Page 49 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

How dare he? That underhanded rat.

“That crate—it’s from my inventory logs. It was supposed to be marked for disposal. Why is it here?" Anger and betrayal simmer in my gut as I watch Edmund hand it over.

“You’re sure it’s the same one?”

“Positive,” I whisper. “I logged it myself.”

I lean back in the seat, my shoulder touching Sterling’s, hands wringing together. I wish I could march out there and ask him what he thinks he’s doing, how he thinks he’ll get away with it. Why is he putting his family at risk like this?

Sterling’s hands cover mine, gently pulling them apart. “You’re going to break your own fingers at this rate. Relax. We’ll figure it out.”

The exchange is over in about a minute, and Edmund flees. I perk up, ready to hop out and chase after him or buckle in for a pursuit. “Are we going to follow him?”

“No. No, I don’t think we should. We know where to find him. Let’s see what happens.”

Forcing myself to settle, to relax, to not fidget so much, I realize I’m still pressed against Sterling. He hasn’t said anything or made a move to push me off. I should probably go back to my side of the car, but he’s warm, and my decision to wear shorts probably wasn’t the best idea.

I just wanted to be comfortable. You hear stakeout, and you don’t think restrictive clothing, like the stuff I wear to work to look presentable. Instead, I threw on my comfort clothes—the oversized sweatshirt I got my first year at university and the stretched out basketball shorts I wore during my pregnancy.

My wardrobe decision certainly didn’t provide me with any sex appeal, although why I’m thinking about that…

Well, it’s the same reason I’m still cuddled up against Sterling. Isn’t it?

His hand comes down on mine again, stopping my fidgeting. No need to say anything about it, but his touch remains, and it’s suddenly a little harder to breathe.

I’m not sure how long we sit there, but it’s quiet for a while, and my thoughts turn further and further into inappropriate territory.

I take a peek at him out of the corner of my eyes. He’s focused on the warehouse.

Fuck it. I take the opening, turning my head to look at him fully. This time, I’m not trying to figure him out. Instead, I’m just… looking at him. The strong line of his jaw, dusted with stubble like he can never fully eliminate how it shadows his face. His hair is a mix of salt and pepper and pure silver. Most of the darker bits are hidden under what’s on top, and I didn’t notice that before.

His brows are dark, making his face seem more stern. Or perhaps that’s the perpetual frown. I’m pretty sure that’s a prerequisite for being in charge. But even with a frown, his mouth is full and pouty. Perfectly kissable.

I don’t know how my arguments about messing around with anyone so soon after Alistair have fallen away so quickly, but I’m truly past the point of caring about breakup etiquette. I want Sterling.

Molten desire churns inside me, and it’s getting harder and harder to control.

He turns to meet my gaze. Gray-blue irises shine like they’re lit from within. I swear he has the power to see right through me, read all the fantasies playing in my mind. And we’re so close. It would take little effort for me to tip up and press my mouth to his.

He could, too, but he seems to be waiting. For me to make a fool of myself? For some kind of sign that I will more than welcome any advance he makes? But no, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to make the first move if I want it badly enough.

I think I do.

But after a few long minutes, he clears his throat and sighs, peering back at the warehouse. “We should get back.”

“Just a little bit longer.” My voice is huskier than I anticipated. It earns me his probing gaze again.

Fuck it. I’ve spent too long waiting to get the things I want. I’m just going to take it.

Lifting to my knees, I slide into his lap. His big hand catches my thigh before I fall into the gap between his seat and the door. His touch is hot. Firm.

And he doesn’t push me away, so I sink into him, tipping my nose against his with the small promise of a kiss.

Sterling doesn’t take the hint, doesn’t take the lead. Is he trying to be a gentleman?

When my lips brush his, a spark jolts through me. His eyes still bore into mine, and I wish I could read him. Even a little. I kiss him more firmly, my lids fluttering closed as his mouth softens against mine. His other hand cups my hip under the bulky sweatshirt.

Each movement is small and soft, testing me as I tease his mouth open. Once I gain enough confidence to slide my hand into his hair, the tension between us cracks.

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