He fumbled at his belt. Yanked his T-shirt over his head. Dropped his pants.

Sherri leaned over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The quiet, rhythmic crash and swish of waves was faintly audible outside. Better.

He padded across the thick plush carpet and slipped under the covers and into Sherri’s arms.

She was warm and sleek and welcoming. Damned if she didn’t feel like coming home. Maybe that marriage proposal hadn’t been so crazy after all—

Whoa. Hard stop.

He was not a marrying kind of man. Not while he was still an active operator. And not when he could pull a Sam and die at any time.

“Why did you leave your trunks on?” Sherri muttered into his ear.

“Because I don’t do drunk sex with women. Nothing good ever comes of it.”

“Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she commented.

He snorted. “Leo Lipinski. He hooked up with Janine and was too drunk to remember to use a freaking condom. Now she’s pregnant, and he’s married. And mark my words, she’s gonna be no picnic to live with.”

Humor laced Sherri’s voice as she responded, “Why do you say that?”

“She doesn’t know squat about the SEALs or what it takes to be married to one. Hell, I don’t think she could even hack being a regular Navy wife.”

Sherri shrugged in his arms. “It takes a special spouse to handle the long absences of their partner at sea.”

“Well, Janine ain’t it. And now Leo’s saddled with her.”

He felt Sherri’s silent chuckle. “Who knew you guys think so deeply about these things?”

He pulled back to stare down at her. “Don’t women think about it?”

“About making bad life choices under the influence of alcohol? All the time. Of course, we tend to be worried about roofies in our alcohol more than guys.”

He drew her into a hug. Man, he felt comfortable with her like this. “Are you telling me you roofied my scotch? Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

“You’re the one who left your undies on. I got the message loud and clear.”

Silence fell between them, and he listened lazily to the surf.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome. It’s what friends are for.”

But what if he wanted more than friendship with her? Where did that leave them? Hell. What if his half-drunken proposal hadn’t entirely been the alcohol talking?

Chapter 12

Sherri woke up lazily to rosy light streaming through white gauze curtains. She was cocooned in down comfort. The ocean crashed and retreated nearby, and warm, muscular flesh was cozy under her ear.

She opened one eye. A stubble-covered jaw filled her field of vision. A hard, lean jaw. Griffin.

Right. Sam’s death. Griffin’s grief. A bottle of scotch and the beach.