Two days ago, they’d had a rip-roaring fight at the Brockman’s house when he’d insisted she pack. Harold had been smart enough to get him and his daughters out of the line of fire.

“I’m only packing one suitcase because I’m only going to be gone one week. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to be gone any longer. The girls need me. Lesley needs me. Mr. B. needs me. You’re lucky I agreed to a week, and I only did that because Mr. B. made such a compelling argument.”

She didn’t even come up to his chin, but it didn’t stop her from going head-to-head with him.

“Suit yourself, but I thought women liked more changes of clothes for five weeks.”

“And if I was staying five weeks, I would pack more,” she said sweetly. Marcia even batted her long eyelashes. Zed leaned against her bedroom wall and pretended she wasn’t getting to him.

“Harold’s already sent a note from the hospital to your supervisor saying you need five weeks to recover. He’s arranged to have his sister stay for the next five weeks. I’d say you’ve been outmaneuvered.”

She paused mid-fold of the red lingerie in her hand and looked at him. Her eyes glinted. “Well, I guess that means I get to take a vacation. I’m thinking Paris.”

Yep, she was fired up. Zed couldn’t take his eyes off the crimson silk she was taking her time folding and putting into the suitcase. She was doing it on purpose.

Zed grinned. “Well, if your passport is in order…”

“They reissued it after the mess in Borneo.” She strode over to her dresser and rummaged through the jewelry box. After a moment, she carefully closed the lid and turned to Zed.

“Paris, Texas,” she carefully enunciated. “I’m going on vacation in Paris, Texas after I’m done with my week in San Diego.”

Zed pushed away from the wall and went to Marcia. He took her clenched fists in his hands and brought them to his lips. “Is it really such a hardship to go home with me?”

“It is when I’m going with you on duress.”

That floored him. “What are you talking about?”

“The big bad SEAL is going to take care of the little woman.” Her eyes were overly bright, and her lower lip quivered just the slightest before she bit it and jutted out her chin. There she was, her face bruised and raw, and she was defiant as hell. Was it any wonder he was so enamored?

He captured both of her hands in one and gently stroked her cheek. “You know better than that, Mi Corazón. We were just biding our time until I could come back home to Virginia. But you are correct about one thing, it is my right to protect you.”

She glared at him and opened her mouth, but he pressed his thumb against her lips.

“Wait. I have a question for you. If it were in your power to protect Christie and Debbie, would you?”

Her warm breath caressed his thumb. “Yes,” she sighed. “Okay, you win. I guess the Pacific Ocean beats out Paris, Texas, anyway.”

“Maybe I can offer more of an incentive than that,” Zed said as he bent down.

Marcia tried to shrug away from him. “I look like doo-doo.”

“Stop with the potty mouth, already, it makes me hot and bothered.” It did too, he couldn’t think of anything about this woman that didn’t excite him. Her delicate build could barely contain her indomitable spirit, and Zed was careful as he pulled her close. He swept his hand down her back, and she arched up against him, wresting her wrists out of his grasp. As soon as he let go, she thrust her fingers into his hair and pulled him close for a kiss. Zed hesitated. He looked into her glittering sherry-colored eyes to ensure that she wanted this as much as he did.

“I do,” she said as she read his mind. “I need your kiss.”

He looked at her mouth, her bottom lip still swollen. He feathered his tongue against the hurt flesh, and she whimpered. She tasted so good, wild and sweet. Marcia parted her lips, just a little, tempting him to tread further. Zed slid deeper, sampling her plump lips as he caressed the lithe line of her back until she began to undulate against him. Her mouth opened as her breasts pressed against his chest. How had he gone from zero to sixty in zero seconds?

Mother of God! The tight swell of Marcia’s nipples prodded his chest as she suckled his tongue and made him almost forget his name. Almost.

Zed pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, his breath labored.

“Zed?” He heard the little waver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Dios Mio, I have never been so aroused by one kiss in my life. Not even with Teresa Gomez when I was thirteen.” For all Marcia’s fire and confidence, Zed could still see her doubt.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” he assured her. “Marcia, I was thirteen. She let me touch her ta-tas. I’m telling you, you pack a punch.” He pushed a lock of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“Now who’s talking kid-safe?”

“I was thirteen and raised by my mom and my abuela. I thought ta-ta was a bad word,” Zed grinned down at her. “So, can I help you pack more than one suitcase?”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll start with your lingerie.”

Looking at her asleep in his bed, Zed couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful woman in the world. It didn’t matter that there were still scabs where she had been pulled along the rough cement.

Forty-five minutes ago, when they’d arrived from the airport, he’d shown her this guest room and maybe he had referred to the bed as ‘his’ bed. God, he loved getting her riled. She’d gone on to explain it wasn’t his bed, it was the guest bed. Zed grinned.

It was a bed in his apartment, wasn’t it? Then it was his bed. He wasn’t going to get into the semantics of the furniture being rented for the duration of his temporary assignment because then, she’d really argue with him. His woman really liked to argue.

Now that he knew she looked comfortable, Zed went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade. He knew Marcia would likely be out for a couple of hours, so he’d wait to start dinner. He’d learned a lot about her during their phone conversations. He knew leaving work for five weeks wouldn’t be a hardship, her work bored her. Marcia was itching to go back to school and get her Masters.

He grabbed his cell phone and went out on the small balcony to give Gray a call. He owed him one.

“Glad you’re back, Zaragoza. How are you feeling?”

Zed rolled his right shoulder, wishing he could say he was at one hundred percent. “I’m feeling pretty good. I’m sure Jackson will make me feel like shit tomorrow.”

Gray laughed. The physical therapist on base was not known for being easy, but she got results, and that was all the SEALs cared about. “How’s Max?” Gray asked, referring to Max Hogan the lieutenant of his regular team, Night Storm.

“He’s doing good. The whole team is. We had a four-star dinner together.”

“Mess hall?” Gray guessed.

“Close. Hospital cafeteria,” Zed smiled. It had been Leo Perez who had arranged it. He was the glue who kept Night Storm together. Of course, Kane was going to stop by no matter what, he wanted to get a look at Marcia, he had a damn good idea what she meant to Zed.

“How’s our patient?” Gray asked.

“Out like a light.”

“Should she have been flying today?” Gray sounded concerned. Zed took a sip of his drink, so he didn’t say the first thing that came to mind. After a moment he responded.

“She got an all-clear to travel before she left, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause. “Sorry about that, Zed. That was out of line, of course, you wouldn’t have her travel if it wasn’t safe.”

Zed continued to drink his Gatorade and look out over the arroyo. “I’m going to want to talk to some of your team about helping me keep an eye on Marcia.”

“Goddammit, Zed, I said I was sorry,” Gray bit out. “As long as you’re here and working with us, Black Dawn is our team. You got that?”

Zed relaxed. “I’ve got it.”

“So, are you going to stop calling me Lieutenant?”

“Gray,” Zed chuckled, “I was actually hoping to rope you in on this.”

“Just try to stop me.”

* * *

Marcia couldn’t believe there had been actual fizzy bath bombs in a bowl in the bathroom. It had to have been Lesley’s idea.

But Zed implemented it.

It was so decadent. When was the last time she’d taken a bath? Let alone with a bath bomb? Marcia climbed into the tub, rested her head against a towel, and closed her eyes.

As the ball swirled around the tub and fizzed, she thought about Lesley. Sometimes, she thought she was looking at a taller and prettier version of herself. These days she was only taller. The drugs had ravaged her. How could she have left Lesley? It about killed her to leave Christie and Debbie. Christie was a bundle of joy, and Debbie was turning into a moody, snarky teenager who was either making her laugh or making her want to strangle her.

Dang nabbit, she was crying. It had just been last week she’d found Debbie in Christie’s bed. Out of everything, that was what killed her the most, leaving Debbie. Intellectually, she knew the girl was in good hands. She was seeing a really good psychologist and her aunt Vi was a retired school teacher.

“But I should be with her,” Marcia whispered to herself.

She sunk lower in the tub and tried to just let her mind calm. When she did, she realized how much her body hurt. Her actual bones ached. She hated hurting and being a wuss. She’d done track and soccer, how many injuries had there been? Suck it up!

Marcia raised her leg and saw where the python had bitten her. It was going to leave a scar. Borneo was different from the soccer field. She let her leg slide back under the water and closed her eyes, but all she saw was the green of the jungle, and she shuddered. She totally got why Debbie was having nightmares.

“No!” she said hoarsely. “Think of something different.”

Marcia sank deeper into the tub, but when her scraped chin hit the frothy water, it stung. It was one of the scabs. Come on, it was just a little Mall Mishap. Pull up those bootstraps. She looked up at the bathroom ceiling and blinked rapidly. She was sick of pulling up her bootstraps. How many years had she been doing it?

Her chin trembled. Mom and Dad. That horrible night when Mr. and Mrs. Brockman had come over to her house with the policeman to tell her that her parents had been in a car accident. Her life had ended that night. She’d been the same age as Debbie when her life had ended, or at least, that was the way she’d felt. Mr. and Mrs. B. had taken her across the street and put her to bed in their house, and she didn’t leave until college.

At first, she’d walked around shell-shocked. It took her about six months to realize what was going on. Then it was something Lesley said about her being lucky she’d been taken in since she didn’t have any relatives. In hindsight, Marcia could see things clearly, it was just something one fifteen-year-old girl would say to another. At the time? It flipped a switch in Marcia.

She did everything she could to be indispensable to the Brockman’s. She babysat, she cleaned, she cooked. But Margaret Brockman saw through everything and did her best to stop Marcia’s frantic attempts to assure her place in their home. But it was impossible to get through to her. And if Marcia were to be perfectly honest, trying to please, being a caretaker was an ingrained part of her nature, it always had been. But the near mania was new.

Her parents had left her financially cared for, so she could attend Virginia State and live on campus. Marcia went for it, with some coaxing from Mrs. B.

“Honey, it’s going to kill me to have you away from me, but it’s only an hour, and I expect constant visits,” Margaret Brockman had said.

The Brockman’s really had become surrogate parents and had done their best to stop her from taking on too much of a caretaking role, but it had been impossible. Looking back on things, Marcia knew that was why Mrs. B. had coaxed her to live on campus.

Then there had been the Rick debacle. She’d gone home a lot the first two years, but classes got intensive her junior year, so she needed to buckle down and found herself staying at school more and more. Then she and a girlfriend had rented an apartment, and she’d met Rick. Who knew she was considered an easy mark? A mark!

It’s not like he’d been the best-looking guy or anything, but he’d been so attentive and caring in the beginning, and she’d soaked it up like a flower soaked up the sun. He made her feel like she was the center of his world. When her roommate had decided to move out, Rick had moved in. Marcia had no reservations, she overlooked anything and everything because for the first time since her parents had died, she had someone in her life who made her feel totally loved.

Rick didn’t cook, he didn’t clean, he didn’t pay for anything, and when he made love to her, it didn’t feel all that good, but he listened, and he cared. He did the things that really mattered in a relationship.

Close to the end of her senior year, class had let out early on a Thursday. She’d gotten an A on her statistics class and wanted to cook Rick chicken Florentine to celebrate. He was in their bedroom on his cell phone.

“Jim, I can’t play poker this weekend. I need to spend it with Marcia.”

She felt so good hearing that.

“I’m pussy whipped all the way to the bank. Let’s do it next Thursday instead. I’ll just tell her I need money for my car payment.” He laughed. “Fuck yeah it’s paid for. She doesn’t know though. Man, I’ve got it so good, I’m going to marry her. Hell, I’m going to suggest we go house hunting next month.”

He paused while Marcia did everything she could not to drop the bag of groceries she was holding.

“Jim, not only that, I’m passing all of my classes because she does my homework. It couldn’t get any better.”

She went back out the front door and came back in, making a lot of noise.

“Hey Babe, you’re home early. How did your statistics class go?”

“I got an A.”

“Marcia, you amaze me. What’s in the bag?”

She finished out the school year. She put off looking at a house and became more and more distant with Rick. He finally got the message and went on to greener pastures. There never was any kind of confrontation. She graduated. She’d been in the process of applying for jobs when she’d gotten the call that Mrs. B. had collapsed from a brain embolism. Two days later, she was dead. She moved back in with the Brockman’s. They needed her.

Once again, Marcia had been dealt a devastating loss, but this time, she couldn’t show it. She was dealing with three daughters who had lost their mother and one man who had lost the love of his life. There was no time for her to be upset. She rolled up her sleeves and dove in. Ultimately, she failed.

Lesley got in a car wreck. She and a couple of friends had been drinking, but still, she’d sustained a back injury. They’d prescribed painkillers for a couple of months. Handling Christie and Debbie, Marcia had missed the signs that Lesley was using the drugs as an emotional crutch to deal with her mother’s death. So had Mr. B. because he was involved in all sorts of other projects as a coping mechanism.

By the time Marcia realized Lesley was abusing heroin, it was too late. She struggled to maintain the household and shield the younger girls from Lesley’s addiction. Marcia wanted to ensure Christie and Debbie had all the love that Mrs. B. would have given them. It wasn’t a hardship because they returned it.

Then things had blown up, Lesley had disappeared. It had been a horrifying time. Eventually, she’d come home, and there had been the first trip to rehab. Through it all, Marcia had done her best to maintain a home for Mr. B. and the girls. Then there had been the second bout of rehab. Mr. B. seemed to be finally coming out of his stupor, but for Lesley, it seemed to be too little, too late.

After she came out of rehab for the second time, things were precarious, and she disappeared again. It was the third time she went in for help that Mr. B. went on the speaking tour and took Marcia and the girls with him, and they went on that fateful yacht trip.

She wondered what would have happened if Borneo had never happened. Would she just have drifted and stayed with the Brockman’s? She loved those girls. She loved taking care of them, but they weren’t her daughters, and she realized she didn’t have a life of her own. She’d been wanting something more. That was why she took the job at JP Morgan.

Then all choice had been taken out of her hands after the Mall Mishap. She’d sat stunned in Mr. B.’s study.

“Marcia, I adore you. You literally saved my sanity when Margaret died. I don’t know what Christie, Debbie, and Lesley would have done without you. But I’ve been a selfish bastard, and I’m ashamed.”

Were those tears in his eyes?

“That’s not true. You and your wife took me in after Mom and Dad died. It was almost like I had a second set of parents.”

Harold Brockman looked at her and gave her a sad smile. “That was true when you were fourteen and Margaret was alive. We treated you like one of our own and did everything we could to nurture you. Especially Margaret.”

“And I loved you for it. I will do anything to pay you back for that,” she cried.

He looked down at her kindly. “And that’s where I’ve failed you. Somehow I’ve made you feel you need to pay us back for something that was our privilege.”

“I’m saying this wrong. I’m making you feel bad,” she protested.

“No, Sweetheart, you’re not making me feel bad. I’m the one in the wrong. I was the adult, and I took advantage of your sweet nature. After college, you should have never moved back in with us, you should have moved on and lived your own life.”

What was he saying? “Mr. B., I’d just broken up with Rick, and the girls’ mother had just died. We all needed one another. You didn’t swoop in and force me to take care of things, it worked out perfectly the way it was supposed to.” She couldn’t stand it a second longer. She threw her arms around her surrogate father. “I love you. If you’ve taken advantage, then so have I,” she sniffed.

Long moments later he eased her out of his arms. “Thank you, Marcia. You are a wonder. Now I’m kicking you out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re going with Zed to San Diego. It’s safe there. Raymond has his sights on you. He knows where you live. Zed is going to watch you twenty-four/seven.”

She sat there stunned. It made no sense. “Mr. B., you and the girls need me. Lesley’s coming home, I have to be here for her.”

“Vi is going to be here tonight. She’s going to be staying for a couple of months.”

“Months? How long do you think I’m going to be gone?” she whispered.

He held onto her shoulders. “You’re always welcome here.” He didn’t continue.

Now she felt like she was going to cry. “You don’t want me?”

“Marcia, you’re one of my daughters. Know that. Believe that. And as one of my daughters, I’m telling you that you have done more than your fair share, and I want you to be happy and live your own life. I love you.”

He held her while she cried. Finally, she stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll get an apartment close to my office.”

“No, you’re going to San Diego,” he said firmly.

“Whose bright idea was this?”

“Zed’s.”

She hadn’t believed him. It wasn’t until Zed had followed her up to her room to watch her pack, she’d realized it was really happening. And now here she was. Naked. In his apartment. In a cloud of purple fizz.

She heard his footsteps outside the door.

“Do I have to knock? Or do you hear me out here?”

“I hear you. What do want?” Darn it, did she still have to sound petulant?

She heard Zed’s soft laughter. “Still kicking and screaming I see.”

“You better not be able to see me,” she growled.

He laughed louder. “How do you want your steak cooked?”

“I’m a vegan,” she lied.

“You are so full of shit.”

“Medium.”

“Rosé? Merlot? Cabernet or Syrah?”

She sat up so fast in the bath, the towel behind her head fell into the tub. “What did you just ask me?”

“I asked you what your wine choice was. Or did you want something else?”

Dang, no man had that kind of selection of wine hanging around just to impress some woman, he must like wine. Dante ‘Zed’ Zaragoza liked wine, her inner child sang. Wait a second, let’s test this.

“Do you have a wine cooler?” He didn’t reply. “I can’t hear you Zed.”

“Marcia, don’t yank my chain.”

She rubbed her hands together in glee.

“Surprise me,” she called out. Then she grabbed the towel, so she could climb out of the tub. Marcia took her time getting ready. It wasn’t quite time for the red bra and panty set, or was it? Oh, what the hell, wasn’t the SEAL team motto to be prepared? She rifled through the blue suitcase and tried to decide between the sundress or the shorts and camisole.

Make up your damn mind, Price.

She went with the shorts and camisole. She knew the red of the bra strap would show.

Bad Marcia.

She ran back down the hall and into the bathroom, so she could look in the mirror.

There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about her hair. She desperately needed a cut to layer all her curls, but when had she had time to do that? Hopefully, he liked the Wild Child Scraped Face look.

She bent over the sink and touched the scabs.

Ah heck, what was she thinking? Zed made her toes curl. She was a six on a good day, and this sure as heck wasn’t a good day. Rick had been a six.

Zed was what, six-foot-five? That automatically made him a six didn’t it? Then with those eyes, and that smile? Yeah, he was a ten.

Marcia sat down on the toilet seat. She couldn’t do this.

* * *

Zed had heard Marcia running down the hallway. He’d figured she was on her way to dinner, but then…nothing. Time for reconnaissance. The bathroom door was ajar. He could still smell the eucalyptus, cinnamon, and jasmine in the air.

He knocked on the doorjamb. “Marcia?”

“Present,” she sounded sad. Her voice was usually lit with music.

“Can I come in?”

“It’s your bathroom.” Dejected. She sounded dejected.

What was his problem? There she was, slouched over, obviously upset about something, and he immediately notices her red bra strap.

Then she caught him, their eyes held. He pointed at the red lace.

“Is that for me?”

She blushed. “Maybe.”

“It goes with the wine I chose.”

“Guess there was a hundred percent chance of that, huh?”

He crouched down in front of her and pushed her hair behind her ear. It coaxed her to look him in the eye.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really.”

“Want me to guess?” He watched as she truly considered his question.

“I don’t like playing those types of games. They’re a waste of time. Let’s just say I’m having a bit of a pity party and leave it at that, shall we?”

He considered her words. Damn, she was a breath of fresh air. She just spoke her mind, and if she needed a timeout, she wasn’t afraid to say so. He loved it. And he was damn close to falling in love with her.

“If I were to say that along with the wine and a medium steak, there was a baked potato with butter, sour cream, chives, cheese, and bacon would that help you out of your funk?” She sat up straighter.

“Bacon bits out of a jar?”

“I cooked the bacon in a frying pan.”

“You’re in my way.” She pushed at his shoulders. “It’s dinner time.”

He was pretty sure she was faking some of her enthusiasm, but hopefully, by the end of dinner, he will have chased away the clouds in her eyes.