A Seal's Desire. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ Laramie said in a slow drawl. “Guys like Murdock, they’ve always got things to prove.”

      “He keeps calling us girls, we might want to make it our business,” Blackjack muttered into his beer.

      Poor guy, he was still so green. Laramie shared a look with Castillo. They were gonna have to rub some of that shine off Samuels, PDQ.

      “He keeps calling you girls, then as soon as I get back, we’ll all just drop our drawers and crush his ego once and for all,” Laramie told the new SEAL, downing the last of his beer as the others burst out laughing.

      “My wife will vouch for mine,” Castillo said with a smile. Laramie figured Genna would vouch for anything when it came to Castillo. Poor girl was crazy in love.

      “What’re your plans for the next three weeks?” Castillo asked, propping his size thirteen boots on the opposite chair. “You heading back to Texas?”

      “First flight out.”

      “What d’you do there?” Blackjack grinned. “You working your way through a harem or two?”

      As if.

      “My plans for leave include three weeks of peace and quiet,” he said, his words a little dreamy. “I’m heading for a small cabin in the Guadalupe Mountains. No traffic, no neighbors, not even a television.”

      “Seriously?”

      At Laramie’s nod, Blackjack’s face fell like a three-year-old being told that Santa was a big fat myth.

      “And the women?” Castillo asked, looking much less disappointed than the other man.

      “I said peace. That means no women.” Then, because his reputation demanded it, he added, “Most of these guys, they use leave to get all the women they can. Me? I get them all the time. I use leave to recoup.”

      “One of these days, Cowboy, you’re going to find the right woman.” Castillo’s smile was wicked enough to assure Laramie that he wasn’t offering a friendly assurance so much as wishing retribution. “And she’s going to have you hog-tied and branded while you just sit there.”

      “I’m a tactical warfare specialist trained in recognizing, analyzing and neutralizing threats.” Laramie shook his head. “In other words, that ain’t never gonna happen.”

      No way in hell. He’d seen up close and personal what loving a man who put his career first did to a woman. And sure, some of the team might have found women who could deal with the pressures and demands—or so they thought. But Laramie was his old man’s son. He had the same looks, the same thirst for adventure, the same kick-ass skills. It stood to reason he’d have the same talent for ruining the life of any woman crazy enough to love him.

      “No way,” Blackjack echoed, looking as offended as if Murdock had just come in and threw down pictures to prove the entire team was as dickless as he kept implying. “Cowboy is a legend. His reputation is unparalleled. Don’t even jinx it.”

      “Don’t worry.” Laramie patted the guy’s shoulder. “I’m completely committed to keeping the legend alive, buddy. Nothing’s gonna jinx me. All things considered, I’m pretty sure I can avoid the trap.”

      “Yeah.” Castillo gave a slow nod, his expression supportive. Then he tilted his glass in a salute. “I used to think that, too.”

      Laramie had heard about Castillo’s rep. And Romeo’s rep. And, damn, he stopped himself before he went through the mental list of SEALs who’d fallen to the marriage trap.

      Nope. He shook his head.

      “Believe me, I’ve armed myself too well to tie myself to one woman for the rest of my life. Me and marriage? Never going to happen.”

2

      “OH, LOOK AT YOU, Sammi Jo. Aren’t you a vision of the perfect bride? A fairy princess about to start her happy ever after.”

      Was that what she was?

      The Barclay Inn’s elegant bedroom with its rose and gilt decor, the antique tester bed and rosewood cheval mirror were definitely fit for a princess.

      But did that make her one?

      Did the dress?

      Her eyes narrowed at the mirror, Sammi Jo Wilson—Samuel Joseph on her oft-lamented birth certificate—tilted her head to one side and peered into the mirror. She tilted her head to the other side, trying to see if the dress actually had that kind of power.

      Cream-colored, beaded lace hugged her torso from the strapless sweetheart neckline to the dropped waist. One side skimmed low on her hip, layers of organza flowing from the other side like flowers to form a petal that floated, layer after airy layer to the floor.

      It was beautiful.

      The most elegant thing Sammi had ever worn.

      But its message was more along the lines of, hey, scullery maid, go ahead and play princess for a day. See how that works out.

      Sammi turned, the heavy fabric swishing as she twisted her neck to look at the back. Corset-styled cream satin laces crisscrossed down her spine to where the organza flowed again in another layer of petals.

      Nope.

      She wasn’t getting the happy-ever-after vibe the wedding consultant kept talking about. But if they added a pair of luminescent wings and a wreath of flowers to her russet hair, she’d look like a fairy.

      Her brow twitched.

      Maybe that was the problem.

      Fairy or princess, neither suited Sammi Jo Wilson of Jerrick, Texas. She felt like an imposter.

      Maybe it was the whispers—most of them behind her back, but not all—wondering how on earth a girl from the trailer park had ended up engaged to the most eligible bachelor in town.

      Maybe it was as Sterling had said when she’d confessed to him that she was having doubts; it was simply a case of bridal nerves.

      Or maybe she was just an imposter.

      No, no, no, Sammi assured herself. It was most likely that this wasn’t her style. She was more suited to simple than elegant. To fun than fancy. To being in the background instead of standing under a spotlight on center stage.

      She just had to convince the wedding coordinator of that. So, once again, Sammi took a deep breath and tried to find a compromise.

      “Maybe this is a bit too much,” she said as she maneuvered herself and her twenty pounds of dress back around to face the mirror. “I think I’d be better suited to a simpler dress.”

      “Oh, no. We won’t be changing a thing.” In an eye-searing-green pantsuit, Mrs. Ross fussed around Sammi. Her hands fluttered from the petal-like skirt to adjust the crafted silver bead rose on Sammi’s hip, then flickered dangerously close to her breasts. “Mr. Barclay approved this dress. He also approved the Asiatic lilies for the bouquet and the string quartet СКАЧАТЬ