Page 11 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

My heart pumps hard at the sight of them. Why are they hidden away with these electronics? Where are they going? And who’s expected to retrieve them?

I scour the manifest for some clue, but I won’t be able to get anything more until I get back to my computer. I’m itching to run to it and dig, dig, dig until I find the connection I’m looking for. One that’s not just the name of a supplier.

Still, Hastings has his hands on his hips and an almost smile as he surveys me. “Good find.”

Wow, it’s like I actually impressed him.Yeah, Mr. Macho, come in and take over my job. I’ve already got it covered. What do you think about that?

His smile cracks a little wider as if he can read my thoughts, and he runs a hand through his hair without upsetting the natural wave of it. “Call me Rhett, by the way.”

Okay… Why are my muscles easing a little bit from such a small offer of camaraderie? Why does his praise make me feel good about myself?

In return, I offer him a smile.

I swear Rhett has honed in on my mouth even as my smile fades, those dark eyes shining with something dangerous.

Heat blooms in my belly as my teeth pinch my bottom lip. Tension swathes my shoulders, making me grip my clipboard a little tighter to keep from stepping closer.

It’s been a long time since someone looked at my mouth like that. It only makes me notice how soft his mouth looks.

This is troublesome.

6

RHETT

Boone is right. Sloane knows how to grind. She scores through page after page of inventory, checking every label and barcode number for every single item on the shelves. And she doesn’t complain once.

Dedicated. Smart. Pretty.

Too pretty.

Like my ex-wife.

But Sloane downplays it with her silent frown. I’m not so sure she smiles, and I’m not one of the guys who think a woman should have to smile, but she looks so unhappy.

What about her has Boone kept to himself? Whatever she’s been through, it weighs on her, clings to her hunched shoulders like she’s trying to hide—from it or herself, I can’t be sure.

The ill-fitting shirt accentuates her protective posture, masking what she can’t really cover up. The messy ponytail tries to distract from her beauty, too.

It doesn’t work, but I can understand her wanting to do so, can think of far too many reasons for her to put in that kind of effort.

Unless we’re all reading her wrong.

Shepard said she’s angry, but that’s covering some kind of hurt. She won’t be sharing why with us anytime soon.

Not with the looks she gives me when she notices me noticing her. It’s the mother look. The assessing and weighing judgment look.

Sloane’s asking herself if I’m going to cause her any trouble.

I might, but it won’t be anything I do on purpose. Or with the purpose of getting in her way.

It’s obvious now why Boone called us in. If we do find something, she’ll sink her teeth into it and not let go. She’s already got too solid of a grip on it.

I peer over her shoulder as she nears the bottom of her first page and catch the scent of honeysuckle. It takes restraint not to close my eyes and lean in for a better whiff. There’s something so tempting about her aroma.

Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn to engage with me. Sloane waits for me to retreat before she shoots me a glare and continues on with her investigation.

We go around like this for another hour, most of which I struggle not to watch her, and I slip in to check over two more completed pages before she climbs down the ladder and looks at me with this gleam in her eyes to tell me that she found something.

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