SEAL for Her Protection (SEALs of Coronado Book 1) by Paige Tyler Page B
Authors: Paige Tyler
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her head. The date had been amazing. She wasn’t sure she could even pick the part of the night she’d enjoyed the most, but if she had to, she’d say the make out session under the stars in the park. Maybe the next time they went, she might even watch the movie.
She laughed. Who was she kidding? The next time Chasen took her to that park, she was going to do the exact same thing—make out with him the entire time.
Chapter Four
N ORMALLY, CHASEN DIDN’T mind training at oh-dark-thirty with the guys. In fact, he usually enjoyed it. But to say he’d much rather be in bed with Hayley right at that moment instead of dragging a frigging Zodiac boat all over the place was an understatement.
Walking away from Hayley last night had been hard as hell. Not only was she gorgeous and smart, but she’d actually been interested in him as more than a uniform full of muscles. Not that he had an issue being appreciated for his body, but it was nice to know she was interested in him as a person, too.
And man, had they definitely clicked in the sexual chemistry department. He and Hayley were going to scorch the sheets when they finally made it into bed. He hadn’t been lying last night when he said he didn’t want to rush their first time together. When they had sex, he intended to make love to every part of her body—slowly.
“Dude,” Logan Dunn called. “I don’t mean to interrupt whatever daydream spread that goofy ass grin across your face, but you want to do the rest of us a favor and pick up your side of the fucking boat?”
Chasen looked down and realized he’d let his corner of the Zodiac drop down to his waist, making it damn near impossible for the other three guys—Nash, Dalton, and Logan—to carry their part of the load with any speed. He glanced up and realized they’d fallen almost twenty feet behind the other four-man team carrying the second Zodiac across the base’s amphibious training range.
He cursed and jerked his side of the boat back up to his shoulder. “Shit, guys. Sorry about that,” he said as he focused on the task at hand, namely humping the boat and the two full-weight body dummies strapped inside it.
“Yeah, yeah. Save your breath for running, not apologies,” Logan muttered.
At thirty-two, Logan was closest in age to Chasen and had been his swim buddy in BUD/s. They were good friends, which meant Logan had no problem calling him out when he screwed up.
Soon enough, he and his guys caught up with the others. Then they all settled into a comfortable pace and started eating some distance. The sun was well above the horizon now, which meant they’d been on the move for more than two hours. That meant they probably only had another thirty minutes or so to go until they finished this morning’s training exercise. Unless the chief decided they’d been dogging it and extended the course for another couple of miles to motivate them for next time.
They’d left the beach area in front of the main base a few minutes after 0400 this morning, motoring their two Zodiac boats northward up the shoreline from there, moving slowly in the pitch-black darkness. When they reached their insertion point, they’d cut the engine and paddled their way through the surf and up onto the beach. Then they’d hidden the boats and run in full tactical loadout for an hour to get to their objective.
This morning’s training scenario called for their eight-man team to assault a small, three-building compound where four hostages were being held. They were supposed to take out the guards—a series of simple silhouette targets—then save the hostages and get them back to the boats.
They’d moved in soundlessly and easily taken out the “guards” using silencers and subsonic ammo, then found that the four hostages—man-shaped body dummies that looked like creepy full-sized voodoo dolls weighing in at about a hundred and eighty pounds each—were too “injured” to walk on
She laughed. Who was she kidding? The next time Chasen took her to that park, she was going to do the exact same thing—make out with him the entire time.
Chapter Four
N ORMALLY, CHASEN DIDN’T mind training at oh-dark-thirty with the guys. In fact, he usually enjoyed it. But to say he’d much rather be in bed with Hayley right at that moment instead of dragging a frigging Zodiac boat all over the place was an understatement.
Walking away from Hayley last night had been hard as hell. Not only was she gorgeous and smart, but she’d actually been interested in him as more than a uniform full of muscles. Not that he had an issue being appreciated for his body, but it was nice to know she was interested in him as a person, too.
And man, had they definitely clicked in the sexual chemistry department. He and Hayley were going to scorch the sheets when they finally made it into bed. He hadn’t been lying last night when he said he didn’t want to rush their first time together. When they had sex, he intended to make love to every part of her body—slowly.
“Dude,” Logan Dunn called. “I don’t mean to interrupt whatever daydream spread that goofy ass grin across your face, but you want to do the rest of us a favor and pick up your side of the fucking boat?”
Chasen looked down and realized he’d let his corner of the Zodiac drop down to his waist, making it damn near impossible for the other three guys—Nash, Dalton, and Logan—to carry their part of the load with any speed. He glanced up and realized they’d fallen almost twenty feet behind the other four-man team carrying the second Zodiac across the base’s amphibious training range.
He cursed and jerked his side of the boat back up to his shoulder. “Shit, guys. Sorry about that,” he said as he focused on the task at hand, namely humping the boat and the two full-weight body dummies strapped inside it.
“Yeah, yeah. Save your breath for running, not apologies,” Logan muttered.
At thirty-two, Logan was closest in age to Chasen and had been his swim buddy in BUD/s. They were good friends, which meant Logan had no problem calling him out when he screwed up.
Soon enough, he and his guys caught up with the others. Then they all settled into a comfortable pace and started eating some distance. The sun was well above the horizon now, which meant they’d been on the move for more than two hours. That meant they probably only had another thirty minutes or so to go until they finished this morning’s training exercise. Unless the chief decided they’d been dogging it and extended the course for another couple of miles to motivate them for next time.
They’d left the beach area in front of the main base a few minutes after 0400 this morning, motoring their two Zodiac boats northward up the shoreline from there, moving slowly in the pitch-black darkness. When they reached their insertion point, they’d cut the engine and paddled their way through the surf and up onto the beach. Then they’d hidden the boats and run in full tactical loadout for an hour to get to their objective.
This morning’s training scenario called for their eight-man team to assault a small, three-building compound where four hostages were being held. They were supposed to take out the guards—a series of simple silhouette targets—then save the hostages and get them back to the boats.
They’d moved in soundlessly and easily taken out the “guards” using silencers and subsonic ammo, then found that the four hostages—man-shaped body dummies that looked like creepy full-sized voodoo dolls weighing in at about a hundred and eighty pounds each—were too “injured” to walk on
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