Page 19 of Married to the SEAL
Matteo’s dark suit jacket and stark white shirt set off his complexion. He looked like a playboy or a model, too handsome to be mistaken for an ordinary man. “I’m ready to go downstairs whenever you are,” he said.
“Just let me finish nursing the baby.”
He walked to the other end of the room. “How often do you have to feed him?”
“Every three hours. Sometimes he goes for a longer stretch during the night.”
“You must be tired.”
“Yes. Very.”
“I’d be happy to help if there’s anything I can do. I’m not used to having nothing to do all day.”
“What exactly do you do for…”
“HERO Force. All sorts of things.”
“Does it stand for something?”
“Hands-on engagement and recognizance operations.”
“Hands-on engagement? Like fighting?”
“When we have to, yes. Sometimes we protect people, like I’m protecting you. Other times we need to rescue someone who’s been kidnapped or held hostage.”
“Sounds dangerous,” she said.
“It can be.”
“What did you do before that?”
“I was a Navy SEAL. Most of the HERO Force guys are SEALs.”
“Wow.” Grace readjusted her dress as best she could, then lifted the baby to her shoulder to burp him. “And now you have nothing to do but pretend to be my husband.”
“I can think of worse jobs.” His smile was endearing.
She sat up straighter. “Please don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Flirt with me.” She swallowed against the knot in her throat. “We kissed. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I never thought it did.”
“You were flirting with me just now.” She looked around the room. “There is no one here but the two of us, so there is no reason for you to do that.”
Matteo stood, looking down at her from his full height. “You don’t want me to be nice to you unless we have an audience. Got it. And I shouldn’t take our practice kiss or any loving looks you throw my way in public to heart.”
“I don’t mean to offend you. I think some men might get the wrong idea in this situation.” She stood up.
“Can you take him for a minute, please? I need to finish getting ready.”
He took the baby, awkwardly at first, settling him in the crook of his arm. “How old is he?”
“Six weeks.”
“Your father wants me to find out who his father is.”
