To Dare A SEAL (Sin City SEALs 2)

Chapter Twenty

The hotel room door slammed, stealing away Jack’s chance to turn his long-standing fantasy into reality—Natalie in his life and his bed, night after night.

He stood in the middle of his hotel bathroom, the shower raining down behind him. His condom-wrapped dick jutted out from his body, still eager for a future that was never going to happen.

Should he go after her? He stepped toward the bathroom door and froze. What the hell could he say that he hadn’t already put out there? He’d made it clear that he’d wanted her long before the bet. Maybe he could chase her down the hall and explain.

His jaw tightened. He could guess at her response. Don’t play Prince Charming with me.

No, he was done playing “Prince Charming.” He’d said everything he had to say.

I want you, Natalie. No bets. No escape routes. Just you.

What else could he possibly say to keep her?

Nothing.

He opened the shower door and stepped back under the warm water. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He’d fought for so long—against his brothers, against everyone who doubted he had what it took to become a SEAL, and against fucking terrorists hell-bent on destroying everything he believed in, like his country and his freedom. But this was one battle he couldn’t win.

Because Natalie wasn’t a prize.

When she said those words—shit, he’d known she was right. And he should have listened to her. He should have demanded clothes and conversation, not a quick fuck in a hotel bathroom. This wasn’t about who came out on top. And if she’d stop running and think about it for a minute, she’d realize this thing between them wasn’t about who set the scene in bed.

Tell me how you want to take me.

His body ached at the memory of those words on her lips. He had a list to complete that would take them months, maybe years given his near-constant deployments. But he’d blown his chances of ever making that happen. Natalie had made it clear she didn’t want him.

And her rejection hurt more than every damn hit he’d taken as a kid. More than his brothers’ ugly words. More than anything he’d faced during his time with the SEAL teams.

They were done. She’d left him alone.

Damn, he wanted to escape the pain.

Leaning forward, he pressed one hand against the shower wall. He wrapped the other around his dick and stripped off the condom. He sure as hell didn’t need it for this. He pumped his hand up and down. The mental image of Natalie on the counter, her arms behind her, breasts jutting out and her legs spread. He’d never forget how she looked at that moment. And how damn much he wanted to take her and make her his.

“It’s a fucking fantasy,” he said, water rushing over his back as his hand worked faster. He didn’t need to draw this out, not when he was alone in the shower.

He closed his eyes and came, releasing a moan. It felt good, sure. But right now he’d take a simple conversation with the one woman who listened, who understood how the past drove him to make stupid calls—like the bet. He’d set out to claim her on his terms. And he’d fucking failed. He sure as shit wasn’t going to figure out how to fix this mess while self-gratifying in the shower.

“If I can fix this,” he muttered, opening his eyes and staring out into the empty bathroom. Maybe defeat had finally caught up with him. He could beat his brothers. He could take down terrorists. But making the woman of his dreams open up her heart and take a chance on him?

Fucking impossible. He should go back to sitting on his side of the bar and tossing out stupid one-liners to women who didn’t give a damn what he said as long as he smiled.

Any minute security would turn the corner and demand to know what she was doing running down the hall in a barely buttoned men’s shirt with her cell phone pressed against her ear.

Please pick up, Cade. I promise I won’t complain about the fact that Mufasa spends most of his time with me when he’s really your dog. Please. I need you now.

“Natalie?”

“What’s your room number?” she demanded, praying his suite was on the same floor as Jack’s room.

“One nine zero five,” he said.

“Nineteenth floor. Oh thank God.” She slowed and looked at the sign by the elevator bank. She was so close, only one more stretch of hopefully empty hallway to run down without her underwear.

“Do you need help with Mufasa?” he asked.