Burning For Nero (SEALs Going Hot #2)

104 Pages·2014·0.16 MB·english

by  Cerise DeLand

Table of Contents
Burning for Nero
Copyright
Dedication
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
Coming Soon
Also Available
Thank You
Burning for Nero
by
Cerise DeLand
Book Two
SEALs Going Hot
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.
Burning for Nero
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Cerise DeLand
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-469-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my own military man, Steve.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Cerise DeLand
AND HER BOOKS

PARIS EXPOSE
“Sinfully hot!”
~Romance Junkies
“Bring a fan, and plenty of ice water, you’ll need it!”
~Long and Short Reviews
POWER POSITION
“Prepare yourself for a wild, hot ride. The steaminess never lets up as they rock, glide and slide
their way to ecstasy. Amanda and Jack are as opposite as they come but they find a way to make each
other vulnerable, needy and sexy all at the same time. Amanda is dealing with a new lover after the
death of her husband. Jack is dealing with uncontrollable hunger for his boss. The scenes are well-
written and will leave the reader wishing they were one of the characters in the book if only to get
some relief.”
~You Gotta Read Reviews.com
Chapter One
Tony Nero toed his duffle on the floor of the helo, itching to jump out of this bird. Four-day leave
at his parents’ home meant the highs came in multiples. He had braced for the lows, too.
His parents were part of the highs. Their annual Fourth of July bash at their home on the Severn
River. His smart ass little brother, if the kid got leave from Camp LeJeune. His sister, Tessa, who
always invited a gaggle of her sorority sisters.
A smile crept across his face. Memories of past Fourths revved him for the stay. Dad’s killer
barbeque. Mom’s ability to make everyone feel comfortable. A rear admiral with a second class
midshipman. A congressman with his former opponent.
Tony shifted in his seat, craning his neck to view the serenity of blue water hugging the emerald
Maryland shore below. Jostling his arm and the brace, he grit his teeth and silently cursed.
Don’t think about your hand. Or the physical therapy that isn’t improving your use. One of the
lows of this weekend would be to report that to his family and friends. They wouldn’t be
disappointed in him. An accident, his dad said when Tony had called four weeks ago to tell them the
news he’d broken bones on his latest SEAL mission. Thank God you’re still with us, his mom added.
“Your folks’ house, right?” Bingo, his buddy, asked as he piloted the chopper closer to the earth in
preparation for touchdown.
“Yeah.” Tony nodded. Then took care to stretch and look below. Hopping a ride out of Dam Neck
into Bainbridge Air Station meant he could get a panoramic view of the places where he’d spent his
teenage and college years. Annapolis. The State House. The Naval Academy where he’d graduated
number three in his class. The Chesapeake Bay where he’d sailed his first boat solo. His parents’
sprawling red brick home along the Severn River where he’d grown up, learning to be the man he had
become. And where he returned whenever he needed a dose of objectivity about who he was and how
lucky he was to live the way he did.
Too high above his house to see many details, Tony detected a figure below reclining in a white
lawn chair. That would be Mom, reading a novel. Walking across the green expanse of lawn was
another figure, tall with salt and pepper hair in khaki and white. Dad, wearing his signature huge
aviators, paused to stare up at the chopper, then hail it with wide swaths of his arms. He looked like a
flagman on a naval carrier.
Laughing, Tony didn’t stop himself from glancing next door.
His gaze slid to the ranch house beside his folks’ home and got the usual sucker punch of grief. His
best friend of half his life wasn’t there. Hadn’t been last year, either. But StingRay’s parents would
be. Maybe his two younger brothers. Tony scoured the lawns, the shore, the boats. None of them was
out enjoying the summer sun and the breeze off the bay. Not Ray’s five-year-old son, either.
Not even Ray’s widow.
Tony blew out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to watch his every move around Ray’s gorgeous
wife. He could enjoy himself. Oh, right. Instead, he’d spend his time wondering how she was, asking
about her…and hoping no one saw his regret she wasn’t here to dress up his days and tempt him to do
bad things to her.
“Hey, Ton. What say, we give old Caesar a buzz?”
“No.” Caesar was the nickname midshipmen gave his dad, indicative less of the family name and
more of the man’s hard ass teaching methods. “Damn, pal. He’ll bark at me if you raise a shingle on
his roof.”
“Gotta keep up my rep.” He winked, then turned back to his panel to dip the chopper over his
father’s boathouse.
“Really?” Tony shook his head, grinning. Bingo had been the bad boy of his year. Short-sheeting
upperclassmen was not a wise idea for a plebe who wanted to survive the rigors of the Academy
social ladder. But Bingo had tried more than that and lived to graduate and get his commission. “You
riled him enough in engineering classes.”
“Bet the old man still talks about me, huh?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “More than.”
“You got me! Glory never dies. How long since you’ve been home?” He lifted his chin to indicate
the brace on Tony’s left wrist and forearm.
“Five months.” In February, he’d visited for a few days before shipping out for Afghanistan.
Turned out to be an abort. He and his team had come home, only to turn around and execute the same
plan in mid-May. That was when he’d miscalculated his agility on a thirty-foot drop and jammed his
wrist. Broken three small bones.
“You wrecked up pretty bad there?”
Tony set his jaw. If the physical therapy had healed him more rapidly, he might have considered the
breaks more routine. But the nerve damage riled him. He resented showing his disappointment to
anyone, even an old classmate like Bingo who knew Tony was a SEAL. “Not my first. I’ll re-coop.”
“Sure you will. Glad you’re here, bro. I heard about StingRay. Bad joss. Sorry. Know you two
were always tight.”
“We were.” And there it was. One big low Tony wished he could recover from before he touched
down, went home and learned whether he’d deal with a bigger one. Because if Sting’s widow had
come for the weekend with their little boy, Tony had to be on his game. “Sting was a good man. Good
SEAL.”
Sting’s team and Tony’s had run a joint op in northern Helmand province over a year ago. They
neutralized the two Al-Qaeda they’d targeted, big boogies who ran two dozen cells along the
Pakistani border. They’d gone in hot, extracted just as hot, guns blazing, grenades popping. Sting was
their dust and clean up man, last out, covering their rear. For that, Sting gave the ultimate sacrifice.
The two teams brought him home in pieces.
Tony chewed at the inside of his bottom lip.
“Hey, Ton, didn’t want to kick your ass. Tough loss. I’ll shut up.”
“No sweat, Bingo.” A gentleman always forgave. Even if it was just lip service.
Static filled the cockpit. Radio control barked out permission for landing. Bingo responded,
centering the bird over the pad and descending like he was rocking a baby. “I’d say your mom and
Caesar are gonna hug your guts out, man.”
“Got that right.” Visits were rare since he’d joined the SEALs six years ago. But in the past
eighteen months, he’d been through shit and back so often, he needed the relaxation that days with his
folks always brought. These next four days, he wanted that more than ever. His injury and his failure
to respond to PT quickly meant it was time to analyze his future.
Hell. He swiped his left hand across his mouth. He needed more than a rest. He needed a beer. A
laugh. A woman.
But that he definitely was not about to get. Not here. And not the woman he really needed.
****
“Take it easy, Bingo!” Tony leaned toward the pilot as he set the bird down on the tarmac at the
rear runway.
“Any way I can get it, Nero!” The pilot powered down the engine. “You be good.”
“Much as I can. Thanks for the hop.”
“No problem. When you’re ready for a ride back, call traffic control and have ’em ask for me. If
I’m here, I’d be happy to ferry The Great Nero back to Dam Neck.”
Right. Tony squeezed Bingo’s shoulder with his good hand. Great men have the use of both.
Especially if their MOS requires a steady aim and deft trigger finger. “I will. Happy fourth.”
Nero bent to hop out of the bird, slipped on his hat and slung the pack over his shoulder. A hot pain
sliced up his arm. Tony clamped his jaw. Like the brace won’t give the disability away, dickhead?
Turning, he headed for the guard box and the gate. Once outside, he’d catch a taxi to his parents’
home. He picked up his pace, antsy to stretch his legs and jog toward the exit. The sooner he got
home, the better he’d feel. Past the guard, he strode out onto the leafy shade of the sidewalk—and he
stopped short.
Across the street, leaning against the headlights of a white convertible, her arms crossed, stood the
willowy golden blonde he’d looked for a few minutes ago on the lawn of the Phillips home. His gut
clenched. His blood heated. Why was she here? Alone? Anyone else at the compound could have
come to pick him up. But he’d instructed them not to come. His mother, he supposed, had spilled the
beans to her mother-in-law about when he would arrive, how and where.
Still, why did they send her? Everyone knew he hated surprises. Any SEAL worth his shit
prepared for all possibilities. He had dismissed the probability of this one.
Put your big boy pants on, Nero.
Smile.
His svelte chauffeur waved to him, her full cherry lips spreading in a grin, her short cap of yellow
curls wafting in the hot wind off the water. She wore wrap-around sunglasses, obscuring her large
doe eyes. But he felt her scrutiny, her notice of the brace. She shifted. Disguising your dismay at my
condition?
Not what he had in mind to get her pity or rouse her grief. Cassandra Phillips seeing him with his
wrist brace, reminding her that SEALs like him and her dead hubbie really were human. They bled.
They blew up. They died.
Whatever emotion moved her, she changed her stance again, putting one long leg in front of the
other. Her white dress caressed her shapely calves as if the flimsy fabric were Saran Wrap. He
swallowed hard on desire just as her skirts caught the breeze and blew up Marilyn-style to reveal her
trim thighs. He gulped as she brushed down her skirts with one hand. Didn’t matter. His mouth
watered and his cock twitched. Christ, what he wouldn’t give to spread her over the hood and do her
right there.
As if she heard him, she opened her mouth in welcome. He could see her tongue. Pink. Wet. What
was it like to taste her mouth?
And what in hell went on with that dress? In the sunlight, dammit all, he could see through the
gauzy cotton to the outline of her bra and panties. The rest of her was a tanned feast. Her elegant
throat, her bare chest and toned arms were a satin expanse he’d longed for years to lick.
Hell, Nero. Be a good boy. Time for your Oscar performance. You and she are just friends.
“Cass, you know how to get to a man’s heart,” he told her as he strode across the street, his grin as
friendly as hers and devoid of the need he had each time he saw her to strip her bare and jump her
bones.
“I told them I’d give you a lift,” she said, smiling up at him and meeting his friendly greeting with
one equal to his own warm one. “They’ve been working so hard for the party tonight and tomorrow.
The least I could do for them taking care of Jonathan so well.”
“I hear you.” His mother had written that lately Cass had been looking for a job in Washington.
When she went from Dam Neck for the trip north, she left her five-year-old son with his grandparents.
The Phillips and Tony’s folks enjoyed the heck out of babysitting and treated the little boy to the joys
of the combined loving family they made.
“How are you, Tony?” She walked into his embrace, his one arm going around her. Polite.
Friendly. No breasts touching his chest. She hugged him, her affection discreet. She cupped his
cheek, her hand sweet against his hot skin. “You look yummy as ever.”
“Glad you think so, babe.” He hadn’t seen her in far too long and he needed to look her over
thoroughly to detect how she really felt deep inside. Her grief for Ray had gone long ago, exactly
when he wasn’t certain. And the last few times he had gone over to her house to take Jon out, she had
seemed distant. Today, the breezy white dress and her bouncy gold curls made her look happy. He had
to be sure. “Take the shades off, lemme see how you are.”
She did.
And Christ, wrong of him to have asked. Her forest green eyes laughed up at him. Wisps of her
brilliant hair grazed against her high cheekbones, framing her in a golden glow like a Renaissance
Venus captured in candlelight. She got to him always—elegant, statuesque Cassandra. Lady with the
flawless complexion and the classy looks of a Hollywood forties movie siren.
She arched a long, blonde brow, an uncharacteristic teasing gleam in her eye. “Do I pass
inspection?”
“Done.” All too well. You’ve got me drooling, and we’ve barely said hello. “Drive me home. I’m