HOT SEAL Lover (HOT SEAL Team - Book 2) Page 6

  And didn’t that name in her head just call up all sorts of memories and regrets? She’d only had one night with her smoking-hot SEAL lover, but it had been a pretty spectacular one.

  You could have had more, girlie. He wanted more.

  So had she, but she’d panicked. And then she’d run. She hadn’t stopped running either. But he’d stopped calling, which was what she’d wanted.

  Or had she? Because damn, these past couple of months with no communication from Remy sure had felt lonely. And futile in a way. The day she got the formal divorce decree in the mail, she’d nearly picked up the phone and called him just to have someone to talk to.

  Instead, she’d packed a bag and gotten onto a plane to Brazil where she’d met with some oil executives and pitched them a partnership with Girard Oil.

  Christina sighed. This was her life now. Girard Oil. Travel and business. It filled the hours.

  Matt: If you’d told me you were going to Qu’rim, you could have had one of Jack Hunter’s guys.

  Jack was one of Matt’s former teammates. He’d married pretty much the biggest pop star in the world, and then he’d gotten out of the military and started his own personal security business. She didn’t doubt Jack’s people would be more than competent.

  Christina: If I’d told you I was going, you’d have tossed me into your basement and thrown away the key.

  Matt: Probably. LU. Be safe. Get home.

  Christina: That’s the intention.

  When her phone didn’t blow up with more texts, she breathed a sigh of relief. The television continued to blare dire news, however—and when another explosion rocked the city, Christina gasped as the hotel building shook. Her heart hammered as she ran over to the window and peered out. The sky was orange in the distance. Below the window, traffic snarled. Trucks piled high with people and their belongings sat in tangles while the drivers honked and yelled.

  Christina lifted her phone and dialed. A man answered just when she was ready to give up.

  “Yeah?”

  “You doing better?” she asked Paul, the big dude who’d accompanied her from Texas when she’d stopped at Girard Oil HQ in Houston before leaving for this trip. She could hear the television in the background, and then it went silent.

  “Somewhat. We need to get out of here, ma’am. The city is under blockade from the rebels, and someone just said the airport’s been cut off.”

  Shit.

  “All right, then what’s the plan?”

  He was silent for so long that she rolled her eyes. Honest to God, Matt or Remy would have had ten backup plans already. Though, on the other hand, she needed to be fair to the guy. He was sick—but at least he had current information that she did not.

  “We need to get a car. Get on the road. Drive to the next town where we can get a flight.”

  Christina cursed silently. She should have called Matt before she’d come on this trip. She didn’t know what Jack Hunter’s guy could have done differently, but she had no doubt he wouldn’t have waited for her to ask what the plan was.

  “The next town is a two-hour drive in decent conditions. In these conditions, I imagine it will take days,” she said.

  “I don’t think we have much choice, ma’am.”

  So polite, but he sounded a tad irritated with her right now.

  A sudden thought occurred to her, and she almost wilted with relief. “Sheikh Fahd must have private transportation. I’ll ask him for a ride to Acamar or Dubai, or wherever he’s going.”

  Christina wrapped up the call—Paul did not offer to accompany her to Sheikh Fahd’s penthouse suite, which she knew Matt would not approve of—and slipped the hijab over her hair. Fahd was modern enough that covering her hair instead of her entire body would satisfy him.

  She tucked her phone into her purse and swung that over her shoulder, intending to head straight for Fahd’s suite. At the last second, she grabbed her briefcase. Maybe Fahd would be ready to sign the papers too. She could get him at a weak moment—like between explosions.

  The thought amused her, which was a good thing right now. She knew Fahd was too shrewd to allow anything to derail him.

  Christina jerked open the door and bit back a scream at the sight of a very large man with his fist raised to knock. He was at once familiar and foreign, and her heart pumped so fast she felt light-headed. He lowered his fist to his side.

  “R-Remy?”

  She hadn’t seen him in six months, not since that hot night in her bedroom, but her heart and body knew Remy Marchand even if she would rather they didn’t.

  He didn’t look anything like he had the last time she’d seen him. He’d been wearing his henley and jeans, leaving her house after a hot night of sex and promising to call her later—which he had done, she knew, because she had the unanswered messages to prove it.

  Now he was menacing. Tall and broad as always, but this time he was dressed all in desert camouflage, a mean-looking rifle slung over his chest, and sporting a helmet with what looked like a camera on the top. There was a mic curving around his cheek, and he wore a vest that appeared to contain ammo. There was also a gun in a holster strapped around his thigh and what seemed to be kneepads on his knees.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  His mouth—that gorgeous, sensual mouth that had taken her to such heights—curved down in a hard frown. “This is a fucking war zone, Christina. I’m rescuing your ass.”

  She couldn’t help the hot flush of anger that rolled over her then. “I don’t need rescuing, thanks.”

  He pushed into the room and shoved the door closed.

  “Objective acquired,” he said into the mic. “Awaiting instructions. … Copy.”

  When he looked up at her again, his expression was dark. “Afraid you do, sweetheart. The airport’s closed for business. The rebels have cut off the route. Soon they’ll have the airport in their possession—and that’s bad for us.”

  Her heart was thrumming from so many things, but the one thing that seemed paramount was just how shocking—and confusing—it was to see him again. And not just see him, but see him as the badass warrior he really was. He’d been sweet and tender with her. Handsome, yes, but not dangerous.

  This man was not sweet. He was a lethal combination of training and testosterone. More dangerous than anything she’d ever encountered.

  She lifted her chin. “I’m on my way to see Sheikh Fahd. He has a helicopter. He’ll take me with him when he goes—”

  “Wrong.”

  He made her trip over her tongue for a second before she found it again. “He will. I’m going to see him now.”

  She started for the door, but Remy stepped in front of her. His hand rested on the weapon slung across his chest, and he looked absolutely menacing as he stared her down.

  “You can’t, Christina. He’s gone. Left about three hours ago, like a sensible sheikh. You’re on your own.”

  His gaze was challenging. Superior. It made her want to punch him. And kiss him, God help her. “I have Paul.”

  Remy’s gaze narrowed. “Who the fuck is Paul?”

  His voice was like a whip between them, cracking hard against her senses. He was not a man to be toyed with, that was for sure.

  “My bodyguard. He’s across the hall.”

  “Across the fucking hall? Jesus.” He picked up the radio clipped to his vest and pressed a button. “Do we have a Paul on our list? … Well, we do now. Bodyguard. … Yeah, guess somebody overlooked him.” He glanced at her. “Paul who?”

  “I…” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “He’s across the hall from Christina Girard. … Yeah, copy.” He let go of the radio and gave her a hard look. “Call him and tell him to get over here. Now. You’ll have to leave your suitcases.”

  “What? Why?”

  “This ain’t a fucking vacation, baby. It’s an extraction. Take what you can carry. If you can carry a suitcase for miles through the desert, then be my guest. But nobody’s carrying i
t for you. Not even Paul, so don’t think of asking.”

  Christina drew herself up, hurt, furious, and confused. Seeing him was doing a number on her senses. Knowing he was pissed at her only made it worse. “What makes you think I’d expect him to do that? Did I ever give you the impression I was spoiled?”

  He snorted. “The impression you gave me turned out to be a lie, so what do I know?”

  His words pierced her. Maybe she could have handled the situation between them better, but she hadn’t and there was no sense stewing in regrets. “Remy, I—”

  “Save it,” he bit out. “Call the bodyguard. The time for talking is over between us.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, but she did as he said. She dialed Paul, told him to come to her room, and slipped the phone into her purse again. God, she’d fucked up so badly. She’d only been trying to protect herself when she’d fled town after that night, but clearly she’d done a rotten job of it because she wasn’t feeling safe at all right now.

  She felt as bruised and battered inside as she ever had. Maybe more so considering she hadn’t given Remy the benefit of the doubt before deciding he’d betray her the way Ben had.

  But after being burned so badly once before, how could she trust another man not to do the same thing? Ben cheated. Her father had been a serial womanizer until he married Misty Lee. Matt was devoted to Evie, but look how many years it had taken him to get his head screwed on right.

  She just didn’t have room for that kind of drama in her life anymore. Besides, if she got a hankering for babies, she had her new nephews to play with. Cuter twins had never been seen on this earth, she was certain.

  “Do you have any pants? Best to put those on instead of a dress.” Remy’s gaze settled on the abaya draped over a chair. “Wear the traditional clothing over everything once you’ve changed.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but what was the point? He was right, he was in charge here, and arguing was stupid. Did you argue with the fireman who came to pull you from a burning building?

  No. You also didn’t argue with the badass Navy SEAL who was trying to pull you from a war zone.

  She went to her carry-on suitcase and took out jeans and a white button-down shirt. She didn’t really have all that much with her, nothing of importance other than her briefcase and wallet. She’d learned to travel light when on these trips, so losing her clothing wouldn’t be too terrible even if it was wasteful.

  She slipped into the bathroom to change. When she was finished, her eyes glittered in the mirror as she lifted her head to stare at herself.

  Damn it, why did she always get it wrong? She’d fallen for Ben and he’d been toxic. Then she’d decided a one-night stand with Remy was a good idea—until the intensity of what happened between them rattled her so badly she had to run away rather than face it.

  She’d felt drawn to him in a way she simply couldn’t handle. It had been too soon. She couldn’t trust him—couldn’t trust herself. She’d needed distance.

  Yet here she was, facing him after six months and feeling like someone had ripped out her guts. It wasn’t easier seeing him now, and it should be. She should be completely unaffected.

  She was far from unaffected.

  She heard voices and figured Paul must have arrived. She shrugged the abaya over her clothing, straightened the hijab, and jerked open the door.

  Remy looked even more annoyed if that were possible. Paul was there, also looking annoyed. Seeing the two men standing together, she wondered how on earth she’d ever believed Paul was capable of being her bodyguard on this trip.

  He wasn’t precisely fat, but he wasn’t toned either. He looked like one of those guys who worked out but still ate chili dogs and cheese fries. A bit of a gut, but with big arms and a thick neck. Like he’d been a football player at one point in his life.

  He was shorter than Remy by about six inches, which made her realize just how tall Remy was. Six-four or six-five at least.

  “You should have been here with her the instant you learned about the airport.” Remy’s voice was tight.

  Paul puffed up his chest like a rooster. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, asshole, and I won’t tell you how to do yours.”

  She thought Remy might explode, but instead he just shook his head. “Motherfucker,” he said softly, “you have no idea what the hell I do. But I guarantee you it’s more before breakfast than you do in a month.”

  Paul puffed himself up again. “I’m an ex-Marine, buddy. I get it.”

  Remy took two long steps, cutting the distance between them.

  Paul reared back, bumping into a chair and nearly falling. “What the fuck?” he demanded.

  Remy grabbed him, spun him around, and at some point relieved him of the weapon he had holstered inside his jacket. After Remy checked the gun and shoved it into one of the many pockets in his vest, he looked at Paul in disgust.

  “It’s former Marine, dickhead, or simply Marine. Never ex. Don’t pretend to be something you aren’t. It’s an insult to all who’ve served.”

  Paul rubbed his wrist where Remy’d grasped it. Then he blew out a breath. “I tried to join up but didn’t pass the physical. I wanted to go, but they wouldn’t take me. So maybe I don’t have the right, but I wanted it.”

  Remy appeared to relax slightly at that unexpected bit of honesty. “Understood. But don’t claim it when you didn’t earn it. That’s not cool.”

  Remy turned to where Christina stood just outside the bathroom door. “You ready?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s roll, kids. We’re going to meet up with my team and get the fuck out of here. All you have to do is keep up.”

  10

  Jesus, why had he volunteered to be the one to get Christina? His gut churned and he wanted to say about a million things to her. Things he wasn’t going to say because there was absolutely no point.

  She’d made it clear enough she wasn’t interested.

  Remy led the way to the stairs, sweeping the hall with his weapon at the ready. The hotel wasn’t under rebel control, but that wasn’t the point.

  His other teammates had fanned out to locate the rest of the people on the list, and they were meeting downstairs. Five individuals in all, six now with Paul, the not-quite-a-Marine bodyguard.

  Remy went into the stairwell, swept it for intruders, and then signaled Paul and Christina to follow. At least Paul waited for Christina to go first, putting her between the two of them. Remy didn’t like the guy, mostly because he hadn’t taken as good of care of Christina as he should have. Asshole should have had her out of here two hours ago at a minimum.

  But if he had, you wouldn’t have her now. You wouldn’t know she was safe.

  True.

  Maybe it would have been better for Remy if she’d already been gone though.

  Because, goddamn, he’d been pissed since the second she opened the door, looking all sweet and pretty in her summery dress with the hijab over her hair. He’d had a strong need to kiss her, and that hadn’t helped his temper in the least.

  He knew where he stood with Christina Girard-Scott. One night in her arms, and he was history. He thought he’d glimpsed heaven with her, and then she’d refused to answer his calls.

  Just as well since he’d probably been wrong anyway. She was just another woman, though admittedly she wasn’t his usual type. He didn’t typically go for the Junior League sort.

  Or maybe he was just pissed because she’d given him a dose of his own medicine. Yeah, he’d had one-night stands and he’d failed to call the woman the next day—or ever—but he’d never called and been ignored. That was a new one.

  At first he’d thought she was busy. Took him about three days to realize she was ignoring him on purpose.

  He’d been unable to ask Matt Girard about his sister. Unable to ask anyone. All he could do was leave messages.

  Messages she never returned. He’d gotten the hint after two weeks, but he’d called periodically for the nex
t couple of months. Just in case she finally answered and explained what the fuck was going on—which she never had.

  They entered the foyer of the hotel. There were a few people around, but not many. Everyone was busy fleeing the city, which didn’t bode particularly well for the SEALs and their charges.

  They’d been tasked with putting these people on a plane, but that had changed in the past couple of hours between order and execution. There was no way through to the airport now. People were leaving by car and truck, fleeing north. Some would go east to the port city of Akhira. It was the most direct way to the sea but also the riskiest with the fighting so close. The rebels could cut the route if they overran the road at any point.

  The SEALs couldn’t call in an air rescue because every helicopter was currently being used elsewhere. Not to mention the sky was particularly dangerous at the moment since the rebels had a supply of shoulder-fired missile launchers. They would most definitely aim them at a Blackhawk appearing on the skyline, and that was a nightmare nobody needed.

  The only way out was the way everyone was going—motor vehicle.

  Viking was waiting for them when they arrived in the foyer. “We’ll go seven to a vehicle. You’ve got Cowboy, Camel, and Money— Jesus, that sounds like a bad joke.”

  Viking shook his head and Remy couldn’t help but grin. Cody “Cowboy” McCormick thought riding bulls on his off time was fun. Alex “Camel” Kamarov had the misfortune to have a name that lent itself to a name like Camel. And Cash “Money” McQuaid was self-explanatory.

  “Akhira is the closest, but we’re heading for Merak,” Viking continued. “It’s more stable, and the commercial airport is still operational.”

  Merak was a port city near the northern border of Qu’rim. On a good day, it was six hours north. On a day like today? God only knew.

  “Copy that. It’s farther from the fighting and less likely to be cut off. Don’t think we have much choice really.”

  Viking looked grim. “Not especially, no.” His gaze slipped over Paul and Christina standing nearby. “She okay?”

  Of course Viking knew who she was because he’d been at those same gatherings where Remy had met and talked to Christina.