Page 21 of Stealthy Seduction (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #5)

T he common room buzzed with the kind of casual energy that only came after a mission debrief.

Steele always thought of a debriefing as a time to unburden themselves, not unlike the religious practice of confession. Both rites provided a way to speak uncomfortable truths and even release themselves of guilt.

As a result, the guys were in rare form this afternoon. Steele sprawled in one of the leather chairs, sipping a strong black coffee and watching his teammates decompress in their own ways.

Mason already claimed the pool table, the stack of one-dollar bills he liked to lay bets with resting on the wooden edge. He racked the balls while bragging about how he’d have been a professional pool player if he weren’t a SEAL.

Chickie sat straddling a chair, shaking his head. “So what you’re saying, Mason, is that you’d rather play with your balls than dodge bullets.”

Several of the guys laughed at the banter.

Wielding the pool stick, Mason lined up to break. “You won’t be laughing when I take your money.”

“Your stance is shit,” Chickie jeered. “You’re leaning like a drunk tourist.”

“Or a one-legged flamingo.” Steele took a sip of the dark brew.

“My stance got me laid in Prague last month. Can you say the same?” Mason glanced at the group sprawled around the room.

Dante sidled up to the table and took a shot, sinking two balls before he scratched.

Mason chuckled at his bad luck, then sank the eight ball with precision mixed with a measure of luck. He turned to Dante and pointed at the stack of dollar bills.

With a groan, Dante pulled out a dollar and slapped it on the stack.

Sinner emerged from the kitchen carrying what looked like his fourth sandwich—something involving an alarming amount of meat and cheese that defied the principles of structural engineering.

“Jesus, Sinner.” Steele eyed the construction. “You planning to hibernate?”

“Protein macros,” Sinner replied with the kind of serious tone other people reserved for discussing national security. He took a bite that somehow didn’t cause the entire sandwich to collapse. “Unlike you pretty boys, I actually use my muscles.”

“Pretty boys?” Mason’s voice carried mock offense as he chalked his cue. “Speak for yourself. Some of us have to maintain our devastating good looks for undercover work.”

“Right.” Chickie snorted. “Because nothing says ‘covert operative’ like spending an hour on your hair every morning.”

“It’s called grooming standards, Chickie. Why don’t you go help Sinner make the pizzas?”

Con’s snort carried all the way across the room from the leather sofa he lounged on.

Steele couldn’t help grinning as he listened to the familiar rhythm of his teammates’ shit-talking. This was what they did—razz each other relentlessly as a way of processing the stress that came with their job. It was comfort food in verbal form.

“Speaking of undercover work,” Mason continued, lining up his next shot, “how’d it feel playing sound guy, Steele? Little different from your usual job description.”

“About as exciting as it sounds.” His mind immediately went to Izzy and the way she’d looked at him when he was setting up her mic. The memory of the feel of her warm, silky skin made his fingers tighten around the mug he held. “Until it wasn’t.”

“Cipher really knows how to make an entrance.” Chickie threw Steele a sympathetic look. He’d been in Steele’s combat boots before, when May was caught in the middle of a dark game involving a bomb.

Sinner paused mid-chew. “LED mask was a nice touch. Very sci-fi villain.”

“Guy’s got flair, I’ll give him that,” Mason agreed, sinking two more balls. “But seriously, Steele, you okay? That was some heavy shit back there.”

The question caught Steele off guard, not because it was unexpected, but because of how quickly his teammates had shifted from casual ribbing to genuine concern.

It was one of the things he valued most about this team—they could joke around like brothers, but when it mattered, they had each other’s backs without question.

“I’m good.” He mostly meant it. “Just glad we got everyone out clean.”

“Everyone meaning Izzy.” Chickie aimed a knowing look his way.

“Everyone meaning everyone,” Steele replied, but he heard the defensive edge in his own voice.

Mason missed his shot, probably on purpose, and straightened up. “You know what? I’m gonna hit the gym.”

“Yeah, me too.” Chickie hooked his leg over the chair he sat backward on and stood.

Sinner gulped down the remaining half of his sandwich. “I’ll show you both how it’s done.”

Steele pushed to his feet, prepared to dig through the refrigerator with thoughts of putting together a tray for him and Izzy to share.

“Hang back a minute, Steele.” Con’s request made him swing to face his CO.

“Sure. What’s up?” He swallowed the last of the coffee. He had a feeling that there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to prepare him for a talk with his commanding officer.

“How’s Izzy doing?”

“She’s good, but…”

Con’s arched brow was the equivalent of a court martial.

“Has Sophie ever complained about Stockholm syndrome?”

Con’s brows lowered. “What?”

“Did she ever mention that she only fell for you because you were stuck together?”

“Nope.” He braced his legs apart and folded his arms. “She wanted to be here. Are you saying…Izzy has feelings for you?”

He pushed out a sigh. “Yeah. But she does make a valid point. How can I encourage this if we don’t have a future?”

Con eyed him. “How do you see it going?”

“I’m committed to Charlie team if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Look around. There’s proof here that you can be committed to the team and still commit to the one you love. And if Charlie isn’t proof enough…Alpha team should be.”

Steele let that settle in his mind for a long moment. A loud bark of laughter trickled down the hall as the guys made their way to the gym.

“Some members of Alpha have their own houses near base,” he blurted.

“That’s true. They have a rundown building. We have a mansion.” Con swept out a hand. “We can fit one more person. Hell, we can fill this place with kids.” He turned to the tall window. “Look out there—a swing set will fit right there.”

Stunned, Steele drifted to the window that overlooked a corner of the property, dappled with sun and shade from the thick branches of an old-growth oak.

He turned to his leader, suddenly seeing Con in a different light.

He’d led them through countless missions, life-or-death situations where split-second decisions meant the difference between coming home or coming home in body bags.

This conversation felt more personal than any firefight they’d survived together.

This was a whole different level of brotherhood Steele never expected…or knew existed.

They stood side by side, gazing out the window at the back yard.

“What if someone has kids who want a pony? Kennedy seems like she could be a horse girl.”

Con snorted. “I’m sure she already has the riding boots. And if some kid wants a pony, there’s plenty of room for a stable.”

Steele’s chest heated as he thought about the possibilities for the team.

For Izzy and him.

He and Con shared a look overflowing with understanding. Hell, he got the feeling that his leader knew what he felt more than he did himself.

All he knew was he needed to be with Izzy. To make sure she was safe and happy. To give her the space to feel in control…to heal.

He reached out and clapped Con on the shoulder. “If that’s everything, I’m late for a date.”

“A date?”

“Don’t worry. We’re not leaving base. As you said, there’s plenty of space right here.”

As he walked away from the window, Steele felt something shift inside his chest—a lightness he hadn’t experienced in years.

The conversation with Con had opened up possibilities he’d never dared to consider before.

Not just the idea of a future beyond the next mission, but a real future, one where he could have both the work that defined him and the woman who was rapidly becoming essential to his existence.

She’d spent three years rebuilding herself after Syria, learning to trust her instincts again. Reclaiming her independence.

With time and space and the safety his team could provide, they could actually explore what existed between them.

She could write her book, process her ordeal, figure out her next career move—all while getting to know him as more than just the guy who’d jumped in to protect her during her latest crisis.

And he could learn who she really was beyond the quick-tongued journalist and survivor of unimaginable trauma.

They could take their time. Build something real and solid, something that could withstand whatever came after Cipher was neutralized and normal life resumed. Something that was their choice, not circumstances forced upon them by danger and desperation.

For the first time since Izzy had shown up at their gates, Steele felt genuinely optimistic about their chances. Not just for survival, but for something much better than that.

Something worth fighting for.

* * * * *

Izzy stood back to study her handiwork. The folding table she’d discovered in the storage cupboard was set up in the middle of Hudson’s room with two chairs positioned across from each other.

She’d managed to swipe a deck of cards and poker chips from the team’s stash.

She was proudest of the finishing touches she just added to the setup.

Bowls of mixed nuts and two cigars she’d managed to convince Sinner to give her after explaining her mission, by way of a promise of a replacement box as soon as she could get them.

The lighting was perfect too. She dimmed the overhead chandelier and pilfered a lamp from another room to place on Hudson’s bedside table. The result was a warm glow that set the tone for a cutthroat game of cards…while still managing to give the romantic vibe of a boudoir.

When she heard footsteps in the hall outside the room, she quickly darted to the table and took a seat, clasping her hands in front of her.