Fevered Nights. Jillian Burns

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СКАЧАТЬ poured their wine—which Neil accepted without tasting—and took their orders. Piper reached for her glass. Without the menu as a barrier, she felt exposed. Strange. She didn’t often feel awkward around men. But then, the men with whom she usually kept company were acutely adept at playing the game. This man...wasn’t. And she realized she didn’t know what to do with that.

      The silence had gone on too long. “What do you do—”

      “My buddy says your—” They spoke at the same time.

      He nodded at her. “You go.”

      “What do you do in the navy?”

      “Whatever they tell me to do.” His sheepish smile softened the sharp answer.

      Piper blinked. “And how long have you been doing that?”

      “Since I was twenty. Uh, fourteen years, now.” His eyes widened. “Wow, saying that out loud makes me sound really old.”

      “And why did you join the navy?”

      “Well, I sure didn’t want to be a jarhead.”

      Piper frowned. “Pardon?”

      He winced. “Sorry. It was a joke. Jarheads are marines. We have a bit of a rivalry with the marines. No, it was my uncle. After Korea, the military knew they needed a more unconventional type of soldier for counterinsurgency. My father’s older brother was one of the first SEALs. He died in Vietnam.”

      She raised a skeptical brow. “And this was the reason you wanted to follow in his footsteps?”

      Neil’s gaze drifted off. “I was alone a lot as a kid. One day I found a trunk in my grandparents’ attic with a bunch of old letters. On one of them was a picture of these guys in jungle camo, and a Purple Heart medal. There was also this gold pin of an eagle perched on an anchor, holding Neptune’s trident and a pistol in his claws. It’s the pin that navy SEALs get after they complete training.

      “When I asked my grandfather about it he told me the things had belonged to my uncle Greg. Uncle Greg had written the letters to his parents from Vietnam. I practically memorized them. They taught me the only important things I needed to know in life.”

      Piper was taken aback at his sincerity, and couldn’t have stopped herself from asking the next question if she’d tried. “What are the important things in life?”

      His focus shot back to her and he tilted his head. “Honor,” he stated with conviction. “Duty.” He thrust his chin out. “And love.”

      Piper blinked, feeling her eyes sting. If she’d ever believed in those things, she’d lost faith in them long ago. After all, she’d failed at all three. Avoiding his searching gaze, she reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. She cleared her throat. Somehow this didn’t feel like a normal date. “I guess knowing how to sail well comes in handy in the navy?”

      He shrugged. “Knowing how to swim certainly helped. It was about the only thing that got me through BUD/S.”

      “BUD/S?”

      “Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL training.”

      “Oh. So you blow things up underwater?”

      “That’s part of the job, I guess. Sometimes.”

      “Then, I can see why you’d have to be a good swimmer.”

      A slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah.” He nodded. “You do.”

      She grimaced. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve said something incredibly stupid?”

      “No.” He looked alarmed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

      “It’s all right. You wouldn’t be the first.” She forced a small smile. “Or the last.”

      Instead of agreeing with her, he narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her face. “No one should ever make you feel stupid.”

      Piper’s mouth dropped open. She had no idea what to say to that. This man had only just met her, didn’t know her at all, yet he’d touched a raw nerve with such precision and then soothed it in the space of a few seconds.

      He took a sip of his wine and the food arrived. Grabbing his knife and fork, he ignored the salad and dug into his steak with gusto. After he’d swallowed a bite, he looked up. “All I meant about the swimming was that unlike my buddy, I was usually last at everything at BUD/S, except for that and diving.” He forked another bite of steak and popped it into his mouth.

      “I find that hard to believe.”

      He stopped chewing and met her gaze. She’d been staring at his chest, wondering if it was hairy or smooth. Despite his average height and build, she sensed strength in his every move. Power lurking beneath the surface. Just thinking about the muscles that bunched under his suit coat made her want to slide it off and run her hands down his arms.

      Her face heated. She concentrated on her salad, picking at the spinach.

      “That really all you’re going to eat?”

      “If I want to continue to work.”

      Funny, she wasn’t the least bit interested in food right now. Usually, limiting her caloric intake was a struggle. When she’d first arrived in London, she’d wanted to stuff her face every chance she got. But Ms. H had controlled her diet with an iron hand from the beginning.

      It had seemed a ridiculous paradox to her at first; living in such luxury and yet still going hungry. But at least she’d been allowed to send money back to Nandan.

      “Doesn’t seem right.” He shook his head. “Making women think that putting on a few pounds is the end of the world. Most guys I know don’t give a rat’s...behind about that.”

      She bristled. “It’s my job.”

      He winced. “I didn’t mean—” He sighed and gave her that lopsided grin. “I seem to be having an off night. Usually I’m a lot more suave than this.”

      When his white teeth flashed and his eyes twinkled like that it was impossible to remain immune to his charm. Besides, it was a reassuring concept. To think that she could quit modeling and eat whatever she wanted, as much as she wanted, and the world would still spin on its axis. Her shoulders sagged. “I shouldn’t be so sensitive. Tell me more about BUD/S.”

      His attention seemed to turn inward and he remained silent.

      “You don’t want to talk about it?”

      “No, that’s not it. I’m just not sure any description could do it justice.”

      “Please, I’m very curious.” Genuinely, she wasn’t bored at all.

      After a brief hesitation, he set down his knife and fork. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, braced his elbows on the table and folded his arms one on top of the other. “The first eight weeks is PT. Physical training. Timed runs, obstacle course, timed swims—and we’re talking in the Pacific. You get used to being frozen, wet and miserable. СКАЧАТЬ