Page 6 of Protected By the SEAL
I look up at him. His green eyes are dark, intense, searching my face for something.
“Yeah?”
“You know you’re incredible, right? Smart and funny and beautiful and…” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “They’re idiots if they can’t see that.”
“You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
CHAPTER 3
KANE
Another glass of wine, sir?” The sommelier hovers at my elbow, bottle poised.
I shake my head, keeping my attention on Morgana. She’s three people down the tasting bar, trapped between her mother and Aunt Carol, while her cousin Jennifer is boasting about her son’s school.
“—and of course, they only accept twelve percent of applicants,” Jennifer says, loud enough for the entire tasting room to hear. “But when you have the right connections...”
Morgana’s shoulders inch higher with each word. She’s gripping her wine glass, knuckles white against the stem. I’ve seen her nervous, stressed, even panicked, but this endless one-upmanship is grueling to watch. Morgana looks like she’s trying to disappear into herself.
“Speaking of achievements,” Sarah jumps in, “did Emma mention her husband made partner? Youngest in the firm’s history.”
Emma preens, diamond wedding ring catching the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “We’re looking at houses in Marin now. The school districts aresomuch better.”
“Must be nice to have options,” Morgana’s mother sighs, shooting her daughter a pointed look. “Some of us are still waiting for grandchildren.”
Morgana takes a gulp of wine.
“Oh, but you have a boyfriend now,” Aunt Carol says, turning to Morgana with laser focus. “What was his name? Kyle?”
“Kane,” I correct, moving closer to Morgana’s side. My hand finds the small of her back.
“Right, Kane.” Aunt Carol’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “And how long have you two been together? It seems rather sudden.”
“A few months,” Morgana answers, voice steady despite the tension I feel coiled in her spine.
“Months?” Jennifer exchanges looks with Emma. “And you didn’t mention it? That’s so unlike you, Morgana. You usually tell us everything.”
That’s rich, considering they haven’t seen her in years. But Morgana wisely doesn’t take the bait.
“Well, when are you planning to get married?” Sarah asks. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“Sarah,” Morgana’s mother chides, but she looks expectantly at her daughter, too.
“We’re enjoying where we are,” I say firmly. “Not everything needs a timeline.”
“But surely at your age,” Aunt Carol starts.
“At our age, we know what we want.” I pull Morgana against my side, the feeling of her soft curves against my body stirring more than my protective instinct. “And what we have is worth taking our time with.”
The sommelier launches into an explanation of the next wine, something about oak barrels and hints of stone fruit. I tune him out, focused on Morgana beside me. Her breathing is shallow, and she looks like her blood pressure is through the roof.
“This Pinot has an interesting finish,” Belinda’s voice carries from the other end of the tasting bar. She’s holding court with her bridesmaids, all of them in matching “Bride Tribe” shirts. “Though not as complex as the wines we had in Bordeaux last summer. Victor and I did a two-week tour of French vineyards. Didn’t we, honey?”
Victor murmurs agreement, looking vaguely uncomfortable. He keeps glancing our way, then quickly averts his gaze when I catch him.
“Have you been to France, Morgana?” Belinda calls over, voice condescending.
