A Seal's Temptation (Uniformly Hot SEALs Book 9) Read online

  Subject: Navy SEAL Shane “Scavenger” O’Brian

  Mission: Seduce and satisfy Lark Sommers!

  Lark Sommers’s dry spell is officially a sex-starved desert. Since taking over her mom’s quirky coffee shop in Nowhere, Idaho—putting her own career on permanent hold—Lark’s been, well, miserable. But her friends have a plan...one that starts with a superhot guy with a rockin’ hard bod.

  US Navy SEAL Shane O’Brian has no clue he’s being set up. All he knows is that Lark does incredible things to his libido. Still, Shane can’t quite bring himself to tell her what he does for a living. After all, their risqué business is temporary—no strings, no falling in love. Especially when there’s no way this SEAL would ever be tempted into anything more than a sexy little fling...

  She’d been right. He was gorgeous...

  Oh, that mouth. Those lips. Mmm.

  Lark didn’t know if it was all the talk of sex today, or if Shane was simply the most desirable man she’d ever seen in her life.

  Oh, yeah, she suspected he was even better naked. Long, lean and luscious, he’d know what to do with his body. Better yet, he’d know what to do with hers. She’d bet he could do things she’d only read about in those sexy romance novels.

  It wasn’t against the rules to look, and he looked even better up close.

  Her heart beat a little faster, her breath shaky as she offered him her best smile. “You’ll have to try our sugar cookies. Everyone loves them. They’re soft and sweet, but everyone says they get a guy hard—”

  Holey moley. The heat that’d been stirring in her belly climbed its way up to coat her cheeks.

  She’d just offered the sexiest man she’d ever met a copulation cookie...

  Dear Reader,

  One of the things I love about September is the change it brings. To the weather, to our clothing choices and most of all to my footwear. Out with the sandals, in with the boots. Yay. So I had change on my mind as I wrote A SEAL’s Temptation. Not only was it fun to contrast the difference between the states of Idaho and California, but it was also fun to play with what Lark and Shane think they want and what their actual wishes change into.

  Even more fun, for me, was exploring the world of pottery and ceramics through Lark. It’s an art I’ve always admired and, well, lusted after, to be honest. For fun, I’ll share a few of my favorite pieces of pottery I’ve gotten over the years on my blog this September. I hope you’ll stop by and check them out, as well as the fun contests and sexy hunks I’ll be featuring.

  Wishing you a wonderful autumn, and if any changes come your way, I hope you embrace them as Lark and Shane did. Visit me at tawnyweber.com or find me on Facebook at TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor.

  Happy reading,

  Tawny Weber

  Tawny Weber

  A SEAL’s Temptation

  A New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over thirty books, Tawny Weber has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Harlequin Blaze book was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.

  Readers can check out Tawny’s books at her website, tawnyweber.com, or join her Red Hot Readers Club for goodies such as free reads, complete first-chapter excerpts, recipes, insider story info and much more. Look for her on Facebook at facebook.com/TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor and follow her on Twitter @TawnyWeber.

  Books by Tawny Weber

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VII “Wild Thing”

  Nice & Naughty

  Midnight Special

  Naughty Christmas Nights

  Uniformly Hot!

  A SEAL’s Seduction

  A SEAL’s Surrender

  A SEAL’s Salvation

  A SEAL’s Kiss

  A SEAL’s Fantasy

  Christmas with a SEAL

  A SEAL’s Secret

  A SEAL’s Pleasure

  Cosmopolitan Red-Hot Reads from Harlequin

  Fearless

  To get the inside scoop on Harlequin Blaze and its talented writers, be sure to check out BlazeAuthors.com.

  All backlist available in ebook format.

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  With heartfelt thanks to Pat Jones for her brilliant gift with ceramics and pottery. I so appreciated all of the insights you shared, and, of course, all of the lovely pieces gracing my home. I love you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Excerpt from One Breathless Night by Jo Leigh

  Prologue

  Last Month

  “HEY, LARK. WE need two double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha lattes.”

  “And one of those passionflower tarts.” The woman leaned so close she was bent over the counter, then said in a faux whisper, “You know, the ones Heather makes. She told me the ingredients in one of those is enough to make a girl irresistible to any man.”

  “Heather said what?” Lark Sommers stopped in the act of ringing up their order to stare.

  “You know, that the baked goods here are aphrodisiacs,” Cassia said with a wide grin.

  “Hey,” Sara O’Brian whispered at the same time, smacking her cousin on the shoulder. “I thought you said that was a secret.”

  “Right, like Lark doesn’t know that Heather’s making her aphrodisiacs for the coffeehouse,” Cassia said, rolling her eyes.

  Lark frowned at two of her favorite customers turned good friends, then blinked. First at the curvaceous redhead, then at the kewpie doll blonde. The cousins looked nothing alike. Cassia was as sassy as Sara was sweet. And both were usually pretty perceptive.

  Sure, Heather baked for the coffeehouse. Lark’s aunt also baked for the market, for the high school and for three local restaurants. She provided everything from cupcakes to croissants to half the town. So why would Cassia think the tarts were a turn-on?

  Before Lark could ask, Cassia continued.

  “Look, I haven’t had sex in eight days. That’s more than a week. At this rate, I might forget my best moves.” The busty redhead sounded as if she was about to cry.

  And knowing Cassia, Lark Sommers figured she probably was. The only thing Cassia Moore loved more than herself was sex.

  Still...

  “C’mon, Cassia, you know better than to listen to Heather’s crazy talk,” Lark chided, not caring that she’d just thrown her aunt under the bus. That’s what Heather got for trying to stir everyone’s imagination.

  “Then they aren’t real?” Cassia huffed, slamming her hands on her hips so hard her bracelets jangled like bells. “But I need sex. Soon. Today. Now. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “Oh my God, hush,” Sara hissed, hunching her shoulders before looking right, then left to see if any of their fellow caffeine addicts had overheard. Color washed her sweet face from her dimpled chin to h
er pale blond roots. “Do you think everyone in The Magic Beans wants to know that you’re desperate?”

  “Desperate? You go a week without sex and see how you feel.”

  It only hurt for the first thirty weeks. But Lark didn’t figure sharing that little tidbit of knowledge would help, so she kept it to herself. As the cousins bickered, she tried to remember what went into a double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha latte—and what was up with multiples? And why wasn’t regular coffee good enough for people?

  She slid a quick glance toward the counter, with its old-fashioned cash register, antique metal tin of honey sticks and vintage cake servers, one piled high with tiny yam scones under the domed glass, the other with a variety of muffins.

  Lark bit her lip, and as soon as she was sure that the two women were totally engrossed with their debate, she slid her laminated cheat sheet out from its hiding place tucked between a commercial coffee machine that looked as if it should be on a spaceship and the midnight-blue wall.

  After a quick glance at the ingredients and steps, she began measuring, whipping, mixing and stirring. While she did, her friends debated the reality of magical tarts and if it was fair to use them to get a guy into bed. As she so often did over the past year, Lark felt as if she’d fallen down a very dark rabbit hole.

  She pursed her lips, studying the only part of the café that felt like her—a half wall of shelves holding ceramic cups, bowls, mugs and dishes. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d made them for her mom when the older woman had decided to open a coffeehouse. Scattered around the place on high shelves and display cabinets were a few bigger pieces that she’d shipped from her studio in San Francisco. Guilt pieces, she called them, because she’d sent them instead of taking time out of her busy life and dream career to visit her mom’s new home in Idaho. And now they were all that was left of Lark’s dream life. Just like the coffeehouse was all that was left of her mom.

  Knowing if she thought about it too long, she’d sink into a funk that would inevitably have her drinking chocolate syrup from the bottle, she blocked the thoughts. Instead, she carefully chose two of her favorite style, the tall fluted ceramic cups a rich blue glaze dripping over teal.

  “Lark, if you did believe in magic, would you think it was okay to use it to get a guy naked?” Sara asked as Lark filled the mugs with the mocha-caramel-caffeine mixture.

  Once upon a time, Lark had believed in all sorts of magic. In positive energy and thinking good thoughts and wishing on stars. But that was then—she frowned—and this was now.

  “Nope. I’m not getting between the two of you.” Grabbing the whipped cream dispenser, Lark shook her head. When a single strand of hair, black and silky, slid out of her French braid, she blew it out of her way. She’d missed her last two hair appointments because she was too busy to leave the café. And maybe, just maybe, because she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for her haircut at a place called Budget Cuts—the only salon in Little Lake, Idaho—population ten thousand—that didn’t sport a barber pole.

  “Okay, fine,” Sara said, shooting her cousin a sideways look. “How about this question. Do you think it’s okay to talk about your lack of sex in public?”

  Lark held up a shaker bottle of mocha magic, a chocolate dust her aunt made for the drinks. When both women nodded, she shook a dusting over each mountain of whipped cream and considered the question.

  “I think it depends,” she said with a shrug, relaxing now that they were served. She leaned one hip against the counter, trying not to yawn. This getting up at five in the morning thing was for the birds.

  “Depends on what?”

  “On whether the discussion is between good friends or virtual strangers. On if it’s held in quiet, considerate tones or put out there loud enough for the guy in the corner to hear.”

  The three women glanced across The Magic Beans. The café was on the small size so they didn’t have to strain their eyes. Seated in the corner at a table made of a tree stump was a man who looked older than the dirt the tree had grown in. Grizzled and Grumpy, Lark had nicknamed the café’s regular. But he wasn’t paying any attention to them, so obviously the sex talk hadn’t reached his hairy ears.

  “But most of all,” Lark added when the other two women turned to face her again, “it depends on if one of the friends is getting sex and the other isn’t.”

  “Ha, there you go.” Cassia did a little happy dance boogie that did get Old Joe’s attention. He sent them a scowl and a growl from his corner before snapping his newspaper. Cassia gave one last defiant hip wiggle, then she poked Sara in the shoulder. “See, it’s okay to talk about how devastating it is that I haven’t had sex in over a week.”

  “Devastating?” Sara rolled her eyes. “I haven’t had a date, let alone sex, in three months.”

  “Boo-hoo to both of you,” Lark said with a laugh, taking her bottle of iced lemon water from under the counter to sip. “I’ve been in dry dock for seventeen months, eleven days and—” she glanced at her watch “—nine hours.”

  “And you’re not stark raving crazy?” Cassia shook her head and eyed Lark as if expecting her to burst into maniacal laughter or run around the cozy café, screaming her head off.

  Or worse, curl up behind the counter and cry. Which, Lark acknowledged with a sigh, was a possibility that grew stronger every day.

  But not over sex.

  Before she had to admit that, or react to the pitying look on her friends’ faces, the door chimed.

  “Well, well, what have we here? Three lovely ladies and coffee. What more could a man want?”

  “Eww,” muttered Cassia.

  Sara pulled a face.

  Lark barely managed to keep her smile in place as Paul Devarue approached the counter. The banker’s pale gray suit did nothing to disguise his bulk, nor did his carefully styled hair hide the fact that he was balding.

  Lark told herself not to hold any of that against him. Nor should she blame him for his ongoing campaign to convince her to sell her mother’s coffeehouse so he could demolish Raine Sommers’s legacy to put in a minimall. As he so often said, that was only business.

  Yet, no matter now often she told herself all of that, she simply couldn’t stand the guy.

  “Good morning, Paul,” she said, grimacing when he subtly nudged Sara and Cassia aside. Before Cassia could nudge him back, Sara grabbed their mugs by the thick handles, shoved one at her cousin and gave Lark a little finger wave.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked. “Your regular? Black coffee, large, and a banana hazelnut bran muffin?”

  The kind that came from the bakery. Not from Heather’s creative kitchen. Not that aphrodisiac-laced treats would work on a guy like Paul. Lark’s mom had always said that the first tenet of magic was imagination.

  “Coffee and a muffin sounds just right. The perfect start to the day.”

  Lark glanced at the funky clock on the wall, a mosaic of coffee beans with spoons for hands, and gave a fond thought to the time in her life that she’d called 10:00 a.m. the start of the morning.

  “Did you want it to go?” she asked, lifting the lid of the domed dessert dish and, remembering to use a napkin, grabbed the largest muffin.

  “Here is fine. With business so slow, I’m sure you can keep me company for a while.”

  Oh, goody. Lark filled a rich purple mug etched with stars with coffee and tried not to grimace. That sounded about as fun as being kicked in the gut by a scary clown during a tax audit.

  Or barring that, having a pity party over her nonexistent sex life.

  * * *

  “I HATE THAT GUY. He’s such a jerk.” Her eyes narrow with suspicion, Sara watched the smarmy banker lean forward, damn near climbing over the counter to shove his capped-tooth smile in Lark’s face. “Look at how he’s getting in her space. That can’t be good. A guy lik
e that, he’ll smudge her aura.”

  “You’re a goofball,” Cassia said, shaking her head. But she twisted in her chair to check it out. “Quit worrying. It’s not like he’s hitting on her.”

  “Worse. He’s nagging at her. And if he keeps at it long enough, she’ll cave and sell him The Magic Beans. If she does, she’ll move away and then we’ll lose a good friend. A good friend with a great wardrobe that she lets you borrow. Then what?”

  Misery was what.

  Misery for Sara, that was.

  She’d lose her best friend. The coolest person she’d ever met. Lark was everything Sara wanted to be. Sophisticated yet bohemian. Clever yet sweet. She had a degree in Fine Arts, she’d owned a chic apartment in San Francisco and worked in a fancy art gallery and attended fancy art shows there featuring her own pottery. She’d had it all.

  And she’d given it up for family. Lark had come to Little Lake, Idaho, a year and a half ago because her mom was sick. When Raine Sommers’s flu had turned out to be cancer, Lark had stayed. First to take care of her mother, then after Raine passed, to take over running The Magic Beans.

  Sara thought Lark was the strongest woman she knew.

  “Well, she’s not happy,” Cassia pointed out. “She puts on a good face and all. But she’s working her tail off to keep this place going like if she doesn’t her mom’s gonna come back and kick her ass.”

  Sara winced and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. If ghosts where real—and she was sure they were—talk like that would earn a good haunting.

  “She promised Raine that she’d keep it going.”

  “Lark shouldn’t be miserable just because she made a deathbed promise.” Cassia shook her head. “That’s, like, medieval.”

  Sara hummed instead of answering. She knew Lark was sticking around for more than her mom’s legacy. Raine’s insurance hadn’t gone very far, so Lark had sold her San Francisco apartment and taken out a second mortgage on the coffeehouse in the hopes that something—anything—would change the prognosis.