Page 63 of Seal of Honor
God, he was beautiful.
A modern avenging angel.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned away from the window slowly, gold eyes focusing all that intensity on her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that jerk of his shoulders was his breath catching. Maybe the dress wasn’t that awful after all if it elicited such a reaction.
Goading him a bit, she did a little turn and prompted, “So?”
“You look…” He seemed at a loss for words and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. “Beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice stopped her mid-twirl, and pleasure warmed her blood like a shot of good Southern whiskey. He might not be ready to admit they had something more than sex, but the emotion behind that one simple compliment came close.
“Thank you.” She picked up the diamond necklace that had come with the dress and held it out to him. “Can you help me with this?”
Moving toward her, he gently took the necklace from her outstretched hand. His fingers brushed against hers, a fleeting touch that sent shivers down her spine. The connection between them was undeniable, as hot as an electric current traveling between two points. He moved to stand behind her, his reflection appearing in the long mirror she was facing.
His muscular figure towered over her slender one, and when her eyes met his in the mirror, the heat between them sizzled and popped in the silence. His hands, strong and capable, brushed her wavy hair over one shoulder, his knuckles lingering at the nape of her neck, causing a shiver of anticipation to course through her body. Even after spending the afternoon lost in each other, every touch, every moment their skin connected was still charged with raw desire.
She’d never felt anything like this before, and she was certain she would never feel anything like it again. It scared her. Scared her in the most exhilarating, reckless way.
Slowly, very slowly, Gabe leaned in, and the cool metal of the necklace draped against her collarbone. He fastened the clasp at the back of her neck, but he didn’t pull away. He traced the curve of her shoulder, down her arm, and finally entangled his fingers with hers. His touch was feather-light, but it set her nerves on fire, her skin tingling in response. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked in the mirror again.
Gabe Bristow was a man unlike any other, and the way he looked at her—the way he touched her—it felt like a promise. A silent vow that he would protect her until the bitter end. Nobody had ever looked at her like she mattered, like she was worth fighting for. And it shook her to her core.
“Thank you,” she whispered and hoped he knew she was thanking him for more than the help with the necklace. Because she couldn’t voice how grateful she was for everything he’d done, everything he was—a reluctant hero, a protector, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He stood behind her, silent as a ghost, his fingers still tangled with hers, his stare so intense she could barely stand it.
She cleared her throat and stepped away from him, breaking the contact. She needed distance, a moment to regain control of the emotions spiraling out of control inside her. “Do you need help with that bowtie?”
He shook his head and asked softly, “Are you still angry with me?”
How one man could be capable of the cold ferocity she witnessed at the guerrilla camp and also such childlike sweetness, she couldn’t begin to fathom. But, Lord, was it endearing to know her SEAL was not always one hundred percent sure of himself.
“Oh, Gabe.” She soothed her palms over the lapels of his jacket. “I was frustrated, not angry, and it was over nothing you did. It’s the situation.”
“It is a sucky situation,” he agreed.
“It is, but the shower helped relax me.” And so did the look on his face when he saw her in the purple prom bomb of a dress. If she could have captured that on canvas, she’d call it Lovestruck. Silly man just didn’t realize he was a goner yet.
She knotted his bowtie and then stood on her toes to kiss him as the door popped open. No semi-polite knocking this time. Liam Miller stood there with a scowl fit to kill. “Out.”
Gabe tucked her in close to his side, and together, they left the tenuous safety of the bedroom to dine with the devil himself.
CHAPTER 22
LOS ANGELES, CA
“So, how is Bryson doing?” Despite the phone conversation going from strained to explosive in a matter of heartbeats, Danny Giancarelli kept his voice as even and calm as a late-night radio announcer urging people to enjoy some smooth jazz as they drifted to sleep.
The HT, who wanted to be called Angel, had not liked it when he demanded to speak to Chloe Van Amee, and Danny answered instead. He’d liked the suggestion that he let Bryson talk again even less.
“He’s fine,” Angel said in thickly accented English. “But he won’t be if you keep stalling.”
“Nobody is stalling, okay? We’re working as fast as we can to raise the funds for Bryson’s release, but it is going to take some time.”
Angel swore in Spanish. “You’re lying. He’s rich. The money is already there.”
“He has money, yes,” Danny conceded. “But Chloe can’t just walk into the bank and withdraw such a large sum from his accounts. The bank has rules and regulations that need to be followed.”
