Saved by the SEAL by Diana Gardin Page A

I’m so transfixed I forget that he’s wielding a dangerous dish towel as a weapon.
    Then he moves forward. The man sure can move fast on a prosthetic foot, and I squeal and turn to run. I make it about two steps before I feel the sharp, sweet bite of the towel snapping against my ass. I yelp and turn to glare at him, my hands resting on my hips.
    He’s chuckling as he assesses my anger. “All in good fun. Forgive me.”
    How can I not, with that face and that body?
    He holds out his hand to me. I step toward him and take it. He leads me into the living room, turning on a lamp as we pass it. We both settle onto the couch and lean back against the cushions.
    “So when do you start?” he asks.
    I pull my legs beneath me. “Not sure. I have to call him tomorrow and tell him I accept the job. And he wants me to do some combat training if I’m going to work there. You know, just hand-to-hand stuff. He says I need to be able to defend myself if I’m going to be working for a security firm with a bunch of ex-Special Ops soldiers.”
    Grisham sits up a little straighter. “That makes sense. I can teach you.”
    I pause, staring at him. “You would do that? Dad said he’d get one of the guys at the firm to teach me.”
    Shaking his head, Grisham squeezes my thigh just above my knee. The contact sends tingles radiating outward from his warm fingers. He stares down at the place where his touch is doing something wild to my heartbeat, running his fingers first up my thigh and then back down again. I bite my lip so I don’t do something completely embarrassing, like moan in delight. “I want to teach you, Greta. Let me.”
    Not ever going to be able to say no to you, Grisham Abbot.
    Aloud, I whisper, “Okay.”
    His face breaks out into a wide, little-boy grin. “Awesome. We can start tomorrow.”

9
Grisham
    I ’m off work the following day, so I drive out to Greta’s dad’s firm, where she says he has a small training facility.
    The building is located in Wrightsville Beach, and compared to the glossy surrounding homes and offices, Night Eagle is pretty nondescript. It’s a three-story, tan stucco building across from the oceanfront sitting between two grandiose beach houses. There are a few other businesses on the block, but driving in I noticed they sold things like insurance and surfboards. Greta’s dad’s building is perfectly placed, because no one would ever suspect what really goes on inside: the strategic security of high-profile organizations and government-contracted missions.
    When I walk inside, a strange shiver of familiarity runs through me. I’ve never been to this place before, yet somehow it feels…like I’m where I’m supposed to be. The sensation tingles along the back of my neck and I grab the spot, rubbing my hand over it. I shake the odd feeling off and look around.
    I recognize Greta’s father right away from his involvement in Berkeley’s kidnapping rescue. He’s standing against a desk in the corner and looks up when I enter. He comes around the desk, his hands in his jeans pockets.
    “Good morning, sir,” I greet him formally. “My name is Grisham Abbot.”
    He nods, watching me carefully. “I know who you are. My daughter told me you volunteered to help teach her some combat moves. She tells me you’re a friend of Dare and Berkeley’s?”
    I nod. “Yes, sir. I’ve known Berkeley for a long time. But I’m also a friend of Greta’s.”
    His eyebrows shoot up. “Is that right? Well, I would have had one of my guys teach her. But she’s insisting you do it. Seeing as how you’re a SEAL, I guess you’re qualified enough.”
    He says the last part gruffly, and I smile inside, knowing his ex-army training is telling him I’m not nearly good enough for this job.
    “I’m honored to do it,” I say with a straight face. “I want her to be as safe as possible.”
    Jacob finally reaches out a hand to me, and we shake firmly. He squeezes my hand a little too hard, but I keep a