Cerise Deland
No Getting Over You

No Getting Over You

7 Brides for 7 SEALs, Book 2
The Wild Rose Press, Inc. • March 31, 2017
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Night Owl Reviews Top PickViv LaClare is so over being the matron…the widow. She wants to live again, laugh, maybe even dabble in a little affair…if she can find the right guy. Enter the studly Navy SEAL designated to drive her around town on wedding errands. She’s hot for his body, but when her newly healed heart gets ideas, she’s not sure she can risk it on a man with one of the deadliest jobs in the world.

Britt Ackermann is done with one-night stands and women who party with a SEAL for bragging rights. He wants a lady with guts, sass, and more than a lick of sense. He has doubts a woman like that exists. So when he meets the Matron of Honor at his teammate’s wedding, she hooks him at ‘hello.’ He wants all the nights she’ll give him even if he can’t promise her tomorrow.

Read an Excerpt

When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Viv caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length hall mirror. The shoulder-length red hair, the dark green eyes, the body she worked super hard to keep in shape. Didn’t this woman deserve to take what she wanted? Especially since the desire was mutual?

She extracted the card key from her purse and began her hunt for 510. Directional signs lead her around to the left and down the hall and she happily padded along on the thick carpet. The hotel was filled not only with Abby’s family but also with her professional associates and quite a few friends. Viv might not want that promotion but she wasn’t eager to have anyone see her go to her rendezvous. So she hurried along the hall and turned another corner—

Only to halt in her tracks.

Two doors down stood Tracy Banning with The Saint, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he held her against the wall. Their lips were locked in a frantic kiss, and Tracy’s legs were hooked around The Saint’s hips.

Viv shrank back around the corner silent as a mouse.

“You need to go,” Tracy whispered, her voice husky.

“You don’t do wedding hook ups, is that it?” he asked, disappointment in his tone.

“The odds of being happy about it tomorrow are not great.”

“We can reexamine that idea tomorrow night,” he said with a laugh. “Waiting makes it all better, don’t you know! And I’m a patient man.”

“Thanks, Santiago,” Tracy whispered. “You’re a good man.”

“That’s me!” he said. “Adios. Sleep well!”

Viv straightened and took a step around the corner. “Hi, there!”

Santiago threw her a little salute. “Hey there, Viv. Good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Right.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

Speeding up, she went to the end of the hall before she found 510.

She stood there a minute, smoothed her palm over her hip, knocked twice, then put the card in the slot and—

A wild screeching siren rent the air.

What the hell is that?

Her head shot up. She stared and looked around.

The door in front of her swung wide.

Her mouth fell open.

Britt stood there, bare chest, bare feet, bronze and beaming from ear-to-ear.

She heard yells. Doors opening.

The door in back of her disgorged people. People who said, “What is that?”

A woman yelled, “Oh, shit!”

Another door opened and someone moaned, “A fire? At this hour of the night?”

“Darlin’, where are my briefs?”

“Is that a fire alarm?”

“Britt?” she beseeched him, jostled by four hotel guests rushing around the hall in pjs and shock.

He reached one long muscular arm out, grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “Oh, honey!”

He pressed her to the wall and slammed the door shut. “I thought you weren’t coming. I was crazy.”

His hands were in her hair, his body warm and hard, his lips sweet as they spoke on hers. “Thank god.”
“Britt,” she murmured, so enthralled by the little kisses he bestowed on her mouth and her throat that she could barely breathe, let alone think. “The place is on fire!”

“Tell me about it.” He was chuckling as his fingers took her evening bag from her and put it on the hall table.

She grinned, arching into his big warm hands as he molded her to him, breasts to chest, tummy to tummy, flames roaring. “But the hotel—”

“Forget the hotel, baby. I’m burning up. In a minute, you will be, too.”

She moaned as he found the side zipper to her dress and slid it down, tooth by agonizing tooth. “The place will burn down!”

“I know it will.” He brushed his hands inside the crepe and let it slither down her body.

The air-conditioned air made her shiver. But his adoring hands scorched her everywhere he touched. “They’ll find us in here.”

“I know they will.” He pulled her forward to step out of her cocktail dress that puddled on the carpet.

Laughing at the absurdities of life and luck and alarms, she tossed her hair and widened her eyes at him. “We’ll be burnt to a crisp.”

He continued backward to his sitting room. “Damn right.”

“You don’t care?”

“That some drunk fool tripped the alarm?”

She threw her head back to chuckle. “I really shouldn’t laugh.”

“Laugh, baby.” He sat down in a big easy chair and pulled her down with him, her legs bent at the knees to the cushion, her entire body open to him with only see-through French lace adorning her. He inhaled and lifted the wealth of her breasts, one in each reverent palm. His china blue eyes grew heavy-lidded and stormy. “Giggle. Scream. Do one. Do all. Do whatever comes naturally.”

She felt her nipples harden, her core pulse. She felt triumphant. Powerful. Where had that strong woman been for the past few years? “You like wild women?”

He bent to fasten his lips over one of her nipples. “I like you.”

Bucking, she tried to squeeze her thighs together. She was so swollen, so slick, she might be rash and stupid and attack him like a starving cat. “You’re not going to stop?”

“Not all night long.”