Jill Monroe - Sealed and Delivered

Kicking off her heels, she lifted her skirt and flew down the tiled stairs of the terrace to the sand below.

“Looks like she found her kissing candidate.” Whistles and catcalls from the shower guests followed Hailey onto the beach.

“Call 9-1-1,” she hollered and she raced toward the man, kicking up sand behind her.

“What?” The ladies’ teasing turned into murmurs of concern.

The swimmer was now standing waist deep in the water. She’d never seen anything like him. Clad shoulder to foot in a dark, skintight wetsuit, he emerged from the ocean. The powerful muscles of his thighs flowed with strength. His suit outlined every solid ripple of the lean lines of his shoulders and arms. He reminded her of Colossus, the powerful X-Man who transformed into solid, dark steel. Her second fiancé sold a ton of those comic books in his store, and witnessing someone with such a show of strength in aid of another, she understood Colossus’ appeal.

The SEAL’s burden still hadn’t moved, and her breath shallowed in panic. The cool water of the Pacific splashed at her ankles as she raced to meet them.

“Stay back,” he warned.

“Let me help,” she offered, seeing the fatigue lining his face. “I’m stronger than I look.”

At five feet two inches, she must look pretty scrawny to this big man. With a reluctant nod from him, she looped the injured man’s arm around her shoulder, taking only a little of the weight. Colossus still managed the bulk of the load. “My friends are calling for help. 9-1-1,” she added.

“I’ve already radioed for the helicopter.”

“From in the water?” she asked, feeling almost instantly silly. Seeing the men up close in their wetsuits or rash guards or whatever they called that tight-fitting dive garb, there was no question they were military. Of course they had some kind of waterproof device. “I know CPR.”

Colossus shook his head as they eased the man to the sand and positioned him on his back. “He’s breathing. He hit his head and blacked out. I made sure he didn’t take in any water.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting back on her heels, her breath coming out in little pants. Okay, well. Colossus seemed to have everything in hand. What was the protocol in a situation like this? Offer him some mousse as they waited for rescue? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t paying her any attention, instead checking on his fallen comrade, counting out his pulse against his watch and lifting the man’s eyelids.

Water ran crazy paths down his forehead and cheeks, but he never brushed it away, utterly focused on the task at hand.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, wanting to help.

The man simply shook his head. He didn’t seem to mind the cold she knew he must be feeling. His breathing was heavy, but he hadn’t handed over responsibility for the other soldier to her so he could take a break. His words had been confident, and his actions seemed to back him up. Unlike Fiancé Failure Number Three who never wasted an opportunity to offer an “expert” opinion, but was only adept at giving completely useless advice.

After a few minutes, the man beside her signaled to his crew still in the water. With a few waves of the hand, that Hailey was sure meant something, they continued on with whatever it was they were doing.

Now, after taking care of everything and everyone else, the SEAL lowered himself to the sand and stretched out his long legs. She tried to avert her eyes, she really did, but that dark wetsuit he wore like a second skin left nothing to the imagination. Actually, both her imagination and reality were enjoying a great show. He finally slicked the water from his face, then glanced her way. His eyes widened as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Than—”

“Uhh,” the man between them stirred, reaching toward his head. A trickle of blood mixed with the water from the ocean was beginning to trail down his temple.

“Don’t touch.”

“Try not to touch,” she said, injecting calm into her voice.

They spoke at the same time. Only his words sounded more like an order.

The injured man blinked a few times against the sun, then his gaze settled on her. “What kind of salvation is this?” He slowly rubbed the saltwater from his eyes. “An angel, and my head hurts like a bi—”

“That’s enough, Ensign Ortiz,” Colossus said, authority lining every word.

The Ensign’s gaze cut toward Colossus. “What happened?” he asked.

Yeah, she was curious about that, too.

“Head.”

Okay, not helpful.

The man on the sand squeezed his eyes tight for a moment, took a deep breath and then with a force of will she’d never seen in another person, pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I’m ready.”

It didn’t fully sink in that the Ensign, who was unconscious only seconds before, had every intention of going back into the water. And that Colossus was going to let him. “But you can’t,” she said, scrambling to her feet. Colossus had already smoothly stood, his tall frame blocking the sun from her eyes.

“It’s his job,” Colossus told her.

With another show of will, the Ensign shoved to his feet. He barely remained upright, then gathered his balance steadily. “Ready,” he repeated.

“Look this way,” Colossus ordered. He examined the Ensign’s eyes, his face relaxing a tick. “Knots on your head?” he asked.

The younger man felt along his scalp, shaking his head no.

Colossus angled his head toward the water. “Okay.”

With a look of relief, the other man began to walk to the ocean.

“But he’s bleeding,” she protested.

“The saltwater will take care of his wound,” Colossus stated, seemingly unconcerned.

She glanced back toward The Sutherland. “I have some anti-bacterial foam—”

Colossus’s lips moved as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “He’s trained to fight with worse.”

She swallowed. Of course he was.

“I can’t believe what he’s doing,” she said, watching the Ensign as he made a smooth dive into the waves, and swam toward the other men still treading water. “Maybe we should have waited until the paramedics arrived.” Yet with every stroke he seemed to gain more strength.

“I’ve had combat medical training. I checked for signs of concussion. He’s fine.”

These men lived in a different world, far away from the corresponding bridal ribbons, chocolate shavings and the waterproof bandages she would have suggested next.

She turned away from the swimming soldier to face Colossus, and that’s when her gaze collided with the steel gray of his. Her breath hitched. Sure she’d noticed the strength of his body outlined so perfectly in his wetsuit, his air of authority and control as he’d handled the situation with the injured soldier, but this man’s eyes were something else. Something inviting and very, very sexy.

A cool breeze from off the ocean fanned her face, her bare arms. Although she tried to fight back a shiver, her nipples tightened. She hoped he’d think her bodily reaction was due to the weather and not the hot, suddenly carnal thoughts popping into her mind about him. Like running her fingers along his arm to feel the solidness of his muscles. To lick that drop of saltwater off his cheek. Or discover just how one gets a wetsuit off a man. Zipper? Scissors? Who knew?

No. No. And hell no. These thoughts were ending right here. She was not in the market for a fling. Or a boyfriend. Boyfriends tended to become fiancés in her world. This would make Fiancé Failure Number Four. And that she was finding someone attractive that she didn’t normally go for meant nothing. In fact, her virtually nonexistent male filtering system had probably just widened the search parameters.