SEAL Kissed: A Navy SEAL Military Romance (Hot Dirty SEALS Book 1) (2 page)

BOOK: SEAL Kissed: A Navy SEAL Military Romance (Hot Dirty SEALS Book 1)
13.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Chapter Three
Emerson

M
y eyes scan
over the folder. I flip through the papers hoping to discover something I missed. Maybe a clue that leads me to my biological mother. Since my eighteenth birthday I've been reading the story of how my mom left all five and a half pounds of me in a hospital neonatal intensive care unit to fend for myself. No loving note left behind to offer an explanation of my abandonment. Nothing. Not even her real name. Just a chart listing her as Jane Doe. According to the records I would have died before being born if she had paid the abortionist fee instead of buying more heroin. Yay mom.

So here I am, a born drug addict into this suck ass world. The poster child for the California foster care system. A “success” my case worker called me the day before I aged out of the system. And two days before my dumb as shit foster parents kicked me out of their basement.

Four years later and I’m making it on my own. Well, almost. Sure, handing out free samples in a warehouse store may not be glamorous but it pays my half of the rent and keeps ramen noodles in my stomach.

Mr. Barlows voice rumbles over the intercom announcing the store is officially open for the day. I glance at my phone before putting it into my pocket. Everyone knows his policy regarding cell phone use during business hours and I cannot lose this job.

All the cheap customers are making their way towards me and I shove the papers into my backpack. I know every word by heart anyway.

Skillfully I stab the tiny pieces of faux meat with colorful toothpicks.

“Would you like to try a free sample of vegetarian sausage?” I ask, handing them out to a few lingering but brave people. It’s like food poisoning on a stick. I can’t believe people eat this stuff.

“I don’t know. Are they any good?” My head snaps up at the baritone voice. Just the sheer size of this guy has cleared all the others away. Pushing my glasses up to the bridge of my nose, I take in the beautifully rugged man before me. Narrowed eyes, sparkling green like emeralds framed by a rugged face look back at me.
Oh my God. It’s him!

I want to run away but I don’t think I could maneuver my way around his massive body. I’m having one of those moments when I wish the earth would just open up and swallow me whole. He must think I’m some sort of freak after I eagle eyed him with his girlfriend last night. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest and my gaze immediately goes from the huge bulge below his belt to his face.
Oh God, just shoot me now.

“So, do you recognize anything, sweetheart?” His voice is laced with danger and it gives me a thrill. I’m drawn to him but I don’t know why. Unable to speak, I give a gently nod of my head even though I really want to hate him.

His full soft lips look delicious. His dark hair is only slightly longer than the scruff on his face. Not an ounce of fat on him, because he must lift boulders for a living. The material of his shirt pulls across the expanse of his chest, wrapping around massive biceps painted with dark tribal tattoos. The only area the fabric hangs loose is over his abs, and I imagine that is only because he’s hiding a six pack under there.

My stomach flutters and I swallow hard, hopefully preventing my heart from leaping out of my mouth. Being under his intense scrutiny makes me feel small and fragile. Ripples of muscles flex and twitch with his every move and I imagine what it would be like to run my finger through there peaks and valleys. My eyes slowly travel back up his torso, carefully mapping every hard ridge along the way. The only thing soft about him are those full lips.

As if he could read my mind, the corner of his mouth tilts up, exposing a dimple I stare at for a second too long, causing the cocky bastard to burst out in a full fledged smile. Embarrassed, I glance down at my knotted hands, stealing peaks at his cinched waist, narrow hips and the well defined bulge straining the zipper just below his shiny belt buckle. Even through the faded denim material I can tell his thighs are just as long and lean and muscular as the rest of him.

His blue eyes pierce mine before lazily traveling down my body and back up. They stop on my breasts and my body shudders under his steely gaze. I hope he didn’t notice. A man like him is probably accustomed to the types of women who walk Paris runways in sheer lingerie while I’m rocking the big white clearance panties that come in packs of ten. He’s a tornado of contradiction. A sweet talking jaw dropping charmer with the sinful desires of the devil himself smoldering under his skin. The air crackles between us or maybe my brain just blew a synapse. I’ve heard Olivia reference the fight or flight response and while my brain is screaming run my body stays firmly in place, hopelessly enchanted by the prince of darkness himself.

Reaching for my necklace I’m quickly reminded its tucked under my collared blouse. Not wanting to undo my top button in front of an alpha sex god I quickly pull a section of hair from my bun and begin twirling it around my fingers. Nobody has ever given my less than stellar body this much attention. Tension coils deep in my belly and a warm sense of awareness spreads through me. A dull ache grows between my thighs and parts yet to be discovered tingle. My body has never had any type of a reaction to a man and I don’t know how to control this new sensation. It scares and excites me all at once. I lick my lips and clear my throat. I need to get rid of this arrogant jack ass.

“Sir, would you like a free sample?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. His eyes finally leave my chest. “I’m Reed Callahan. But sir sounds just fine from your lips.” Flashing a panty dropping smile he continues, “And I’d love to sample every part of you.”

This guy is a bigger jack ass than I thought. Electricity is whipping through me, spreading trails of goosebumps in its path. Oh, I so need to get rid of this guy. "Umm, I don't think so, Reed. I know your type."

He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me sweet thing, what’s my type?”

Did he just say
sweet thing
? His words lash my heart and rattle my brain. This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with any man and it needs to end, like five dirty thoughts ago. Feeling brave in my uniform with my sausage table as a barrier between us I quickly survey him from head to toe. I start my critique. "Tall, tan and tatted."
And highly skilled in bedroom dirty talk with a cock that requires daily exercise, but I keep that thought to myself.

I pause for effect. His smile is smug and I could swear he growled. This is kind of fun. “Shall I continue,
sir?

Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops he throws a devilish grin my way, leans back on his heals and nods for me to continue.

“An ego stroked by hash marks on your bedpost. Probably drive a Hummer. Or a Harley. You don’t belong to a gym, because you lift boulders for a living. You don’t do the girlfriend thing, you’re more of a one night type of guy.”

And the kind of man that makes women wet with just a glance. Thoughts of him between my legs doing all those wicked things I read about in books make my body quiver. Briefly I wonder what it would be like to give myself over to the pleasure of a man like him. He looks like the wild monkey sex type Olivia is always talking about.

He stares with a burning intensity that gives me the feeling he is eye fucking me. My body squirms under his watchful gaze and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Leaning closer the arrogant bastard sniffs me and licks his lips. Heat floods through me, pooling in my granny panties and curling my toes. Hell, even my butt cheeks clench. I really don’t like this guy.

“Not bad. But you haven’t answered my question. And I don’t like repeating myself,” he says all serious and very matter of fact. He raises an eyebrow and looks at me like he has all the time in the world to wait for my answer.


I
’m sorry
, what was your question?” I hear my voice crack and silently hope he didn’t notice. Even I know it’s not good to let your adversary see a chink in your armor, and right now this arrogant cocky badass is enemy number one.

“Are
they
any good?” His gaze goes to my breasts while his thick finger points to the little sausages before coming back to my face.

He’s playing with me. If I didn’t need this job so bad I would stab him with toothpicks.

“I’ve never had one. I eat meat.” Immediately I want to take back my words. His eyes widen and he takes a step closer. I want to crawl under the stupid display table. I can feel my cheeks burning and undoubtedly my fair skin is a shade of over ripened tomato by now. My back is pressed against the frozen dinner door and the chill feels good on my hot skin. The only thing between me and the arrogant jerk is the narrow display stand. He leans forward and his biceps flex under his tats. Black fabric stretches across his chest and I think his t-shirt may split open under the strain. His earthy scent fills my lungs. My lips part and my heart pounds. My body tingles. A deep rumble leaves his chest. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a growl. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Emerson. Look at me.”

I silently curse management for making me wear a name tag. His voice is commanding and I do as he says. He’s so close I can see flecks of brown in his eyes. He has the kind of eyelashes every girl wants. The muscles in his jaw twitch and I get the feeling he’s holding something back. My lower stomach tightens and my thighs clench.

He’s a dangerous man. The type of man a good mother would warn her daughter about. The type of man that would make a loving father pull out a shotgun. The type of man I may actually need. Quickly I clear my head of that last thought and promise myself I will never need anyone. Especially someone who would leave me when he discovered everything that’s wrong with me. Some things are better kept private.

“Pretty girl. What are you thinking?”
Pretty girl.
His words make me melt. I’ve never
ever
been called pretty.

Before I can come up with an answer, Mr. Barlow comes waddling around the corner and the spell is broken. “Emerson, do we have a problem here?” He eyes the giant hands spread over the display table and then looks at me. The sweat stains on his shirt make me wince.

“Umm, no. I was just helping this customer.” My head snaps over to sexy scary guy. My eyes search his expressionless face while I send him telepathic messages to play along with me. As unglamorous as it may be, I can’t afford to lose this job. He winks at me.

“Actually, Emerson helped me find exactly what I was looking for,” leaning back, the sexy arrogant jerk holds up an economy size box of two hundred and fifty latex condoms like it’s a trophy. A broad smile stretches across his face, showing off his perfectly white teeth.

I hate him and his pretty face. Embarrassment rolls through me. Yet, I still can’t help but stare at his perfectly sculpted ass as he turns and saunters away.

Mr. Barlow stabs two sausages with one toothpick and pops them in his mouth. “Good job Emerson. You’re great at sales.”

Chapter Four

Emerson

I
wish
I didn’t promise my roommate I would meet up with her at Rojo’s. It’s a premiere club in San Diego and the cover charge alone is two days worth of groceries for me. Meeting up at different bars is our weekly ritual. Olivia didn’t come to San Diego State for an education, she came to find a husband. Specifically one with a plush bank account and a stock portfolio that would rival Bill Gates. This is all part of her Master Plan.

The accordion file under her bed bursts with pictures of couture wedding gowns, cinderella cakes adorned with Swarovski crystals and private island honeymoons. I don’t think I will ever be capable of trusting someone to care for me the rest of my life till death do us part like Olivia can. People change and promises are broken. Having a college degree is my master plan. Depending on someone else to keep a roof over my head and food on the table repulses me. My first taste of freedom was the day I crawled out of my foster parents basement. Going back to that lifestyle and the constant state of vulnerability that came with it is a reminder of how far I’ve already come. Right now my master plan may only be to keep instant soup on my shelf and gas in my car but knowing I’ve worked for all of it provides me with a sense of pride.

The beautiful and privileged walk around sipping cocktails from elegant long stemmed crystal cut glasses. Oversized lounge chairs covered in rich dark Italian leather are arranged around sleek tables with candles of varying heights. Servers move gracefully through the crowd serving more drinks and expensive finger foods. It’s nothing like the little fake sausage samples I give out all day. My low level job is only a few blocks away, yet I feel worlds apart from these people. Women clutch onto purses that cost more than I make in a month. I don’t think they realize how much their pocket change could change the life of a child born into poverty. I can’t say I hate the upper crust for having money. It’s the extremes I can’t stand. Like the man standing next to me in his cushioned leather Italian loafers fingering a fat Cuban cigar in his soft pale hand. While only a mile away I know there’s a line of women with tired children wrapping around the block in hopes of getting a highly coveted cot for the night.

A woman touches my elbow. She’s tall and beautiful, maybe an up and coming supermodel. Or a Hollywood actress. “Pardon me, but would you please let management know they need to adjust the air conditioning in here,” she fans her hand under her chin as she says this to me. She thinks I’m an employee. “Umm, sure, I’ll get right on that.” I turn before she can see my embarrassment.

Navigating my way to the main area I avoid eye contact with the high end of society. I don’t belong here. I’m ashamed of myself and where I come from. I don’t want their pity but I don’t want to be mistaken for one of them either. A quick glance down at my thrift shop clothes is a fast reminder who I really am. I left my foster home with a trash bag of the few clothes I had. Everything I have now, though not much, has been earned by me working my butt off. And even though it’s small I do have my pride.

Olivia is already seated at the bar drinking one of those fancy cocktails. Her long legs crossed to purposely show a generous expanse of her slim toned thigh. Sleek blonde hair flows down her back, leaving her bare shoulders exposed. Someday Olivia will make the perfect trophy wife. In her mind the sooner the better. It’s all part of her plan. She stands as soon as she sees me, flips her hair to one side and smoothes her short skirt.

“Emerson, what took so long?” We give each other air kisses on both cheeks before sitting down.

“Sorry, I got held up at work.” It’s not the truth but she doesn’t need to know what I do in the little spare time that I have. Finding my mother takes priority over having a social life.

“Here, I already ordered for you,” she pushes a tall drink with an umbrella towards me. “Oh, I really don’t feel like a drink,” I say twirling the the little umbrella around.

“It’s already paid for. Just pretend to drink it.” Shiny silver bangles fall down her wrist as she hands me a decorative napkin. They clink together and remind me of wind chimes. “Why are you wearing that outfit? I told you to borrow anything from my closet you want. You’ll never find a husband looking like a plain Jane.” Olivia’s eyes travel down my body and back up. We couldn’t be more different. For some reason it never occurs to her that my size eight body will never fit into her size two designer labels. I didn’t even wear a size two in fourth grade. My body went from children’s sizes, skipped the junior’s and landed directly in the women’s department.

“I was already running late and your closet is just so big with so many possibilities…” my voice fades and she gives me the eye roll. This is the thing I like about Olivia. She knows I’m only telling her what she wants to hear but she doesn’t call me out on it. In the four years we have been roommates she has only asked about my family once. I gave her my typical vague response that my parents live on the east coast and I’m an only child. She never questions why I don’t go home for holidays or summer break. Olivia respects my privacy and that makes her good in my book.

“Remember, I’m not the one looking for a husband, you are.”

“Bullshit Emerson. Finding a man is the most important part of college. That’s why I’m a nursing major. I’ll find myself a nice surgeon to support me and our future children.” She taps her nails on the cool marble counter and sighs as if contemplating what her babies will look like. “There’s no place I’d rather be than barefoot, pregnant and chained to a stove. As long as my captor is filthy rich.” Her head tips back and she finishes off her drink.

“Maybe, but I prefer to be by myself,” I blurt out.

Feeling uncomfortable I look around and see that my beautiful friend fits right in with this crowd. Her destined husband is probably walking around this club right now, carefully plotting and planning which woman he’s going to take home for the night.

“Jesus Emerson. You’re a creative writing major working at a bulk discount store. You need a husband more than me. You need a Master Plan like mine,” her long painted finger points right at my chest. Her hand shakes with excitement like this is the biggest revelation of her life. “You have to trap a guy and make sure he loves you just a little more than you love him.” Olivia says this with such conviction that I have no doubt she truly believes her master plan is going to save all the single women of the world. Her entire life has been filled with flowers, magic and unicorns. The product of a Wall Street power couple, she has never wanted for anything. I know what she doesn't. Nothing lasts forever and prince charming doesn’t exist for girls like me.

“Well, if I ever feel the desire to need someone in my life I’ll get a dog. A big, old, ugly thing from the animal shelter. You know, the kind that looks like it has mange and walks with a limp. Maybe I’ll even name her Olivia.” I smirk knowing full well she is not animal friendly. Anything that licks itself and requires flea prevention is a no go in her book.

Finishing her fancy fruity cocktail she slams the glass on the bar, the little umbrella twirling as her mouth twists in disgust. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t push me,” my forehead wrinkles with an unquestioned dare.

Olivia’s brow furrows and with a wave of her arm she orders herself another drink. She already has men eating from the palm of her hand.

“Hello, ladies.” A doughy hand the color of paste with black hairy knuckles rests on Olivia’s lower back. I look up to see a middle aged balding man hitting on my friend. He may of addressed both of us but it’s obvious he is only looking at Olivia. Silently I thank God. She bats her fake eyelashes at him and smiles. I can already see her brain cataloguing the fancy suit and cuff links that adorn his shirt. Even his cologne smells overpriced.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” I announce and seize the opportunity to leave.

The crowd is larger than usual for a Thursday night. Large congregates of genetically superior looking people are gathered in clusters throughout the rooms. It’s stereotypical California. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people with perfect teeth in one place. I can’t stand it. A wave of nausea fills my stomach. Every nerve cell in my body is firing off and I instinctively want out. Growing up in a basement does that to a person. Before the large crowd can swallow me up I quickly scan the building and make a break for the exit. If I’m fast enough I should be able to dodge everyone before I get mistaken for the help again. The continuous shame of being inferior is a powerful motivator in life. It’s a brazen reminder that I have never been good enough for anybody, not even my own mom. Looking up from the bottom-rung provides me with a unique advantage. I get to see everything I never want to be. I never want to be the woman with the thousand dollar hand bag splattered with bling while her children are raised by a team of nannies or the arm candy mistress to a wealthy business man with a pregnant wife at home.

As I bob and weave through warm bodies and posh furniture I’m grateful for my well broken in ballet flats. The exit sign is only a few yards away.

I’m so close I can taste my freedom. But then a server steps in my path. The tray he is carrying is piled with empty cocktail glasses and there is no way he can possibly see me barreling down on him. I'm going to crash into him. My arm is suddenly squeezed and my body is jerked out of the servers way.

“Ouch,” I reach for my shoulder but am quickly tucked against a brick wall. A moving brick wall that knows my name.

“Emerson.” I’m swept away by the breathy baritone of his voice. My body’s reaction to him is instantaneous. My name falls from his lips, wraps around me and dances to my ears like a sweet melody. I want to hear him say it again and again.

My balance falters and a thick arm snakes around my waist. His other hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back. The club lighting is dim, making the sharp angles of his face even darker. “Reed. What are you doing here?” It comes out as a whisper. My eyes find his and I can’t pull myself away from him. Something feels so right, the unknown is excitedly comfortable. I had no idea it could feel so good to be held. The way he tilts my head and looks at me makes me feel cherished and safe. It’s a strange feeling when you experience these emotions for the first time as an adult.

The heat of his body burns through my clothes, fanning the flames of my desire into a full blown wildfire. He leans into me, his delicious mouth only inches from mine as his hot minty breath floats over me. I lick my lips in anticipation of being kissed. Lust shoots down my spine, traveling at light speed to where his hand rests on my lower back. Something in the air between us sparks and the flash in his eyes tells me he feels it too.

His words from earlier today come back to haunt me.
I don’t do girlfriends.
Painfully I pull away, but it only causes him to hold me tighter.

“Saving the waiter from being tackled by you,” he says with a lopsided smile. Quickly he looks me over from head to toe, his gaze faltering on my breasts before returning to my face. Seconds tick by as he holds me tight, my abdomen against his pelvis. By no means am I a petite girl, but being cocooned in his arms makes me feel small and protected from all the evil things in this world.

BOOK: SEAL Kissed: A Navy SEAL Military Romance (Hot Dirty SEALS Book 1)
13.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

He Who Lifts the Skies by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow
Final Approach by John J. Nance
Temple of Fire by Christopher Forrest
Whites by Norman Rush
Toad Rage by Morris Gleitzman
Out Of The Ashes by Diana Gardin
Suspicion by Lauren Barnholdt, Aaron Gorvine