Page 19 of Loved by a SEAL

“Paper towels,” Rebecca said. “There are plenty in the kitchen.”

“I’ll grab them,” Ryan said, turning and heading toward the house.

Voices from the other couples drifted across the yard. Christopher “Blade” Walters was playfully arguing with his girlfriend Lexi about some new computer hackers overseas. Ryan had thought Blade could hack into anything until he met Lexi. If anyone gave him a run for his money, it was her. Brent was trying to convince his girlfriend to go for a drive up to the secluded north end of the beach tonight.

He shook his head. Who would’ve believed those guys would all end up with a woman of their own? Hell. Some of them were engaged. Had a kid on the way. He ground his jaw and pulled open the back door.

***

Sarah headed toward Patrick’s house, calling out to Logan that she’d play with him more later. Right. Patrick was about to haul that kid off to bed at any second.

Maybe she didn’t want to be where any of them were right at this moment anyway—pregnancy didn’t sound fun, kids were cute but a boatload of work, and she enjoyed her freedom. Heck, she was meeting up with Morgan later at a bar down by the beach.

Drinks with her bestie two nights in a row?

All in all, a perfect weekend.

The house was completely dark as she entered, which wasn’t entirely surprising since everyone was out in the backyard. Still, it felt a little eerie to be inside all alone, surrounded by nothing but silence. She knew it was perfectly safe—Patrick kept all his doors locked, and everyone knew he was a Navy SEAL. It’s not like someone would go breaking into a house with a group of rough and tumble alpha males out back. There were cars parked in his driveway and up and down the street.

Nevertheless, a small niggle of worry crossed the back of her mind, and she shrugged it off.

The air conditioning chilled her bare arms, and she absentmindedly rubbed them as she walked through the darkening living room, lit only by a few beams of the setting sun. Her cute, strappy sundress was perfect outside in the balmy weather, but the contrast in temperature inside the home was more than a little noticeable.

Give her some warm weather any day.

And leave it to her brother to crank up the AC to Arctic-like levels. How did Rebecca and the kids put up with that? She should do them all a favor and turn the thermostat up a few degrees.

Ha.

Like Patrick wouldn’t notice that in a second.

A sudden noise in the kitchen startled her from her thoughts, and she paused in the hallway. A beat passed, but there was nothing but absolute silence. Wrinkling her brow in confusion, she silently crept forward, thankful she had on her flat sandals. Still…it had to be nothing, right? Everyone was outside having fun. Enjoying the last of the burgers and beer. But anyone coming in to use the bathroom or grab something from the fridge would have walked in and turned on the light. Maybe even called out hello. Not prowled around in near-darkness.

She was being silly, she rationalized. She was used to living alone. Hearing things go bump in the night. Why should she be worried in Patrick’s own home?

She rounded the corner, ready to flip on the light switch and tell herself she was letting her nerves get the best of her, when a large figure appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her blood-curdling scream was probably load enough to wake the dead, but before she could run away, a large hand landed on her bare shoulder.

She stumbled backward, shoving at an immobile chest as her heart beat a million times a minute. The dainty sandals and cute little sundress she had on suddenly made her feel practically naked in this man’s presence.

He loomed above her, large and frightening.

“Get off me!” she shouted, trying to pull away. Her fist flew in a punch toward her assailant’s face, but a strong hand stopped it midair, the man’s fingers closing over hers.

Icy cold dread filled her stomach.

Rebecca had a stalker a while ago. Was he somehow out of jail and back?

Was this him?

“Sarah.”

She swung with her other arm, only to be stopped again, so that the man in Patrick’s kitchen now had both of her hands in his grip.

“Let go of me! Stop!” she shouted, wrestling against him as her blood ran cold. He was a wall of muscle and could hurt her in an instant if he wanted.

“Sarah,” he said again, his voice firm.

“Wh—what?”

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