Hot SEAL, Roman Nights (SEALs in Paradise)

By Teresa J. Reasor

On leave after a difficult mission, Navy SEAL Tony Gallo steps off the plane in Rome and tumbles right into the arms of the woman who dumped him nine years ago, and they're both there for family events. He discovers Darcy's attending the wedding they planned but never had, but now it's someone else's.
Darcy Moreau is traveling for the first time and fulfilling a dream. She's in Rome to be her best friend's Maid of Honor. But she's also there to bury the past and start a new life.
When she and Tony meet again, she wonders if the past might not be such a bad thing if her future can include the man she left behind. But can she make amends and convince him to give her another chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa J. Reasor
• Release date: Jul 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781940047317

Teresa J. Reasor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Teresa Reasor was born in Southeastern Kentucky, but grew up a Marine Corps brat. The love of reading instilled in her in Kindergarten at Parris Island, South Carolina made books her friends during the many transfers her father's military career entailed. The transition from reading to writing came easily to her and she penned her first book in second grade. But it wasn’t until 2007 that her first published work was released.After twenty-one years as an Art Teacher and ten years as a part time College Instructor, she’s now retired and living her dream as a full time Writer.Her body of work includes both full-length novels and shorter pieces in many different genres, Military Romantic Suspense, Paranormal Romance, Fantasy Romance, Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, and Children’s Books.

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Hot SEAL, Roman Nights

A SEALs in Paradise Novel

TERESA J. REASOR

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

HOT SEAL, ROMAN NIGHTS

A SEALS IN PARADISE NOVEL

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Teresa J. Reasor

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by ELLE JAMES

Edited by Faith Freewoman

Teresa J. Reasor

PO Box 124

Corbin, KY 40702

Publishing History: First Edition 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1-940047-31-7

Smashwords Edition

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

More Information and Books by Teresa Reasor

CHAPTER 1

The two of them came upon the burned-out, bombed-out houses just as the setting sun skimmed the horizon. A hand, black and stiff, reached out of the rubble like a cry for help. Tony could tell, just from looking at it, that the person attached was dead.

A baby’s cry, plaintive, weak and pitiful, reached them from the other side of the structure. Need to check that out, Justus. He didn’t give his teammate time to reply before jogging around the rubble.

The baby lay upon the hard-packed ground, its tiny hands spread wide in supplication. The delicate blood vessels in its head and cheeks looked dark beneath skin as transparent as tissue paper.

Don’t touch it, Nitro. It’s dying. Its mother’s already dead.

He understood why Justus called the child an it. He was distancing himself. But as a medic, Tony didn’t have that option. We can’t just leave it. We have to take it to a hospital, leave it on someone’s doorstep, something. The sun was sinking in the distance, taking the warmth with it. If they left the infant, the cold might kill it before animals came foraging.

Justus glanced at the dive watch on his wide wrist. This isn’t part of our orders. It will slow us down.

And its crying would draw attention to them. Tony’d be endangering his teammates’ lives by trying to save this baby.

It gave a small helpless mewl again. If we walk away, we’re as immoral as the assholes who bombed these peoples’ homes. It’s a fucking miracle the infant was thrown clear. He bent and picked it up. The cloth wrapped around it was stiff with dried urine as he unwound it. It was a boy. Tony brushed away the ants scampering all over the tiny body. The poor thing’s arms and legs were speckled with bites, and he was hot to the touch.

There were people dying of cholera in the poor parts of the city. Besides losing his parents to a firebomb, could he also be sick? There was no sign of diarrhea.

Let me see if I can get a line started. He’s dehydrated, and probably weak from hunger. He shucked his pack.

Hold up, Nitro. Justus grabbed his arm. What if we need that saline for one of us?

Heat stormed Tony’s face, but one look at his teammate’s expression had him biting back his retort. Justus was thinking of the mission, as Tony should be, even though he was just as moved by the baby’s plight.

Tony made the decision. He can have my share. He worked quickly to set up a line. The only blood vessel he could find was in the baby’s head.

Jesus, Justus murmured as he watched him work.

We have to find someone to take him in before we double back to the team. He scanned the area. Bombed, shrapnel-scarred rubble was all he saw for blocks. The smell of decomp lingered in the air and settled in the back of his throat, making it hard for him to swallow.

A baby’s cry came loud and clear. Something jostled his shoulder and he frowned. He looked down at the infant in his arms. It was gone. He reared up to look for it and saw the back of a man’s head. He looked beyond that to another, and another. Reality slapped him awake as well as the light turbulence that lifted, then briefly dropped the plane. Not a bounce, but a gentle bob.

A woman sitting across the aisle struggled out of her seat to take her son, a child of about three, to the restroom. In a sling against her body a baby mewled, its cries echoing the infant in his dream.

Even knowing what triggered the dream, it took a minute for Tony’s feelings to level out. The deployment to Yemen twelve months before had been a tough one. They’d all seen sickness and bloodshed, hunger and death. But the dead, dying, and traumatized children were the real heartbreakers.

His recent recovery mission to the same region to rescue a Green Beret was a piece of cake in comparison.

Seeing his family would distract him and give him something positive to focus on. They’d smooth out the sharp edges, and he’d be ready to do the family tourist thing. He needed to hang with normal people and remember there was a world beyond training and missions.

He rubbed his beard-stubbled jaw and tilted his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his neck. After seven and a half hours on the plane in coach, the only available seat, he was ready to get out of this tin can and stretch his legs. He wandered to the restroom and glanced through the open curtain to the cabin ahead.

His eyes snagged on the profile of a woman sitting in an aisle seat who was talking to someone across from her. Her dark hair swung forward, partially covering her cheek and chin. There was something familiar…

Shock echoed through him. It couldn’t be… Darcy?

The restroom door opened, and the three-year-old bolted out like a thoroughbred at the starting gate, tripped on a piece of rubber edging designed to hold the carpeting down, and hit one of the armrests headfirst.

His wail of pain was loud enough to make every person in coach jerk to attention.

Michel! His mother, hampered by the baby, bent to grab his arm, her voice sharp with concern as she asked in Italian if he was okay.

"Permettimi di assistere, signora." Tony leaned down to lift the boy, and, startled at having a stranger pick him up, the kid’s screams stopped. Tony murmured reassurances to the boy in Italian and brushed back his dark hair to discover a bump already popping out.

The flight attendant appeared at his side. Tony nodded to her. He tripped and hit the armrest. An icepack might help.

We’ll be landing in about thirty-five minutes and can have him checked out by the airport medical staff, but in the meantime I’ll get a cold pack.

Tony explained that the flight attendant would return in a moment and gestured toward their seats. Mother and baby sat down, and Tony put the three-year-old in the seat next to the aisle. Taking out his keychain penlight, he checked the reactivity of the child’s pupils. They seemed fine. The child sniffled and curled against his mother’s side, shy about having a stranger so close. Tony explained to the mother that medical personnel would check her son out once they landed, but he believed he should be fine.

The flight attendant returned with a gel cold pack, and Tony showed the kid how to hold it to his bump, which was now swelling to about the size of a walnut.

I appreciate your help. The flight attendant flashed him a very white smile. The seat belt sign just went on. We’re heading into some turbulence, and we’ll be getting ready to land, so you need to take your seat.

Damn it. He wouldn’t have time to check and see if the dark-haired woman was Darcy or not. He’d have to hurry exiting the plane so he could possibly catch her while they were checked through customs.

Tony fastened the child’s seat belt, then wedged himself back into his own seat. As soon as the plane landed, he’d hit the head and find the woman.

Darcy braced her hands on the armrests as the plane landed while the jolt of the tires hitting the runway and the sudden tug of the brakes jerked her forward and back. Everyone clapped as they slowed, and the pilot addressed them over the cabin speaker. Welcome to beautiful Rome, ladies and gentlemen. The skies are clear, and the temperature is eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit, twenty-three degrees Celsius. Have a nice visit, and to those of you who are returning from America, welcome home. He repeated the message in Italian like a native speaker.

It took several minutes for everyone to gather their carry-on luggage. Her legs felt stiff and uncooperative as she joined the crush and stepped out into the aisle. Thank goodness the lines through customs looked manageable, since there was more than one border agent.

She fell in behind two women and contented herself with looking around the Leonardo da Vinci Airport. She’d seen pictures, but they didn’t convey the size or the busyness of the place. She heard four different languages in as many feet, and she didn’t speak any of them. While she was arranging all those virtual trips for Chandler, she should have studied a language.

"Il passaporto, per favore." The Italian customs agent beckoned her forward.

Understanding passport and please, Darcy placed the document on the counter in front of him.

"Motiva della visita?"

Motiva meant reason, and visita meant visit. I’m here to participate in a wedding.

"Per quanto tempo si ferma?"

I’m sorry, I don’t understand.

How long will you be staying? he asked, in perfect but accented English.

A week.

He stamped her passport and handed it back to her. Have a good visit, and welcome to Rome.

She smiled. Thank you.

A rush of anxiety hit her as she wandered toward signs directing her to the baggage reclaim area. She was in a foreign country. Alone. She hoped Leslie had sent someone to pick her up, but if not she had enough Euros to pay for the taxi ride to the hotel.

Though it was heavy, she dragged her large suitcase off the carousel and turned to search for one of the overhead directional signs.

Her heart stuttered, then leapt as she caught sight of the man coming toward her. His dark hair, brushed back off his forehead, was just as thick as it had ever been. The shadow of beard that darkened the lower half of his face underlined the more mature masculinity of his features. He looked taller, broader through the shoulders and chest, more muscular. Of course he would. He was no longer eighteen, but twenty-eight, and had spent ten years as a Navy SEAL.

Her legs went weak even as she was striding to meet him. They were but a few feet apart when a child rushed between them and attached himself to Tony’s leg like a little monkey, and Tony tripped. Darcy was already leaping forward as he twisted to keep from falling on the tyke. They collided, and she went down, her arms and shoulder cushioning his fall.

Michel! A woman rushed to them. "Oh, Dio." A rapid stream of Italian rained down on them, the tone apologetic. She reached for the child and tugged him to his feet. The little rascal was laughing with delight.

Tony waved a hand. He looked up at Darcy, his head still cushioned on her shoulder but his cheek rested on her breast, and every inch of her went liquid. Are you okay, Darcy?

Yes. I think so. In truth she was probably going to have a bruise on her hip, but it would heal, and it was a small price to pay if it saved Tony a head injury.

Michel will one day be a famous rugby player, Tony murmured, then reassured his mother they were fine with, Noi stiamo bene, signora, as he sat up. He rolled his shoulders, got to his feet, then offered Darcy a hand up.

Two airport employees hurried over to them, inquiring about injuries.

Tony’s eyes zeroed in on her once more, and his hand ran down her arm. Are you sure you’re okay?

Her hip ached a little, but just holding hands with him was enough to distract her from it. Yes, I’m fine.

"Michel wished to say grazie," the mother said in halting English.

Michel’s mother’s expression was half exasperation,