C’mon, boys. We’ve got a party to get to.”
Not that Irish would be docking points for them being late to his little shindig. But Gabriel figured their commander’s bride-to-be might be a little put out if half of her fiancé’s team was late to their engagement celebration. And Gabriel made a point to never disappoint a lady.
As one, the eight men strode out of Olive Oyl’s bar with a wave here and a shout-out there to familiar faces. Outside, the cool air washed over them in welcome as they straddled their motorcycles. Not nearly as comfortable as they’d be in jeans or even in uniform, some of the men tucked their ties into their shirts, a couple of them stowing their suit jackets into their saddlebags.
Gabriel, who hadn’t bothered to put either on yet, simply unhooked his helmet. Before he could pull it on, the deceptively lanky guy on the Indian Chief next to him tilted his head.
“Watch your back,” murmured Mr. Wizard, as the team called Taylor. “Jackrabbit’s got a hard-on to take you down.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
“He’s just superstitious,” Scavenger remarked from the other side, his words pitched low enough that nobody beyond the three of them could hear over the roaring engines. “He figures your luck has to run out eventually and he doesn’t want to be on a mission with you when it does.”
Scavenger really believed that? Damn, the guy was gullible. In the act of unlocking his helmet, Gabriel exchanged looks with Taylor, who was rolling his eyes.
“Jackrabbit can keep his hard-ons and his superstitions to himself,” Gabriel stated, pulling his helmet on to put an end to the conversation.
But as he kicked the Harley to life and put it into gear, Jackrabbit angled his bike into the lead, deliberately cutting off Gabriel. Forced to admit that Mr. Wizard had a point, Gabriel bided his time. As soon as they hit the freeway onramp, he throttled hard, letting the bike fly around traffic. He kept it just under one hundred miles per hour, not needing to look at the speedometer to confirm since he knew the bike as well as he knew his own body. All it took was a glance in the rearview mirror to assure him that the team had accepted his challenge.
And the race was on.
Grinning into the wind as it beat against his face, Gabriel took the scenic route—off the freeway, along the beach, through every twist and turn he could find. Might as well make it interesting.
By the time they’d caught up in the parking lot of the fancy renovated manor house, he’d wrapped himself in a tie, pulled on his suit jacket and was adjusting his cuffs.
Gabriel waited until everyone had dismounted and they were all ready to head in to the party before clapping Jackrabbit on the shoulder.
“Why don’t you just accept it, bro? I always win.”
* * *
TESSA MONROE EASILY ignored the appreciative looks and heated stares as she crossed the elegant ballroom surrounded by the glitter of crystal, the sweetness of white roses and the tinkling melody of good cheer.
Her long brunette curls swayed over milky white skin, the rich purple of her silky dress perfectly fitting the posh ambiance of the ballroom.
The setting suited her.
Of course, she looked just as good in the gym wearing skimpy, yet breathable cotton. Or on the beach in a tiny bikini. On the slopes wearing layers, behind her laptop while she interviewed relationship experts for her latest column or on a date with the latest in her string of male conquests.
Simply put, she was a woman used to being admired.
So used to it that she barely noticed. Instead, she admired the huge manor. Lit up like a beacon, the chandeliers glinted as music played softly in the background. The ballroom was so filled with people that Tessa welcomed the cool March night air wafting through the open doors. She could see the torch-lit paths leading from the gardens to