A SEAL at Heart Read Online Free Page B

a now-empty hand.
    He shifted the basket to one side and reached forward to take it.
    An abrupt woman wearing a badge that read “Salia Sedgwick, I am the Queen! Don’t make me fetch my 9mm!” interrupted him before their hands could connect. This rude lady was actually standing between them. “Laurie Smith! You’re late. Give me that basket. This was supposed to be here two hours ago. How am I supposed to do my job when other people aren’t doing theirs?”
    Jack inserted himself into the conversation. “Ah, Ms. Sedgwick, I’m sure she has a good excuse, or does Ms. Smith need a note from her mother?”
    The woman frowned at him. “Well, I never!”
    “Never what?” he asked innocently.
    Laurie did a lousy job hiding her smile behind pursed lips.
    As the organizer snatched the basket and hurried away, Laurie’s laughter burst out. “Thank goodness, she left. I almost laughed in her face.” She touched his arm. “Thank you. Salia Sedgwick is a handful…”
    “A handful of what? Pudding? Meanness? Squishy resentment?”
    “All of the above,” she said, presenting her hand again. There was something light about her, and as he leaned forward, he could smell a hint of lilacs, as if she’d been rubbing the silky petals on her skin and hair.
    This time, his hand connected with hers. As his palm engulfed her tiny fingers, a small bolt of electricity raced up his arm. Perhaps he could stay at this event for a little while longer.
    “Hooyah! Hooyah! Hooyah!” The sound of the crowd grew louder, chanting as glasses were raised. The noise grew until his ears rang, yet it didn’t stop him from trying to speak over it.
    “My name is Jack.”

Chapter 2
    It is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep.
    —Italian proverb
    “What did you say?” Yelling in his direction, she wished the crowd would lose some of its cheery enthusiasm so she could hear what the heck this man was saying.
    He squeezed her hand. Now she was glad she had made it to the salon—had her hair and nails done, eyebrows waxed, and all of that important girly stuff. Meeting someone like him might make the pain worthwhile.
    She smiled up at him. Twice he had scored points in his favor: making her laugh and coming to her rescue. Those were excellent qualities. It didn’t hurt that he was built like a quarterback.
    The decibel level dropped slightly and she heard his voice. Delight laced through her.
    “I’m Jack Roaker.” Like velvety warm hot fudge, the timbre of his words made her smile. Could a man’s voice heat her insides and stir her interest this quickly? Perhaps, if it’s the right voice, it could. She could imagine him whispering in her ear, and the fantasy of his lips being so close to her made heat rush into her cheeks.
    A man bumped hard into her, sending a plate full of chips and guacamole onto her dress, and pushing her into Jack’s arms. He caught her, steadied her, and as her eyes met his, she murmured, “Hi, Jack. Nice to meet you.”
    Taking a step away, she tried to regain her composure. “Is it hot in here?”
    “Very,” he replied. “You okay?”
    “Sure, I live for attending events where I get yelled at by a hormonally hopped-up menopausal woman and get to wear guacamole on my new dress.” She sighed as she tried to wipe the green mess off with nothing but her hand. Yuck! “See you around.”
    “Wait, I’d like to talk to you.”
    “Really? I mean, great.” A blush threatened to engulf her already-flushed face, so she broke the gaze and looked around the room. The fund-raiser was wall-to-wall with patrons. Not the best place to get to know Jack better.
    “Beer, anyone?” A waitress, who amply filled her Dick’s Last Resort T-shirt and very short black skirt, eased her way through the crowd, balancing a tray. Her long fluffy blond ponytail swished in her wake as she arrived in front of them.
    Here and there, people grabbed a cup and dropped money on her tray. Having large plastic