A SEAL's Fantasy by Tawny Weber

so hard she was lucky she didn’t land on her ass. Her breath knotted in her chest, hurting as she tried to make her lungs work.
    Looming in her doorway, looking as though he was on death’s payroll, was one of the goons.
    A very big, very ugly, very mean-looking goon.
    “Been looking for you,” he said in a heavily accented guttural growl.
    Okay, so maybe Frat Boy hadn’t been exaggerating about the danger thing.
    She could handle this. It was broad daylight—her door didn’t even shut. Her fingers shook on her hips and she felt like throwing up. But the only thing in her stomach was a grease slick of fear, so she swallowed it down and tried her only option.
    Bullshit.
    “You must be looking for Lara,” she said, adding a strained laugh and big wide eyes. “Sorry. She’s not here right now.”
    Mean and Ugly just stared.
    Then, not even glancing around as if he might be concerned with witnesses, he stepped farther into the room.
    Uh-oh.
    Lara would have stepped back, but her feet were frozen to the floor.
    “I’m her neighbor. She, you know, called and asked me to check her mail.” She waved the envelopes as if they were covered in truth dust to verify her claim.
    She couldn’t tell if Mean and Ugly believed her or not. He just kept staring with those dead shark eyes.
    “So, um, I can give her a message if you want.”
    Still nothing.
    She winced, glancing past his shoulder. Was he waiting for his buddy? Didn’t goons travel in pairs?
    The idea of another one sent a wave of terror washing over her. Lara tried to swallow the slippery, hot fear clawing its way up her throat. She’d be okay. She was street smart; she’d handled bad before. She could handle this.
    Somehow.
    He moved closer.
    She wanted to run. To scream. To jump up and down yelling, no fair, dammit.
    But she couldn’t move.
    Lara’s fingers clenched, the mail crumpling loudly. The sound snapped her out of the foggy terror. She frantically looked around for a weapon. Keys, a big stick. A stiletto.
    Nothing.
    She had a handful of mail.
    Her bills were heavy, but she didn’t figure this was gonna do more than offer up a few paper cuts.
    “Look, buddy—”
    Before she could finish, before she could even figure out if she was going to threaten or plead, he grabbed her arm.
    Unlike when Castillo had made that very same move the night before, she didn’t feel irritated with a disturbing undercurrent of turned on.
    She was straight-up terrified and the only undercurrents were the kind that made her want to cry.
    “Let’s go.”
    “I don’t want to go.” Leaning back with all her weight—which wasn’t insubstantial considering her height—she dug her heels into the carpet, the nappy fibers catching on her spiked boots. “I don’t know what you want, I don’t care who you are. Let go of me and get out of here or you’re gonna be sorry.”
    Not even rolling his eyes or bothering to laugh at her empty threat, he started dragging her toward the door.
    Lara didn’t make it easy.
    She struggled, kicking at his legs, trying to get close enough to scratch his face. She briefly considered biting, but didn’t figure he’d had his rabies shot.
    Nothing worked.
    She screamed. So loud and hard it felt as if the scream scoured her throat raw.
    When nobody appeared, she screamed again.
    And kicked him, driving the pointy toe of her boot into the fleshy part of his calf.
    He didn’t even slow.
    Holy shit.
    Terror grabbed tight, her heart racing so fast the blood almost burst out of her ears, Lara tried to catch her breath. Tried to restart her brain.
    Nothing.
    He was a foot from the door.
    No.
    No way in hell this ugly guy was hauling her off.
    Fueled by the hideous images of what he might do, Lara launched herself at the guy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his side so her heels dug into his arm. Clinging to him like a sideways burr, she ignored the disease potential and chomped her teeth into his shoulder with a vicious