Page 8 of Covert Temptation (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #4)

“I want pizza,” she said at once, as though she’d been thinking about her answer for a week instead of thirty seconds. “Disgustingly greasy pizza with all the toppings and thick crust.”

His fingers had been hovering over the keyboard, but now they twitched into fists. “Pizza?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

He gave up trying to work and pushed away from the desk to get more coffee. “I didn’t picture you as the junk food type.”

She gave him a look that would stir the toughest man on earth. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had pizza?”

Her words stirred something else—a twinge of guilt. On the Charlie base, the team could fire up their outdoor brick oven and make homemade pizza whenever the craving hit.

She leafed through the menus and settled on a page. “I can’t believe it. This place is open late and they have pizza!”

His lips quirked at her obvious joy.

“Deep dish, extra cheese and all the toppings,” she declared. “A double order so we can eat it for midnight snacks. And dessert.”

“There’s a budget, Kennedy.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s the government’s card.”

He grunted. “Not a play money card.”

She rolled her eyes. “I worked for an ambassador. I know all about those budgets.”

She snapped the menu closed and grabbed her coat. Dante was on his feet before she got halfway to the door.

He blocked her path. “I’ll get the pizza and a few supplies, but you’re not coming.”

She paused. “I—” Her throat worked on a swallow. “I don’t want to be here alone.”

“You can’t be seen, Kennedy. This isn’t negotiable.”

Her eyes met his, wide and dark in the dim light. She’d thrown glares at him for weeks now. But this felt different.

More…vulnerable.

He exhaled through his nose. “I’ll be right back with the pizza.”

She shifted her gaze to the window. “But…it’s…dark.”

Alyssa warned him that Kennedy didn’t do well in the dark.

He sighed. “I don’t have to go for pizza. There’s probably some canned soup in the pantry.”

She gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “Canned soup. It’s official. I’m definitely a prisoner.”

He grabbed a ball cap from his duffel and pulled it on to conceal his own appearance a little bit. “Pizza it is then. I’m not going far. Watch some TV. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Still, she lingered near him, not moving toward the couch or the TV or even away from the door.

“But Dante…” Her voice caught on his name.

He didn’t like the little kernel blooming in his chest, the one that told him to protect her at all costs.

“It’s going to be okay, Kennedy,” he said gently. “I’ll be back before you know it. Lock the door behind me and stuff the wedge under it.”

She nodded but didn’t utter another word.

She didn’t need to tell him she was afraid, and damn if that didn’t have him slipping, backsliding, searching for footing in this bizarre op he’d been handed that he was determined to excel in.

The woman who might hold the key to unraveling a web of lies was locked inside a house with him, pacing and restless, in her ankle boots and soft sweater.

And all Dante could think about was that glimmer of gloss on her bottom lip, the raspy way she said his name…and the sound of her laugh on the drive here.

It haunted him. Worse—it tempted him.

* * * * *

Even though Kennedy was old enough not to be worried about dark corners and shadows, her past had taught her otherwise.

She walked around the house, flipping on every light until the space was illuminated by a warm golden glow that chased away the darkness.

When she walked into her bedroom, she saw the open closet door and switched the light on there too. Just to be sure.

She knew it was irrational, but it all began with her parents fighting in the dark. Kennedy was always curled up in the dark, hiding in the dark, trembling in the dark, waiting for the worst to happen.

Then, years later, she worked late nights to put herself through college. She and her coworkers had a creed: don’t get caught in the dark, always park under a parking lamp, and have the bouncers walk them to their vehicles.

She added another precaution to her list—she paid a male friend who lived in her coed dorm ten bucks to watch for her return and meet her at her vehicle so they could walk in together.

She sank to the edge of the bed and dropped her gaze to her feet. She didn’t really need her shoes in the safe house, but until she felt like she wouldn’t need to run from danger any moment, she would keep them on.

She admired the supple Italian leather that gleamed softly under the light. Gold zipper hardware traced the inside seam, subtly embossed with the designer’s signature. Even the soles were a quiet indulgence—lacquered and pristine, the kind that whispered wealth with every step.

She wasn’t wealthy. But having these things reminded her how far she’d come from those childhood days of shaking in the dark while her parents broke everything within reach and punched holes in the walls.

Scraping her fingers through her hair, she made up her mind to stop wallowing in her own self-pity, to get up and fight another day.

This day happened to bring pizza, and she couldn’t be more thrilled to indulge in the treat she’d been craving for weeks while locked in that apartment.

She walked into the living room again, her attention shifting to Dante’s laptop, but he’d closed all the tabs and the screen was blank. Drifting to the window, she folded her arms and stared out at the still world outside.

The wind shifted, rattling the windowpane in its frame.

She jumped and hurried away from the window. She plopped down on the sofa and snatched up the TV remote.

Watch TV, Dante had told her. Like she hadn’t already spent more than enough time rotting her brain the past few weeks.

After turning on a cooking show for background noise, she stared at the show, not really seeing it, but listening hard to all the unfamiliar noises of the unfamiliar house.

The cities where she and Alyssa stayed on a regular basis never truly went dark, and in the diplomatic world, she was never alone for long. But here? The Hudson Valley seemed to fold in on itself, swallowing light, movement and even the sound of her own breathing.

A tap on the door sent her launching to her feet and whirling, prepared to run. Her brain churned with scenarios of attacks even as her heart took off at Mach speed.

With a forced effort to slow her wild heartbeat, she counted the twenty-three steps to the front door.

“Kennedy?” Dante. Back with the food and supplies. His voice came muffled. “It’s me.”

Her fingers tingled as the blood flowed back into them. She quickly kicked the wedge out from under the door and unlocked two locks—the original and the one Dante installed when they arrived.

When she opened the door, the wind blew over the pizza boxes he held, wafting the delicious scent of sauce and spices to her.

She let out a squeal and reached to take the boxes. As she did, her fingers brushed his—cool from being outdoors. Rough. But much softer than she expected from a hard man like Dante.

Their gazes locked for a single throbbing heartbeat.

His eyes were dark, nearly black. Not cold right now, though she knew exactly how cold they could be.

“Finally,” she breezed out in a snarky tone to break the moment. “I was about to chew on the coffee table.”

With the pizza boxes balanced on her palm, she carried them into the living room and set them on the coffee table, aware that every muscle felt just a little too stiff after her worry-filled time alone.

“It was a long wait. The guy who runs the joint moves slower than Congress.”

She let out an unexpected snort and looked up into Dante’s eyes. “It looks like you ordered everything on the menu.”

“Pretty much.” He set the bags he carried next to the pizza boxes and began unpacking small cups filled with dipping sauces, trays tented with foil and something that appeared to be turnovers, though they were a bit misshapen.

He paused, meeting her gaze. The directness of it made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t just looking at her—he was looking into her.

Several heartbeats passed, each one louder than the last.

“I’ll grab some plates and put the milk in the fridge.” For such a big man, he moved with precision, every muscle tightening and releasing in sync like an athlete in an arena.

She watched him walk into the kitchen before letting out the breath she was holding.

In the time he was gone, something had changed in the air between them—charged it with a different electricity that she couldn’t explain.

He returned with two paper plates and a stack of napkins. When he sank to the sofa beside her, she was suddenly hyperaware of how close he was and the power harnessed in that machine he called a body.

They ate in silence, with only the sounds of crunching on pizza crust and Dante’s fork scraping the bottom of the cannoli container.

“You really did get a lot of food.”

His attention shifted to her face. “You requested extra for midnight snacks. And dessert.”

She leaned back, patting her stomach. “That turnover really hit the spot too. It tasted better than it looked.”

She felt his gaze roaming over her, but he said nothing. After he scraped out the last of the cannoli and stuffed it in his mouth, he twitched his head toward the TV.

“Cooking shows?”

“I was hungry.”

“So you tortured yourself by watching food you couldn’t eat.” He picked up the remote and held it out to her like a peace offering. “Look, let’s stop fighting.”

She blinked at him.

He waved the remote. “Your call.”

She took it. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Smiling inwardly, she began flipping through the options and finally landed on a channel. Not a drama or reality show.

This really was her lucky day—pizza and hockey.

With a happy sigh, she settled back in the corner of the sofa.

She felt his gaze snap to her. “You’re into hockey?”

“Big-time.”

“Thought you were more… I don’t know, jewelry commercials and cooking competitions.”

She turned her head to face him, arching a brow. “Because I carry a crocodile purse?”

He looked momentarily smug. “Exactly.”

“It’s ostrich, you heathen. And stop trying to profile me—you’re terrible at it.”

He huffed a laugh, leaning back on the couch. “All right, couture queen. I see you now. Surprise me.”

She knew she already had. And the way he was studying her now made her skin prickle. Not with discomfort, but with awareness.

As the puck dropped on the ice, she settled into the cushions, careful to retain a few inches between them. He radiated heat and quiet confidence and something else—something unreadable that kept her on edge in ways she wasn’t used to.

She didn’t belong in any neat little box, and she didn’t want him trying to shove her into one just because she used designer bags and could wield a datebook like a weapon.

He didn’t say much, but he stayed through the first two periods. When he finally stood and stretched, she tilted her head up to look at him.

“I’ll be up by five,” he said casually, like it was a perfectly normal time to wake up.

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Party animal.”

He gave her an exasperated look.

“Aren’t most military men masochists?” she added with a sly grin.

“This body’s a machine.” He ran a hand down his torso, echoing her thoughts. “I have to take care of it.”

Her mouth went a little dry.

She shouldn’t be thinking about what was under that long-sleeve thermal or the way the hard planes of his ass moved when he walked, but here she was, betraying herself one peek at a time.

Chest. Arms. Those solid shoulders. And those lips— Jesus .

“Of course you do,” she murmured.

He didn’t push, didn’t flirt back, which filled her with more annoyance that she was annoyed. Without a response, he disappeared into the hallway with one last look over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the game. You can recap the highlights for me in the morning.”

She watched him vanish, then looked around the lonely living room, her breath exhaling in a slow puff.

The TV blared back to life with the start of the third period.

But she didn’t care.

She didn’t have a phone, which meant she couldn’t scroll social media. No reels, no memes or cat videos. All the little things she used to calm her mind had been stripped away, leaving her in digital silence.

And now Dante was gone too.

But he’d left his bedroom door cracked. Not closed. Not fully open.

A strange in-between.

She hated how alone she still felt, even knowing he was right down the hall.

The shadows in the house danced in the corners of her eyes. She could hear faint sounds—ticks in the walls, a soft thump that was probably pipes but made her heart stutter anyway.

She grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her legs up beneath her. The hockey game was just noise now. Her ears were tuned to the house. Listening for the unfamiliar.

Tick.

Click.

Creak.

Her body was taut, like a spring ready to snap.

If he were here—just sitting nearby, not even speaking—she wouldn’t feel it so sharply.

She hated that, hated how much she missed the presence of someone she didn’t even trust.

But Dante was steady and confusingly gentle in those moments that she cracked through his armor. Worse…the longer she was around him, the more she noticed things she shouldn’t .

Like how fast his beard grew, going from a faint shadow to a full sprout in the span of a day.

Or how his voice sometimes dipped low with an edge of gravel, making her chest feel tight.

Or the way he saw too much with those eyes of his, making her feel seen even when she didn’t want to be.

It was infuriating.

And a little intoxicating.

She hated being afraid of the dark. But more than that, she hated the way her fear felt visible to him.

Still wrapped in the blanket, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and stared toward his open door.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one lying awake. Maybe he was wondering about her too.

Or maybe he was asleep, dreaming of five a.m. wake-ups.

She rolled her eyes, smiling faintly.

God help her—the SEAL was impossible.

At least when they were enemies, she knew where she stood.

Now she wasn’t so sure.