SEAL's Proposal Read online

  “Go!” Remy yelled and motioned his hand forward. “Fish and I will cover.”

  Fish took a position a couple yards from Remy, and together, they laid down suppressive fire while the rest of the team raced for the helicopter. Once they were safely on board, one of the helicopters lifted off, and the door gunner took over the job of keeping the enemy busy while Fish and Remy ran for the other chopper.

  As the second Black Hawk left the ground, Fish dove in and Remy jumped in beside him, wincing when he bumped against his wounded leg. With everyone on board, they left the village behind.

  The leading helicopter had circled back. From the open door of the Black Hawk, Remy watched as a missile launched from the other helicopter, hitting the first truck dead on. A fiery burst lit the sky as the two helicopters headed back to Camp Leatherneck.

  Once they were out of range of RPGs, Remy could no longer ignore his own gunshot wound. He leaned forward, jammed his hand into his side pocket and cursed. “Damn.”

  “Were you hit?” Fish sat up beside him and pushed away his hands to check his injury.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “Is that all?” Fish snorted and pulled out a pressure bandage from one of his pockets, tore the fabric of Remy’s trousers, and applied it to the torn flesh. “The way you were cussin’, I thought it might be worse.”

  Remy pulled his hand out of the pocket of his trousers, the ring box in his grip. The exterior had been damaged, ripped open on the side where the bullet had hit the box before slicing his leg. He flipped the box all the way open and his heart fell.

  The ring was gone.

  “Fuck!” He dug his hand back into his pocket and fished around.

  “Hey, will you let me finish dressing the wound?”

  Remy shoved aside Fish’s hands and dug deeper. When his fingers touched metal, Remy nearly fainted with relief. “Thank God.”

  Fish taped the dressing in place and clapped a hand on Remy’s shoulder. “Thank God for what? Did you think you were going to die? Like you said, it was just a flesh wound. Your Cajun ass is gonna live.”

  Taking a deep breath, Remy laid back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe so, but I almost lost the goddamn ring.”

  *

  Thirty-six hours later

  If Mitchell Sanders could pace at that moment, she would have. Instead, she sat quietly in the Eastern District Court of Virginia in Norfolk. The trial had gone on for days, and finally, the jury had reached a decision. They would find Rocco Hatch guilty of four counts of murder and thirteen counts of human trafficking, including forcing a seventeen-year-old girl to have sex for money. They had to find him guilty and get him off the street for life. The man was evil, and should be put to death.

  At least, that’s how Mitchell felt. When she’d gone undercover to expose him, she hadn’t realized just how many women’s lives he’d ruined. Hatch and his partner Candy Sweeting were the lowest scum of the earth.

  The members of the jury filed in and took their seats.

  “Have the members of the jury come to a decision?” the U.S. District Court judge asked, his face drawn and tired.

  A heavy-set man stood, holding a single piece of paper. “Yes, sir, we have. We, the members of the jury find Mr. Rocco Hatch guilty of all charges against him.”

  The spectators all let go of the breaths they’d been holding in heartfelt sighs and muttered praises to God. The judge closed the trial, and Rocco Hatch was led from the courtroom, his narrowed stare on Mitchell as he walked toward the door.

  Mitchell stood, her gaze on the man who had wrecked the lives of so many women. Good riddance. Now, to get back to her own life. She had to pack and get ready for her first vacation in years, and the best part was that she was sharing it with the man she loved.

  As Rocco neared the exit, he stopped and jerked free of the bailiff’s hold. “Hey, Sanders! This isn’t over.” The man glared and shook his handcuffs.

  The evil in his eyes so palpable it sent a shiver down Mitchell’s spine. She left the courtroom more shaken than she should have been. The trial was just another event as an agent in the NCIS. She’d caught another criminal, and hopefully, the sentencing would put him behind bars for the rest of his douche-bag life.

  Out in the parking lot, she drew in a deep breath of fresh air and tried to shake off a bad feeling, telling herself she shouldn’t let Rocco’s words get to her.

  In less than two hours she’d be at her apartment, waiting for Remy’s return. He’d texted as soon as his plane hit the ground in Norfolk. As usual, he couldn’t come straight home. He had to go to his unit for the mission debrief, and then he’d be home. She’d have him back, safe and sound, in her arms and all would be right with the world again.

  In her SUV, she unlocked the specially built safe in the console, removed her .40 caliber Glock from the compartment, and tucked it into the shoulder holster she wore beneath her black suit jacket. Comforted by the cold, hard steel, she shifted her vehicle into Drive and eased out of the parking lot onto the street.

  A crowd still hovered around the door to the courthouse. As she came to a halt at the stop sign, she spotted Rocco as he exited the courthouse with his armed escorts.

  The media mob swarmed him and the police officers as they edged toward the waiting police car.

  For a moment, Mitchell lost sight of Rocco. Her pulse sped up and she craned her neck, searching the faces in the crowd for the bastard. Then he emerged, both cops still at his side.

  While Mitchell had been searching for Rocco, she hadn’t noticed the dark van speeding toward the group until it raced past her, jumped the curb, and plowed into a reporter and one of the police officers holding onto Rocco.

  Women screamed and the crowd scattered.

  Rocco butted his head into the other officer’s nose so hard the man let go and grabbed his own face, blood streaming out between his fingers.

  The van door slid open. Four men wearing ski masks and wielding automatic weapons jumped out and opened fire into the crowd, hitting the bleeding police officer and several others around Hatch. Those who could, took cover; those in the open either ran or hit the ground.

  Hell no! Mitchell jammed her SUV into Park and dropped out of the vehicle, her gun drawn. Using the SUV as cover, she aimed at the nearest gunman and dropped him where he stood.

  One of them grabbed Rocco and threw him into the van. Another turned his weapon toward Mitchell and pelted her SUV in a wicked burst of bullets.

  Mitchell hit the ground behind a tire, her pistol no match for the power and rapid delivery of an automatic. Still, she searched for any opportunity, aiming from beneath the SUV at their feet and fired again. She hit one in the foot.

  But he managed to limp to the van along with the others. The door slid closed, and the driver sped away in a fog of scorched rubber.

  The officers who’d taken cover behind the police car emerged into the street and fired at the van, but it was too late.

  Rocco had escaped.

  Mitchell rose from her position behind the SUV, her heart hammering against her ribs, a sick feeling filling her belly as Rocco’s last words in the courtroom echoed in her mind.

  This isn’t over.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  “Mitchell! I’m home!” Remy flung open the door to their apartment and dropped his duffel on the floor beside the entry. He cocked his head and listened. “Mitch?”

  Stone-cold silence met him, not the excited rush of his warm, welcoming, soon-to-be-fiancée, slamming into him and wrapping her arms around his body. Perhaps she’d gotten caught up at her office.

  He stared down at his watch. Wow, past seven o’clock. Past normal office hours. But then, when did the NCIS keep normal hours? Heck, when did SEALs? He checked his cell phone and found a text message from Mitchell.

  Shit hit the fan at the courthouse, had to file a report. Will be home soon.

  His disappointment faded. Mitchell was as dedicate
d to her job as he was to his. He couldn’t fault her for that. But every once in a while, he wished they could be a normal couple and have more time to spend together. He was glad his commander had allowed him to schedule leave so far in advance. Making plane reservations could be troublesome when you didn’t know if you’d be called out on an operation, or when you’d return.

  He raised a hand to his chin and scratched at the scraggly beard that had grown over the last couple months. With time to kill, he could shit, shower, and shave, and be ready with dinner for when Mitchell came through the door. She’d be too tired to go out, and he really didn’t want to. Remy would much rather have her to himself and catch up on all the lovemaking they’d missed while he’d been out of country.

  Pushing aside the exhaustion of traveling halfway around the world in the back of a C130, he headed for the bathroom. An hour later, clean and his face scraped free of the beard, wearing a pair of cutoff sweat pants, Remy settled a pizza box on the counter and took out a slice. Cheese ran in a long string from the box to the wedge, the scent of fresh crust and tomato sauce making his stomach rumble.

  Still, Mitchell hadn’t appeared.

  Too hungry to wait, Remy dove in and polished off four slices before he was satisfied.

  His cell phone rang and his hand darted out to answer. He sighed. The caller ID indicated Irish.

  “Hey, I just saw your fiancée on the news. Everything all right?”

  Remy’s pulse leapt. “Don’t know. I’ll get back to you.” Dropping his phone on the couch, he dove for the television remote, clicking it on, and setting it on the local news station.

  Images of the courthouse appeared on the screen, with gunmen and people scattering in all directions. In the background, he made out Mitchell’s SUV. The image switched to a reporter pressing a microphone into Mitchell’s face, asking her what had happened.

  Mitchell’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was grim. “No comment,” she said, and pushed past the reporter, her body tense.

  The news anchor droned on about Rocco Hatch’s escape as Remy absorbed what had just happened. He was reaching for his cell phone when the scrape of a key in the lock caught his attention. Before the lock twisted, Remy was there, yanking open the door.

  Mitchell stood in the frame, her face tired, the knees of her suit trousers ripped, and a smudge of dirt across her face. Her lips lifted. “Hey.”

  “Oh, baby.” He opened his arms and she fell into them. He eased backward and closed the door behind her, gathering her against his body.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said, her words muffled against his naked chest.

  Her breath was warm on his skin, stirring his blood. “Yeah, and you’re not so bad yourself.”

  She snorted and pulled back enough to give him a crooked smile. “I had planned on being home hours ago, having a gourmet dinner cooked, and lying naked on the couch for when you walked through that door.”

  His cock twitched at the erotic image. “We can still do all that.” He waved toward the kitchen counter. “I have an Italian gourmet dinner. Your favorite pizza pie with pepperoni, onion, and black olives.” As he spoke, he slid her jacket over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Then he slipped the buckle of her shoulder holster loose, and eased it too from her shoulders, draping it over the back of a chair.

  “Now you’re talking.” Mitchell skimmed her hands over his chest and around to his back, dropping low to capture his ass in her palms, pressing him closer. “Miss me much?”

  Already hard, his member nudged her belly, ready to skip right to their reunion sex. With every ounce of control he could muster, he set her away from him. “You should eat. I need my woman to have the energy to last all night long. And tomorrow we’re on our way to Colorado.”

  Her hands tightened on his buttocks and pulled him back against her. “I don’t want food. I want you.” Flashing a sexy grin, she leaned up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his.

  His control unraveling, Remy’s blood heated and he captured her head in his hands, slipping the ponytail free. God, it felt good to run his fingers through her hair, and to feel her body pressed against his.

  The tight buds of her distended nipples scraped his chest through her shirt and bra, and he couldn’t wait to get her out of her clothes.

  Sucking in a breath, Mitchell slipped her hands inside the elastic of his shorts and gripped his naked butt. “Aren’t we a bit overdressed?”

  “Absolutely.” He leaned away and plucked at the buttons on her blouse, popped a few as he worked his way down the front and pulled the hem free of her trousers.

  She shoved his sweat shorts over his hips and down his legs, skimming over his bullet wound.

  He ignored the sharp stab of pain and tore her shirt off her back, flinging it against the wall.

  “What’s this?” She backed away and stared at the long gash along his thigh that had been neatly stitched by one of the docs at Camp Leatherneck.

  He shrugged. “Just a flesh wound.” Eyeing her bared skin, he tried to pull her back into his arms.

  With a hand planted on his chest, she resisted.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re wounded.” Her brows furrowed. “Shrapnel or gunshot wound?”

  “Gunshot.” He smiled.

  Her lips pressed together, and she shifted her gaze from the wound to his face. “Everyone else okay?”

  “We all made it back safely.”

  She stared for a moment longer before laying her cheek against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I worry so much when you’re away on an operation.”

  He liked that she cared, but not that she worried. “Goes both ways.” He smoothed his hand over her soft hair and tipped up her face. “Seems you had a little excitement today.”

  “Can we not talk about that right now?” Her lips clamped tight.

  “Sure. What would you like to do? Eat pizza, make love, get a shower?”

  A chuckle shook her. “Yes to all of them, but not in that order. Shower first.” She stepped away and stared at his naked body. “Too bad, you’ve already had yours.”

  “I’ve been in the desert for a month. I’m sure I missed a spot or two. A man can never be too clean.” He loved that no matter how tough she was, she was all soft and feminine when it counted. In the bed and in the shower, those attributes counted.

  He reached for the button on her trousers, freed it, and dragged the zipper down the front. The fabric glided down her legs, pooling at her ankles.

  She kicked her feet free and stood in her bra and panties. “It’s a start, but we’re not in the shower yet, and I’m covered in road grime.”

  Road grime. The word reminded him of the scene on the TV. He opened his mouth to say something about what had happened.

  Before he could, she touched a finger to his lips. “Let’s not talk about work. I want it to be just you, me, water and soap. I like it when we get all slippery.” She took his hand in hers and led him into the bathroom where her bra and panties were quickly discarded.

  Remy twisted the handle on the shower and set the water temperature to a comfortable level, then leaned down and scooped up Mitchell, wrapping her legs around his waist. He kissed her, his tongue slipping past her teeth to slide the length of hers. He could spend the rest of his life kissing and making love to this woman. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of, and more.

  Stepping over the edge of the tub, he turned her back to the shower and let the warm water run over her body and between them. Steam rose around them, filling the air. Lowering her feet to the ground, he squirted a healthy dose of scented body wash into his hands.

  Starting at her shoulders, he built a lather, and then traveled downward to smooth over her beautiful breasts. The feel of her skin under his touch kicked up his pulse. “I missed these,” he said, bent to capture a taut nipple between his lips and sucked it into his mouth.

  “Reall
y? You missed my breasts?” She laughed and plumped the one he feasted on, encouraging him to take more into his mouth. “I have to admit, the girls missed you, too.”

  Loving the sound of that, he nipped the tip.

  Mitchell sucked in a sharp breath. “Hey. They’re for tasting, not eating.” She wove her fingers through his hair and cupped the back of his neck, guiding him to the other nipple, while she slid her leg up the back of his.

  He loved it when she gave as good as she got. The woman was fierce in her job and in the bed, and he couldn’t believe she wanted to be with him. He couldn’t wait to pop the question and make their claim on each other official.

  As he tugged, sucked, and nibbled at her breast, he felt her body tense.

  “Is it hot in here, or is it me?” She gripped his ears and dragged him up. “Enough foreplay. Tell me you have protection.”

  Through narrowed eyes, he stared at her flushed face. “You aren’t there yet.”

  She cupped his balls and squeezed gently. “I’ll be all over there, if you don’t get a condom and get inside me now. I want you. We can worry about the foreplay later.”

  Remy grinned. “Where’s the romance?”

  She stomped her foot, splashing water over the side of the tub. “Goddamn it, Remy! Either you want me, or you don’t. If I don’t have you inside me in the next ten seconds, I’ll come completely apart at the seams.” She captured his face in her hands and forced him to look into her eyes. Then she kissed him hard, while running a hand over his long, thick, and incredibly hard shaft.

  “A guy likes a little romance,” he grumbled.

  “Bullshit.” She rubbed her thatch of hair over his cock.

  It twitched in response.

  “Fortunately,” he said, reaching for the condom he’d staged behind the shampoo bottle, “a good SEAL always comes prepared.” He held it up with a grin.