After her hasty goodbye, Cassie tucked her phone into her small shoulder bag and checked to see she had her paperwork and photo ID. She’d had to show it at the guard gate already and felt sure she’d be flashing it repeatedly until she got official identification in the form of a badge, or whatever they used here. After double checking everything, she dropped her keys in her purse.

A warm, salty breeze assailed her as she opened the door and stepped out. It blew wisps of hair from her ponytail across her cheek. Silently cursing the baby-fine flyaways that never stayed in place, she brushed them back and took a deep breath before shutting her door. Then, masking her nervousness with a determined stride, she set off for the concrete stairs leading up to every day, run of the mill, glass double doors that could have been at the entrance to any civilian building anywhere.

“Knock ‘em dead,” she whispered, using Jules’ words as a rallying call. “So what if Gary can’t be here? You helped him design this program and know it almost as well as he does.”

A nagging doubt in the back of her mind made her wonder if “almost as well” was good enough for the Navy.

The butterflies increased their frenetic flapping in the pit of her stomach as she put one dark blue pump on the first step. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. A flash of white, moving up the ramp off to the side, but she paid it no mind, concentrating on not tripping on the stairs in her new three-inch heels.

She counted six steps up, then crossed the narrow landing and reached for the door.

Rather than the metal handle she expected, she encountered warm flesh. Cassie blinked at the large, tanned hand wrapped around the silver bar as if she’d never seen one before. Following it up to a strong-looking masculine wrist and a muscular forearm, also browned from the sun, she noticed a smattering of blond hair and a few of those rope-like veins men seemed to have. She got to a short, white, crisply-pressed sleeve surrounding a bulging bicep. The way it flexed, testing the limits of the stitching, fascinated her.

A flash of gold drew her gaze to a broad shoulder adorned with three and a half stripes and a star. It meant nothing to her in her ignorance other than she was in the presence of an officer. Her eyes shifted upward until she encountered her reflection in a pair of black Oakley’s. They sat perched on the bridge of a straight nose, over full lips tilted up in a smile. Straight white teeth flashed an instant before a deep voice rumbled, “Allow me, miss.”

Cassie blinked again. Even behind dark sunglasses, his eyes hidden, the man was a heart stopper. Her mouth went dry as she gawked up at him like a fool, but she couldn’t help it. What woman wasn’t a sucker for a handsome man in uniform?

But this was not good.

She was on a base filled with thousands of hot sailors, hadn’t been there for five minutes, and the first one she came face to face with raised her body heat, made her girl parts quiver, and effectively dropped her IQ forty points. Worse, she stood there tongue-tied like a besotted fool.

No, this did not bode well for her—at all!

“Miss?”

“What?” she asked stupidly, then realized he wanted to open the door, but she was holding his hand. She snatched it back, letting it fall to her side. “Of course, please do.”

His grin broadened. “I’d be happy to, but the door opens outward, and I’ll need you to move back a step for me to do that.”

Heat flooded her cheeks like a flash fire. “Yes, I’m…” Forcing herself to move, she also willed herself to stop acting like an idiot. “Of course,” she repeated, proving it hadn’t worked.

He hauled one of the two glass doors open and waited for her to enter first. A wave of cool air wafted over her as she stepped inside. Taking a calming breath, she removed her dark glasses and turned to thank him.

“Cassie?”

With his hat tucked under his arm and his glasses off, she recognized him too. But seeing him in the light of day, she could appreciate him so much more. First, his eyes, the color was extraordinary, a dark steel gray with flecks of deep cobalt, and they were framed by long silky black lashes that any woman would die for. His hair was dark blond, cut short, but long enough on top to have a slight wave to its thickness. It looked soft, and she had an overwhelming desire to sample the texture as her fingers sank into it when he kissed her. Better yet, while holding his head to her breast as he drew hard on a nipple. Or with it wedged between her thighs as his mouth brought her to new heights of pleasure.

“What are you doing here?”

The surprise in his deep voice and his question snapped her out of her wayward thoughts which had taken a decidedly improper turn.

“Flynn!” She took in the stripes on his shoulders, the decorations on his chest, and the silver oak leaf on his collar. It still didn’t register. Why didn’t she study some before coming here? She didn’t even know the basics of rank. “You’re an officer?” she asked lamely.

“A Commander, yes.”

“You’re in charge of the base?”

“No, that would be Captain Hanson. In the Navy, it’s like an Army colonel, and a commander is a rank below that.”

“How confusing.”

“Not for us,” he countered with a twitch of his lips, plainly amused by her lack of military knowledge.

“I’m sorry. I guess I should have called you sir.”

“You can call me by name, or rank, civilians don’t have to be formal.”

“Oh,” was her vague reply as he moved past her and further inside the large lobby.

“Are you here visiting someone? We’ve had several new senior officers transfer in recently. Is one your father, perhaps?”

A punch to the gut couldn’t have hurt worse. This golden Adonis, like all the others, sized her up and saw a youngster.

She acted quickly to correct his mistake. “No. I’m here to—”

“Dalton! Right on time as usual.” The man coming toward them called his greeting in a big, booming voice, interrupting her explanation. Like Flynn, he wore a white uniform with similar bars and adornments, although perhaps one or two more. He looked at her next. “And you must be Miss Hardwick.”

“Captain Hanson?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes scanned her from head to toe. “Gotta say you aren’t quite what I was expecting, but Director Foster sings your praises.”

“Wait a minute,” the Adonis stated, though she now had a full name to call him—Flynn Dalton. The two combined were freaking awesome, like a hero in an action movie.

He turned his dark eyes on her. Inside, out of the sunshine, she noticed the cobalt blue had become more dominant and quite beautiful.

“You’re our new computer geek?” he asked, disbelief in his expression and tone.

The garrison C.O. gave him a sharp look. “Forgive Commander Dalton’s rudeness, Miss Hardwick. He usually has a better manner about him, but I’m sure he’ll find it, and right quick.”

Flynn shut his mouth with a snap having the good grace to look apologetic for his abruptness. “Sorry, sir. And to you too, Cassie. I’m just surprised. You never mentioned your new job was on the base.”

“You didn’t mention you worked here either, Commander.”

“I take it you two have met,” the captain interjected.

“We ran into each other last night out on North Beach. He was walking his dog, Roscoe, such a cutie. I couldn’t keep myself from stopping to say hello, and to get a quick snuggle.”

It was Captain Hanson’s turn to look surprised.

“She means with my dog, sir, not me,” Flynn clarified.

“Oh, yes... I didn’t... of course not.” Realizing he was stammering, the older man stopped and cleared his throat. He also changed the subject to cover for where his thoughts had wrongly gone. “Good to have you aboard, Miss Hardwick.”

“Please, call me Cassie. And it’s me who is glad to be here. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

Flynn wasn’t ready to move on to pleasantries just yet. “I’m confused. I met the program creator who was hired to run the computer lab. Gary something.”

“Gary Nesmith.” She angled her head up—he really was quite tall—and filled him in on the changes since the captain obviously had not. “And you’re right, he was supposed to be here, with me assisting, but he had a sudden health problem requiring surgery. He’s on the mend, but his arrival will be delayed several weeks while he’s recovering. Until then, you have me. But I’ve worked side-by-side with Gary for months, helped him test the program, and have hours in the simulator. I’m prepared to get you up and running, and on schedule, Commander.”

“As I said, Director Foster has full confidence she’s up to the job.” Then, as if done with the topic, he nodded. “The equipment arrived last week, and the technicians installed everything in our newly constructed computer lab. It looked like everything was in order when I inspected it last night. I can’t wait to try her out next week.”

“It’s impressive. I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Good deal,” the C.O. said, with a clap of his hands. Like his voice, it boomed in the vast lobby and gave Cassie a start even though she was looking right at him. The man didn’t notice her reaction or seem to have an inkling that overall, he was noisy. “I’ll get one of the men to show you around.”

“No need.” Flynn re-entered the conversation, his voice mellow and deep, not to mention many decibels softer. “I’ve got some downtime before the new group arrives this weekend.”

“Excellent. Cassie, Commander Dalton is all yours. In fact, he can be your tour guide and gopher for the rest of the week, since he’s got daylight to burn.” She glanced over to see his reaction to this new assignment, but he seemed fine with it, gazing back at her with a gleam in his eyes. “Just remember,” the C.O. continued, oblivious to their interplay, “his free status changes when the new candidates arrive on Monday so use him for your pleasure while you can.”

Flushing hotly at the sexual undertones of the captain’s statement, Cassie avoided looking at Flynn. Although, from the corner of her eye, she didn’t miss the way his lips tipped up in a grin.

Captain Hanson went on oblivious to his suggestive remark. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m due on a conference call with the Vice-Admiral in Washington in five minutes.” He said nothing more—thankfully—and having dismissed them both, walked down the hall and into the office at the far end.

Left standing next to Flynn, she glanced up, giving him a small smile, and a belated, “Surprise!”

He gazed down at her a moment, then laughed, the sound washing over her like a warm wave, soothing her frazzled nerves. “Welcome aboard, Cassie.” He extended his arm toward the main doors. “Shall we begin the grand tour?”

She left her car in visitor parking and joined Flynn in his sand-colored, open-sided Jeep. He exited onto Bougainville Blvd. and circled the block. It occurred to her, as it had when she’d driven in, the base wasn’t self-contained like she expected, but a mix of Navy buildings and local businesses in the middle of the island sandwiched between resort properties and residential neighborhoods. They passed a movie theater, a Panda Express, and when he turned down Guadalcanal Rd., he pointed out the Navy store, what he called the Exchange, and right beside it sat a Jack in the Box.

When she commented on it, he explained that the base opened sixty years after the city was founded and grew around the existing community, becoming a part of it over the years. Naval Base Coronado now housed eight naval installations, employed thirty-six thousand naval and civilian personnel, and encompassed fifty-seven thousand acres including the airfield on the north end and the peninsula that reached into San Diego Bay.

The base wasn’t the least bit remarkable, but the setting was spectacular.

Flynn pointed out essential buildings like the base police and a medical clinic, both she doubted ever finding again without GPS. He steered the Jeep through a series of turns and over Silver Strand Blvd to a restricted area. After passing through a security checkpoint, they continued further west toward the beach, a fact she knew only because the morning sun was behind her.

At an intersection, Flynn slowed to a stop, and they waited while a squad of about forty men jogged in front of them dressed in boots, helmets, and bright red life jackets. The lone man running alongside them, in charge she assumed, gave the Commander a chin lift and a quick salute as he passed.

“I didn’t think you had candidates in training this week.”

He grinned. “There are always candidates in training, but the SEAL instructors work on rotation. It’s one thing to keep this grueling schedule as an eager twenty-five-year-old, but another to do it as a trainer with a few extra years under the belt, month after month, and year-round. We have some built-in downtime for classroom instruction, recruitment, paperwork, and what have you. Since I’m the BUD/s officer in charge, I have administrative duties as well. We’ll all rotate through your simulator on our down weeks. Since this is mine, you won’t have me in class for another month.”

Cassie found this disappointing. She was hoping to see him more and get to know him better, liking what she learned about him so far. And, it would be her chance to prove she wasn’t the airhead he’d encountered at headquarters earlier, or the kid floundering around in the waves, as he’d thought at first.

As she watched the group proceed down an alley between two buildings, she glimpsed blue on the horizon once they were gone.

“They run on the beach,” she guessed. “What a beautiful place to train.”

“I doubt they’ll notice the scenery,” he said with a chuckle. “They’ll be spending too much time sucking wind or freezing in the surf.”

She shivered in recollection of the cold soaking she’d received last night.

He leaned in close. “Nippy, wasn’t it? And we don’t use wetsuits.”

“You said you have candidates year-round. How do you stand it in the winter?”

He shrugged as he drove on. “You develop a tolerance to it. And, those who can’t aren’t meant to be SEALs. Missions rarely happen in ideal conditions. They’re lucky the base is here and not farther north, like Seattle.”

Her gaze wandered back to the blue waters of the Pacific now visible due to a wide break between the buildings. “Looks sure are deceiving when it’s eighty-five degrees, sunny, with a bright blue sky overhead. Still, it’s beautiful here.

“The frigid water doesn’t keep the tourists away. And the water sports dealers do a bang-up business. Granted, most of it comes from wetsuit rentals.”

She grinned, laughing softly.

“For the Navy’s purposes, it’s the perfect place for combat dive exercises. We get the best of both worlds, the calmness of the San Diego Bay, and the choppy, often rough Pacific. It can be treacherous, with waves topping eight feet. For a surfer, that’s nothing special, but it can be deadly for a weak swimmer. We also get a dangerous rip current occasionally.”

“You mentioned that, and the poor girl who drowned.”

He glanced her way, both remembering the way they’d met. “It’s a real threat. That’s why we require our SEAL candidates to pass two months of BUD/s prep before they set foot on the island. To prove they’re up for the challenge and are strong swimmers.”

She frowned, trying to decipher the acronym, something she’d noticed in a short time was abundant in the military. “Can you translate BUD/s into English, please?”

He glanced her way as he down-shifted to make another turn. “Basic Underwater Demolition.”

“What’s the ‘s’ stand for?”

“SEAL,” he said with a grin.

She kept from rolling her eyes, but sarcasm leached into her tone just a bit when she replied, “How silly of me not to know that.”

“This is the SEAL training center, Cassie. 99 percent of the time that’s what S stands for here.”

“Got it. Wait, you said prep. It takes two months to prepare before coming here? Aren’t these guys in the Navy already?”

“Most are, yes. But it takes two months of readiness training and PST to earn a ticket to Coronado.”

“Another acronym. I think I need a SEAL dictionary.”

His low, sexy laughter caused her heart to flutter. “You’ll get used to it, babe.”

She sucked in a breath at the way babe sounded in his husky baritone. It stirred long-dormant tingles when it shouldn’t, not while at work. Trying to cover for her inappropriate response, she asked another question, fast. “What are PSTs?”

“Physical screening tests. Each candidate must be able to swim one thousand meters with fins in under twenty minutes, do seventy push-ups in two minutes, ten pull-ups, sixty sit-ups, and complete a four-mile run in thirty minutes. Basic stuff.”

Cassie laughed, although Flynn seemed serious. “Basic for Superman, maybe.”

“No, that’s basic for a tadpole. If you think that’s tough, you should hear what they have to endure to make it as a frogman.” He paused until she looked his way. “But, babe, a cape and tights? Not happening. Real men wear camo.” Smiling broadly, he winked, before he shifted his attention back to the road.

Forget about a flutter, her heart skipped a beat, and it was all she could do to keep from drooling.

“So.” When the word came out breathy, she swallowed and tried again. “With prep before arrival, the candidates must be in top condition when they get to you.”

“Hardly. That’s plebe status. The first three weeks here are spent running, swimming, and tackling the obstacle course, all to prepare for day one of First Phase when the real work begins.”

“Which is...”

“Hell. Or the precursor to it at least. We add more laps, more miles, day by day, pushing them to their physical limits until it peaks at week four, which we refer to as “hell week”.

“Why?”

He glanced at her with a wicked grin. “You don’t want to know.”

Dear heaven, the man was sexy and so panty-melting gorgeous, if she didn’t get a grip on her aching girl parts when she got up she’d leave a wet spot on the seat. She swallowed hard, shifted onto a hip to make sure that didn’t happen, then managed a shaky reply. “You’re right. I don’t.”

As he took a sharp curve, her strategic positioning went out the non-existent window. She had to brace with both feet and grab hold of the bar in front of her—seat belts not standard issue on a military Jeep evidently—to keep from flying out the open side.

“The building to your right is the BUD/s grinder, where you’ll find me most days when we’re not in the water.”

“Grinder?”

“It’s what we call the training facility.”

She looked at the ordinary looking building, the parking lot full of big manly trucks and SUV’s. Nothing about it clued her in on the nickname. Again, she had to ask. “Why do you call it the grinder?”

His lips flattened into a line before he answered. “In the center is an open asphalt area where the men do their calisthenics. It’s hot, unforgiving, and exhausting. Most liken it to being run through a meat grinder.”

With the Jeep on another straightaway, she relaxed her grip but didn’t let go. “Why push them to their limits? Don’t they break by that point?”

“Being a SEAL isn’t for lightweights, or for those who do things halfway. We have a saying here in training; the only easy day was yesterday. We make it hard because missions are hard. One day their lives and their teammates’ lives, as well as the outcome of the mission will depend on being prepared and at peak performance. Training, weeds out those who can’t cut it. It separates the wannabes from the real men. Two-thirds will end up ringing the bell.”

“Um…” Maybe there was a SEAL glossary online she could download to her Kindle.

“You’ve heard it called DOR, I bet.”

She frowned, having heard the term somewhere, but unable to recall what it stood for.

“Not an Officer and a Gentleman fan?”

Her frown turned into a blank stare.

“Sorry, bad example. That movie came out before my time, so I know it predates you, kiddo.” His amusement earned him a scowl although he was checking traffic at another intersection and missed it. “DOR stands for ‘drop on request’. Pain, cold-wet miserable conditions, freezing to a point bordering on hypothermia, physical and mental exhaustion, and sleep deprivation all take a toll on a man. Those who drop out get reassigned. The few left standing after hell week are the ones with the drive and commitment to make it through the next two phases and to graduation.”

“When do I get them?”

“During land warfare training—Phase 3—which is basic weaponry, marksmanship, and tactical training. That’s where the simulators come in. We do live drills and have courses set up to simulate urban warfare, but it’s not enough. Some of the old-school traditionalists are against technology training, but these kids cut their teeth on video games and computers. It makes sense to augment their skills using it.”

“With proven results. Wait until you get into one and see for yourself,” Cassie said, brimming with excitement. “This new platform has opened a whole new world of opportunity. It goes way beyond a PS4 or the most advanced arcade game. Its virtual reality and can put SEALs in combat situations without actual danger and with much less expense in the long run. The simulations are authentic too. We’ve got everything from repelling out of a helicopter while taking on enemy fire in Central America, to the crowded neighborhoods of Afghanistan where a sniper can pop up at any moment, or a suicide bomber, all without leaving the training facility.”

He glanced at her, a brow raised, and she adjusted her statement. “Our beta testers were former SEALs who have been there for real. They helped us tweak the scenarios and graphics, so they are spot on.”

He nodded, but said nothing, not dispelling the notion a computer model could come close to simulating reality as others had. She appreciated that because it was never their intent.

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Been to Afghanistan and Central America?”

His face tightened, and he nodded. “More times than I care to discuss.”

She ended her line of questioning since he was sensitive to it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t. And you need not be sorry. I just don’t talk about it. I’ve put in two decades with the Navy, Cassie. Before becoming an instructor, I was in the field, carrying out missions for fifteen years. What I’ve seen and done is history, some of it painful since I had friends and teammates who didn’t make it home. Therefore, I find it easier to look forward and leave the past where it belongs.”

She could only imagine the horrors he’d seen. It made her want to crawl in his lap and comfort him. But hugging the man who commanded those she would train, seemed out of bounds. At a loss for words, she thought it best not to offer meaningless platitudes and remained silent.

When they came to a stop sign, he turned to her. “Now, let me ask you a question. Are you confident you can handle this assignment by yourself or are you covering?”

“Both,” she said without hesitation. “But as I told Captain Hansen, I’m up to the challenge. I can do this, Flynn. I’m a jumble of nervous excitement inside, but I’ve got the skill to make this successful. Once I conquer the butterflies, it’s game on.”

He stared at her a moment, before giving her a slow, sexy grin. “A straightforward, honest answer. I like that.”

When they were moving again, she had somehow overcome the desire to jump his bones and simultaneously self-destruct her budding career. “I guess for women, the computer world is a lot like the military. We’re a minority, so we have to prove ourselves, repeatedly, and not bat an eyelash when presented with yet another challenge.”

He nodded in approval. “You’ve got brass balls, Cassie Hardwick, something else I like in a woman.”

Great. Even worse than being thought of as a kid, was having a handsome man like Flynn Dalton ascribing her with a set of balls, brass or otherwise.

Sighing inwardly, she tried to stay focused and pick up the original thread of their conversation.

He’d spoken of the physically taxing First Phase, although it was hard to fathom how mortal men, and soon women with the loosening of the regulations, could bear up under the grueling training, or why they would want to. But she was grateful that many like Flynn did.

The final phase she understood because it was more in line with what Foster Dynamics was contracted to assist with, but he’d left a gap in the middle.

“What happens in the second phase?”

“Seven weeks of combat diving and underwater drills.”

“Seven weeks in the water,” Cassie repeated while shaking her head. “They’ll be frozen prunes by the time I see them.”

He grinned as he turned the jeep down a side road with new looking asphalt between several grassy lots on the left, and dunes on the right.

“Not quite,” he said as he picked up speed again, “but close. When they come to you, they’ll be so glad to be out of the elements, into dry clothes, with the better part of a week in a climate controlled room staring them in the face, they won’t know how to act.”

The image of a kindergarten class before nap time came to mind. “Gee, I can’t wait.”

“They’ll behave, Cassie, because if they don’t, I’ll rip them a new one or mete out the appropriate punishment.”

“Which entails what?”

“Whatever I’m in the mood to hand down. Either another day in the grinder or repeating surf training until they learn manners. But I’m a fair man, so I let them choose their fate.”

Turning her head, she admired his profile. “Exercising all day on unforgiving hot black asphalt or freezing in the Pacific; both sound awful. Which do they usually pick?”

“Both.”

“What?”

“Babe, believe me, they don’t want me ripping them a new one.” He said this with such an evil-looking expression on his face, she cringed.

“Flynn! Both could only be considered cruel and inhuman punishment.”

“This ain’t no tea party,” he drawled, “and a SEAL is not a SEAL if he’s not polite to the ladies.”

She couldn’t keep from laughing. “I think you must be a sadist at heart.”

His head whipped to the side, his expression indecipherable. But he didn’t utter a word, only blinked, then turned front, downshifting into a lower gear to take another turn.

“I only meant you must be hell on wheels as a commander for a man to choose a fate worse than death over a dressing down from you.”

Flynn’s face visibly relaxed, and he shrugged one broad shoulder. “At some point, before they’re done here I’m sure many think death would be a relief. And we’re only selecting the ones who move on. After BUD/s they have twenty-six more weeks of qualification training before they earn their trident and get assigned to a team. You’ll see those men in your simulator, too.”

That came to almost a full year, start to finish. Amazing! It took someone exceptional to endure all of that, someone like Flynn Dalton.

She eyed him speculatively, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles that filled out his shirt so nicely, and his lean waist. He had to be close to zero body fat.

“What do you do while the tadpoles are tormented, Commander?”

“I’m in the trenches or getting wet right along with them.”

“No wonder,” she breathed, though she didn’t mean to. She bit her lip too late to take it back, however.

“No wonder what?” he inquired, as he hit the brakes and eased the vehicle to a stop. Twisting to face her, he looped his sinewy forearm over the wheel, as he waited for an answer.

“Nothing,” was her instant reply.

This only got her a knowing grin. “I don’t stand around chewing asses and barking orders like the drill sergeants you’ve seen in the movies. I like to lead by example, both the candidates and the SEAL instructors under my command. And, even though the odds of being called up again are remote, I have to stay mission ready, just in case.”

“There’s a chance of that?”

He shrugged, as he set the parking brake. “The odds of that are slim, as I said. Someone has to stay behind and train more SEAL Team members to take out the next terrorist threat. Technically, I’m active-duty, so there’s always a possibility.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. The thought of Flynn overseas, involved in a dangerous top-secret mission scared the bejeezus out of her, and she wasn’t sure why. They’d only just met.

“We’ve arrived at your basic, state-of-the-art geek lab, Cassie. Want to have a look?”

Shifting in her seat, she took in the moderate-sized nondescript building, the site of her newest challenge, one that was all hers for the next six weeks until Gary arrived. With excitement bubbling inside her, she jumped from the vehicle.

“Damn straight, Commander! Me and my big brass balls can’t wait to dig in.”