Page 114 of Seal of Honor
“Oh, man, Q,” he groaned and rubbed both hands over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t he tell you what?”
He looked up as Audrey slipped inside his office and shut the door behind her. He started to say, “Nothing,” but closed his mouth and studied her. She wore another of her flowing dresses, her hair loose around her shoulders, her feet bare. He could tell by the way she kept curling her toes into his carpet that her feet were cold, as usual.
“C’mere.” He patted the desk. She crossed the room and pulled herself up to sit in front of him. Sure enough, her foot was like an ice cube despite the humid day, and he closed his hands around it to warm it up. “I’m going to buy you a pair of slippers.”
She made a face. “I won’t wear them.” She let him massage her foot for a moment longer, then tucked both feet under his thighs in the chair and drew him closer so that they were nose to nose. She kissed his forehead. “Everything okay?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He told her about Quinn’s medical condition. Her eyes glazed with tears, and he pulled her down onto his lap.
“Oh, no. Poor Quinn. What are you going to do?”
“About him? I don’t know.” And frankly, he didn’t want to think about it at the moment. He lifted her chin with the curve of his index finger and tried on a smile. “But you… I know exactly what I’m going to do about you.”
“Hmm.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his mouth. “Did Raffi’s little ploy work?”
“What little ploy?”
“He told me if I wanted to get you to the altar, I had to be a tad”—she held her fingers a millimeter apart—“manipulative and make you think there was a chance I’d leave you.”
“There isn’t?”
“For a smart man, you sure can be an idiot sometimes.” She laughed and slapped his chest. “So? Did it work?”
Gabe thought of the last time Quinn asked him that question during his retirement party. Thought about how lonely he’d been back then, and he hadn’t even known it, how colorless his life had been without Audrey to brighten it up. He never wanted to go back to that dull, lonely existence again.
“Yeah,” he admitted, “it worked.” He reached into his desk drawer for the plane tickets but had to bite the inside of his cheek to fight a smile. He’d been played beautifully, and he loved her all the more for it. “We leave tomorrow.”
“Vegas?” She fanned the two tickets out and grinned at him. “So are you just carting me off like a caveman, or are you gonna ask me like a good, honorable SEAL should?”
Gabe pretended to think about it for a half second, then scooped her into his arms and carried her through the door adjoining his office to their bedroom.
“Gabe, no. We have company!” She laughed when she hit the bed with a bounce, but the laughter soon turned to moans as he settled between her open legs and dragged his lips up her neck to her ear.
“Caveman,” he said and nibbled her earlobe. “I’m not a SEAL anymore.”
And for the first time, that didn’t bother him in the least.
EPILOGUE
KEY WEST, FLORIDA
Quinn jolted awake as a horn blared somewhere nearby and scrubbed his hands over his face.
Fuck, he’d fallen asleep in a taxi.
That wasn’t like him. He usually was too wary, too accustomed to being on high alert even in non-hostile environments. Though, as he scowled out the window at the crowds of drunk people clogging Duval Street, he wasn’t entirely sure Key West could be considered a non-hostile environment.
The last few months had been exhausting. He’d had to oversee the team’s training as Gabe and Audrey both recuperated from the fire and rebuilt their home and the team’s new headquarters. Audrey, stubborn as she was, had insisted on being involved in the planning and design despite Gabe’s futile attempts to convince her to rest. Quinn had watched their heated arguments with a mixture of amusement and exasperation—he secretly admired the passion they had for each other, even if it was often cloaked in a veil of stubbornness.
A group of raucous college kids stumbled by the taxi, their laughter echoing off the vibrant buildings and scraping against Quinn’s nerves. He rubbed his temples, the ache behind his eyes flaring up. The headache was constant since the car accident, but this one had the potential to blossom into a migraine if he didn’t slow down. He needed sleep. Real sleep, not the restless half-awake kind where every little sound jolted him back to consciousness.
Tearing away from the spectacle of the drunk kids trying to pick up women, he rapped his knuckles against the taxi’s partition. “This is good, buddy. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
He paid the fare and stepped out into the humid night air. The scent of sea, alcohol, and fried conch hit him in an addictive combination. Key West was alive; it pulsed with energy and life.
Was that why Seth Harlan chose to hole up here? To remind himself he was alive?
