Leather, Lace and Rock-n-Roll (SEALS, Inc., Book 1)

Leather, Lace and Rock-n-Roll

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

In the corner of the Diablo firehouse garage, Hawke stood braced against a fire pole surrounded by Shadow, Max, and Steele, watching the action behind tinted lenses and wondering why the hell he'd been so agreeable. The area appeared to be perfectly safe for the event. The two largest fire engines, both ladder trucks, had been parked side by side directly in front of the garage. This kept wandering eyes, or cameras, out and provided a discreet photography back drop. Diablo Police Department officers stood guard outside the area. Swat team snipers lined the tops of adjacent buildings. Though the whole operation reeked of military genius, Hawke knew that if Diego wanted Rachel bad enough, he would find a way to test the barriers.

Inside the perimeter however, things were a whole lot different.

Rachel's rich auburn hair tumbled carelessly down her back as she tossed her head and positioned the first fireman against a freshly-waxed fire engine. He watched through narrow eyes as her dancing fingertips filled the ridges of the man's sculpted muscles with oil. Hawke released a long sigh. He had no other choice but to size up the competition with pained tolerance. The whole place was thick with testosterone and it was directed at his woman. Even if she was totally pissed off at him right now, she was still his.

Hawke peeled his eyes off Rachel long enough to glance at Max. "Thanks, Captain."

"Don't thank me yet, Hawke, we can't keep the media out for long. I give it an hour tops."

"Maybe it won't take that long."

Max rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell me why we're here again."

"Moral support," Hawke mumbled.

"Damn." Shadow whistled low under his breath. "How much oil does he need?"

Hawke lifted his sunglasses and tossed Shadow a menacing stare.

"At least she's safe," Steele added.

"Steele," Max growled, "you're not helping."

Hawke stiffened as Rachel ran her hands over her victim's body for the umpteenth time.

"Mr. August," Max reminded him.

"I remember," Hawke spat through gritted teeth.

Shadow chuckled. "Cameron looks happy herself."

"Screw you," Max muttered.

"Okay, Rick." Rachel lifted her hands from Rick's glistening skin. "Any more oil and you'll shine brighter than the truck."

She positioned Rick against the steps leading to the top of the fire truck and looped a hose around one of his biceps. "What do you think, Cameron?"

Cameron aimed her camera at Rick. "More abs."

Rachel braced her hand on her hip, twisted her lips, then pointed to his abdomen with her free hand. "Are you tan down there?"

Rick cast an uneasy glance at Hawke. "Most of the way." Hawke returned a brutal and unfriendly stare.

Rachel shrugged, unsnapped Rick's pants, and wiggled them low on his hips.

Hawke growled low in his throat and turned his attention to Max, who stood morbidly quiet. With his arms crossed across his massive chest, Captain Sterling appeared deadly, ready and willing to snap someone's neck.

When Hawke glanced back at the truck, he fully understood Max's unspoken discomfort. With her signature high heels planted six inches apart on the cement slab and slightly bent at the waist, Cameron swiveled her hips to capture each side of Rick's physique and clicked several more pictures. The hem of her short skirt bounced against the back of her thighs.