Prologue II

Sixteen years later

Nathan Malone sat at his desk in the office of the garage/ service center he owned and watched

the young woman talking to one of his mechanics.

She didn't look happy. She looked frustrated. Sun-streaked blond hair fell to her shoulders, a

beautiful swath of waves that glistened in the sunlight. Nicely rounded, not too slender. She had a

butt to die for beneath the black skirt she was wearing, and breasts that rose temptingly beneath a

maroon blouse.

Slender heels completed the outfit. He wondered if those were hose or stockings she was

wearing. She looked like a stocking woman.

Finally, she threw her hands up, looked around, and her gaze caught his. Her nostrils flared in

determination and she moved quickly past the protesting mechanic to the door of his office.

He watched as the most amazing vision stalked across the floor and planted her hands on his

desk, glaring at him.

"Look, all I need is a wrench," she said forcefully. "Just loan me one. Sell me one. I don't care.

But if I have to go much farther in my car, I'm going to find myself hitchhiking. Do I look like I

want to be hitchhiking today?" She spread her arms out from her body as she straightened, her

pretty gray eyes cloudy, distressed, her pink lips tight as the mechanic moved in behind her.

"No, ma'am, you don't." Nathan shook his head, his gaze moving over her appreciatively before

he looked around her at the mechanic. "Is there a reason why we're not looking at her car?" he

asked the other man.

Sammy's eyes narrowed. "Garage bays are full, boss, I told her that."

"A wrench," she ground out between her teeth. "Just loan me the blasted wrench."

She was frustrated. Perspiration clung to her forehead, glistened at her cheeks. Then her

expression smoothed with obvious control.

"Look, really." Her voice softened and he was enchanted. Right there, to the sound of a sweet

Southern belle, Nathan Malone lost his heart. "I really just need a little bit of help here. I swear.

My job interview isn't going to wait for me. I promise, I won't take long."

She smiled, and he felt his world tilt on its axis. A sweet curve of her lips, a hint of nervousness,

frustration, and worry lingered in the soft curve. But she smiled at him. Hell, he felt like a

teenager again.

He moved around the desk and held out his hand to the door. "Show me the car. We'll get you

back on the road."

"Boss, we're packed," Sammy protested.

Nathan ignored him as the young woman turned and preceded him to the door. He was watching

her ass as she walked and it was the damnedest view. His hands itched to touch her. Itched to cup

those curves and feel them flex beneath his hands.

"I'm Sabella." She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. "I really appreciate this."

That Georgia accent was going to make him come in his jeans. No way was he going to hold it

back if she kept talking to him.

This one was his.

"It's going to cost you," he drawled as he popped open the hood to her little sporty sedan.

"It always does." She sighed. "How much do you think?"

She looked worried. She was definitely a woman with a goal and intent on getting there. Pretty

polished nails, just enough makeup to highlight her features, and pretty soft lips.

"Dinner." He grinned back at her, catching the surprise in her eyes.

"Dinner?" Wariness filled her voice.

"Just dinner," he promised. For now. "Tonight."

She stared back at him for long seconds, those gray eyes seeming to sink inside him, to search, to

warm places inside him he didn't know existed. Let alone knew they were cold.

Finally, her lips tipped into a charming, flirtatious grin.

"The bad boy of Alpine is asking me out to dinner?" she said mischievously. "I believe I just

might swoon."

"That's not me. That's Sammy." He pointed to the mechanic. "I'm just a poor mechanic and Navy

SEAL." The girls loved SEALs. Anything to impress her.

"Nathan Malone, the SEAL with the wild blue eyes and the heartbreaking grin," she stated. "I

know who you are."

"But I don't know who you are," he stated somberly. '"I'd love to find out."

That look again. Intense, probing. "Dinner," she finally agreed softly. "I'll meet you."

Whatever he could get. "Piedmont's." He named the most expensive restaurant in town, which

wasn't saying much. "Seven."

"Seven it is. But I'll never make it if you don't fix my car."

Sabella kept a knowing smile to herself. She had a feeling if she just told him what was wrong

with it, he'd never believe her anyway. She let him piddle around, find the loose hose, and tighten

it. There, just like she said, all she needed was a wrench. Her daddy had taught her how to work

on her own car a long time ago. Unfortunately, her own wrench was missing.

So she let him fix it. She played helpless. Because she liked the way he looked at her, the way his

wild blue eyes darkened just a bit, seemed more neon in his tanned face.

"Seven," he reminded her as he closed the hood and stared down at her. "I'll be waiting on you."

"And I'll be there," she promised. Because there was no way she was going to miss this. She'd

seen him in town often enough, she'd even fantasized about him a time or two after glimpsing

him.

The hot SEAL. The bad boy of Alpine. Every woman she knew at the college lusted after him.

And Sabella decided, in that moment, Nathan was going to be hers.

Two years later

"Oh my God, Bella, what have you done?"

Bella jumped as she turned to face Nathan, seeing his wild eyes, his pale features, his hard, buff

body stalking across the front yard, his chest slick with sweat, bits of the grass he had been

cutting sticking to his jeans as he strode furiously to where her car met the back of his truck.

"It's just a little dent, Nathan. I promise…" Her heart was in her throat. Not in fear. He would

never hurt her. But he sure knew how to pout when he wanted to.

"A little dent." He gripped her shoulders, moving her aside as he stared down at the crumpled

fender as it sank into the bumper of his truck.

It was an accident. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been wearing those butt-snug jeans and boots

with no shirt as he cut the lawn, it would have never happened.

"You hit my truck." Male pride and offended dignity filled his voice. "That's my truck, Bella."

Yes. It was. And he was very proud of the powerful, black four-by-four he babied worse than any

woman would a child. She would be jealous if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't actually

bring it into the house.

"I'm really sorry, Nathan." Her accent thickened as she stared up at him, biting her lip nervously

as she wondered how much he would pout.

Nathan could go all quiet, somber, and answer her in monosyllables that drove her insane. He

would glare at her.

He would watch ball games. He would come to bed late. Late. After she went to sleep. And

wouldn't give her any until the next morning. It really wasn't fair.

"Nathan, please don't be mad at me…"

"How did you hit my track? How? It was sitting in plain view. Plain view, Sabella." He was

getting angry. He only said her full name when he was really getting angry or really, really

horny. And he was not horny. Okay, this wasn't good. She could do without for days. But she

didn't like it.

She stomped her foot, glaring back at him in irritation. "If it weren't for you, I would have never

hit it."

"Me?" He stepped back, shaking his head fiercely. "How the hell was this my fault?"

"Because you were cutting the grass, with no shirt, in sexy jeans and boots, and seeing your tight

ass striding across the lawn made me horny. You distracted me. It's all your fault. If you would

dress properly things like this just would not happen, Nathan…"

He kissed her. It wasn't a gentle, easy kiss. It was rough and ready and smack full of lust as he

jerked her against him, pressing his cock into her belly as she gasped in pleasure.

"You are so spanked." He picked her up, striding across the lawn, leaving her car door open, his

truck abused. "Spanked, Sabella. I'm going to watch every inch of that pretty ass turn red."

He slammed the door behind him, locking it quickly before heading for the stairs.

"Oh, spank me, Nathan," she breathed teasingly into his ear. "Make me beg."

He shuddered against her, threw her on the bed and proto make her beg.

One week later

"I'll be home in a week." He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He didn't look like a badass Navy

SEAL, he looked like her husband, going off on a business trip. Not a big deal.

She was good at fooling herself.

"The truck will be out of the shop tomorrow." She nodded as she watched him pull the duffel bag

from the closet and turn to her. "I'll have it in the garage, all nice and pretty for you."

She grinned back at him cheekily as she brushed the long strands of her hair back from her face.

"You owe me though. I had to flash some leg to get it done so fast. Your mechanics are so easy,

Nathan."

He owned the garage and auto service station just at the edge of town. A thriving little business

she knew he loved.

He grunted, his gaze going to her bare legs as she leaned back on the bed, her shorts riding up her

thighs.

"Witch," he growled. "My ride is waiting downstairs and you know it."

She drew her shirt off and released her shorts, letting them fall down her legs. Watching him, she

slid her fingers over the bare, wet folds between her thighs then lifted them to his lips.

Nathan groaned. She loved that sound. His lips parted and his eyes went wild as he tasted her.

"So make it a quickie," she whispered, desperate to have him, just one last time, before he left.

She straightened on the bed as he neared, her fingers going to his belt, working it loose quickly.

"I dare you. Fuck me like you mean it…"

He turned her, pushed her over the edge of the bed, and within seconds he was filling her. Hard

and throbbing, stroking, penetrating, burying inside her in rapid hard strokes until she felt pure

white-hot sensation wash over her.

"Nathan. Nathan, I love you," she cried out as he came over her, holding her in place as his hips

jerked against her, his hands gripping her, fingers burning into her flesh.

And then he whispered the words. The lyrical flow of sound, Gaelic. He whispered his love for

her in a language his grandfather had taught him, and she felt it in her soul.

"Always," she whispered, turning her head to him, taking his kiss. "Forever, Nathan."

One week later

Bella opened the door, and she froze. Nathan's uncle Jordan was standing beside the chaplain.

She knew he was the chaplain by his dark uniform. Jordan was in his dress whites, his Navy hat

in his hand, medals shining on his chest, and she felt the collapse of her spirit.

"Nathan's due home any day," she whispered, her lips numbing as she stared back at Jordan and

saw his grief, his sorrow. "You're early, Jordan. He's not here yet."

She was crying. She could feel the tears, hot, blistering her skin as she pressed her fists tight to

her stomach and felt her knees weakening.

"Bella." His voice was thick, unshed tears glittering in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He was sorry? Sorry? He was tearing her soul right out of her chest and he was sorry?

She shook her head. "Please don't say it, Jordan. Please don't say it."

"Bella." He swallowed tightly. "You know I have to."

He had to. He had to destroy her.

"Mrs. Malone." The chaplain spoke for him. "Ma'am, it is my greatest regret to inform you—"

"No. No!" She screamed the words as Jordan caught her, dragging her into his arms and helping

her into the house as the screams poured from her. They ripped from her chest, like a knife,

brutal, merciless. The pain dragged her into a pit of such deep, stark despair that she didn't think

she could survive.

"Nathan!" She cried out his name, screamed his name, she begged him. He swore he would

always know when she needed him, even in death. Because he had that gift. It was the eyes, he

had said, and she had laughed at him, and now she wished it were true. Because she needed

Nathan, her Wild Irish eyes. "Oh God, Nathan!"

Six months later

Bella came awake to her own sobs, her chest heaving as she searched the bed, her hands reaching

across the distance, clawing at the sheets, the pillow, desperate to find him.

He was bleeding. She could see the blood on his hands as though she were staring through his

eyes. She could feel his agony, gut wrenching, desperate, a ragged gaping soul of unvarnished

agony howling around her.

It had to be a dream. Sobs tore from her throat as she ripped at the blankets, a guttural cry of raw

agony tearing from her heart.

"Nathan!" She screamed his name, her voice hoarse, raw from her tears, from the past horrific

months.

The funeral… They hadn't even let her see him.

She fell forward, her tears dropping to the bed as she remembered, remembered and knew it

wasn't a dream. Nathan was really gone. Forever.

They had closed his coffin to her. She hadn't been allowed to touch him, to kiss his beloved face,

to whisper goodbye. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to ease the agony breaking over

her.

There was only the emptiness. The emptiness of her bed. Her life. There was only the horrible,

aching hollow in her soul. It ate at her, burned into her mind and reminded her every second,

every day, that Nathan was gone.

Nathan was gone.

Forever.

Except in her nightmares. Where he cried out her name. Where he touched her then backed away

from her. Where he stared back at her with hollow grief. Or when she felt the pain that tore

through him. Unending, agonizing, so much pain.

Then as quickly as they began, as fast as she realized it was Nathan's pain, the dreams would

shift, change.

" I'll love you forever, witch," He leaned over her, naked, his chest gleaming, golden flesh

blocking out the sun as his brilliant, neon eyes watched her intently. "Feel my soul touch yours,

Sabella. Feel me love you, baby…"

An agonized cry rasped her throat as she clutched at air, the insubstantial memory drifting away,

gone. Just as Nathan was gone.

"Oh God. Oh God. Nathan…"

She clutched his pillow to her breast, rocking herself as her head fell back and a scream ripped

from her soul. "Damn you, Nathan…"