The SEAL's Best Man (Special Ops: Homefront Book 2)
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Authors: Kate Aster
The SEAL’s Best Man
By Kate Aster
Copyright 2014, Kate Aster
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any similarity to real
events, locales, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not
intended by the author.
Cover design: The Killion Group, Inc.
This book is dedicated to every reader of
SEAL the Deal
with my thanks for your reviews, support,
and encouragement
to write Maeve and Jack’s story. Thank
you.
Eight years ago
“Call me,” he said, slipping a piece of
paper into her hand.
His hands moved to her waist and she
could feel the ripples of his abs against her as he pulled her snug against his
body. A white t-shirt covered his torso. It was worn and thin, only suitable
for underneath a uniform. But as unshaven as he was, he joked he’d get court-martialed
if anyone saw him like this while wearing his Navy whites.
The threadbare cotton hugged tight to his
broad pecs and the short sleeves showed off a set of biceps that looked like
they were sculpted by the hand of God. The pants from his uniform hung low on
his waist, taut against the subtle bulge at his crotch that even now tempted
her.
He should have looked like the milkman,
all dressed in white—not the least bit enticing at all. But instead he
looked like a creamy vanilla ice cream cone that was meant to be licked.
She swallowed, holding back the impulse
to rip his t-shirt from his body and explore every square inch of him… again.
His lips touched hers, tenderly this
time, not the searing passion that they had shared the first time they had sex when
she had shattered unapologetically with him inside her. Or the second time. Or
the… well, she had lost count somewhere around twelve.
It was sweet, aching tenderness she felt
from him now, the kind of honeyed warmth that almost—almost—had her
considering programming his number into her cell phone.
But she wouldn’t. Even as her mouth
opened to him, tasting him one last time, she knew she couldn’t call. His hands
locked behind her neck, as his mouth devoured her, making every cell of her
body spring to life and reminding her how she could have invited him—a
man she had just met—into her grandparents’ house.
And into their bed, she thought in horror,
her stomach clenching at the idea just as he released her from the kiss. She
had been here in Annapolis to house-sit for them this weekend. Not to pick up a
Naval Academy grad at a commencement party and discover new ways to use the
whipped cream they had stashed in their fridge.
She blushed at the recollection. What
would her beloved Gram think, if she ever found out what her granddaughter had
done in that bed? And on the sofa. And kitchen table. And… who would have known
the rhythm of a clothes washer underneath her could be so erotic?
“Call me,” he had said, his uniform shirt
casually flung over his arm and a confident smile on his face. Even as she
watched him shut the door behind him, she knew she couldn’t. She crumpled the
piece of paper in her hand and stood above the wastebasket, waiting to drop it
in. Waiting… longer than she should have, as she toyed with it in her hand.
Jack wasn’t part of her plan. Most of her
friends from high school were married by now, a fact her mother reminded her of
regularly. She finally had her degree in hand, and had just been invited for a
second interview at a major design firm in Baltimore.
The life she wanted was just beginning.
She couldn’t waste time on a new Navy officer
who was headed to Rhode Island today, and then off to sea for who knows how
long. No matter how great the sex was. No matter how fascinating the
conversation. No matter how strong the connection.
“Destiny sometimes needs a push,” her
grandmother always told her. And Maeve was ready to push—as hard as she
needed to—to get to where she had wanted to be since she had looked at
her first book of swatches and color tiles at twelve years old.
Her destiny was in Baltimore, working the
job of her dreams, settling down with a man in a suit who could come home to
her at night. Not a man in uniform.
She unwrinkled the paper a moment,
glancing down at it as she walked into the kitchen. No. She ripped it into tiny
pieces this time, her hands shaking.
Turning to the kitchen sink, she dropped them
down the drain and flicked on the disposal. The sound of the motor chopping them
to bits should have comforted her, making her feel powerful and in control of
her own destiny. Instead, it broke her heart.
He was a weekend fling. That’s all he
ever would be.
But one thing was clear:
Ensign Jack Falcone had ruined her for
other men.
Eight years later
She hated stilettos.
So maybe it was years of pent-up loathing
that caused Maeve to liberate her aching feet and toss her pair of Jimmy Choos
out of her BMW convertible as she raced down I-97 toward Annapolis.
Or maybe it was symbolic—her right
shoe representing her boss as she sent it on an airborne path to certain doom
on the pavement. The left one, her boss’s lover, who was right now celebrating being
added as the newest partner in the design firm where Maeve had slaved away for
years.
Or maybe it was insanity. Because damn,
those were expensive shoes.
Bare foot pressing the accelerator, she
felt somehow calmed by the soothing roar of German engineering.
That partnership was meant to be hers,
especially after snagging three of the highest profile clients the firm had
ever enjoyed. But thanks to a non-compete clause in the contract she had signed
years ago, her clients were now theirs. Her precious portfolio, lovingly
created, would still appear on their website. And she was jobless, pressing her
foot harder against the accelerator as she raced toward home.
Glancing behind her in the rear view
mirror, her eyes spotted a cop two cars behind her, and she tapped the brakes
lightly as she exited. Certainly couldn’t afford a ticket right now, and she
wasn’t up to flirting with an officer to get out of it.
At a stoplight, her toes enjoyed the
freedom, wiggling, waiting for the green that would bring her closer to home. Why
did she always wear skyscraper heels? Why did she always have perfect hair and
nails, and wear outfits that made her look like she should be traipsing down
Beverly Hills’ Rodeo Drive rather than Main Street, Annapolis, Maryland?
Why was she such a fake?
Approaching the Navy Memorial Bridge, a
breath of Bay-scented air consoled her as she was greeted by the sweeping profile
of the United States Naval Academy on the shore and sailboats on the Severn
River enjoying an evening race. Having lived in many cities along the East
Coast, Annapolis was easily the most appealing.
Her eyes drifted to one of the many
reasons: a group of Naval Academy men, instructors in the early thirties by her
appraisal, on their evening run across the bridge. She sighed appreciatively.
Behind them, a group of Midshipmen ran, their
fresh, young faces reminding Maeve of the many summers she had stayed in
Annapolis with her grandparents as a teenager. Too many times to count, she had
borrowed her Grandmother’s red VW beetle and taken a leisurely drive, playfully
tapping her horn and waving at the appealing college men. She had been such a
flirt in high school, and an innocent one at that. But with the killer looks to
back it up.
Feeling remarkably calmer, she pulled into
her driveway, noticing the usual assortment of cars in front of her humble Cape
Cod.
Mick’s SUV and Jack’s truck were pulled
along the curb. It was a full house tonight, which could only mean one thing: Bess
was cooking.
Even as Maeve thought it, the smell of
something wonderful wafted her way through the house’s open windows towards
Maeve’s convertible. Garlic and—what was it? Basil perhaps?
Maeve wasn’t the culinary genius her
housemate Bess was, but she was enough of a gourmet to appreciate a fine meal. As
she turned off her car, her stomach instinctively grumbled.
Tiptoeing on her bare feet up the sun-blasted
cement, she briefly considered doing a 180 and going back to search for her discarded
shoes somewhere near the Odenton exit. There was still a chance they hadn’t
been destroyed by oncoming traffic or snatched up by a fellow size 8 who had damn
good taste.
But the thought of an awaiting sunset on
her back deck, and a nice glass of Pinot tugged her up her front steps.
She was home. Her sanctuary. And right
now, a quiet evening with her friends was exactly what she needed. Some genuine
sympathy and a good meal.
She stepped into the house unnoticed, the
click of the doorknob drowned out by the sizzle of frying chicken and laughter.
Maeve stood in silence a moment and let the comfort of being surrounded by her
friends fill her.
Bess stood behind the stove, the only
place where Maeve saw her move with swift confidence. She was dressed in her
usual blue sweats with her lustrous red hair hidden in a tight ponytail.
She saw her other housemate Lacey,
sitting at the kitchen table, pouring a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes into a
baking dish. Her mannerisms were so contented these days with a hefty diamond
on her ring finger. Her fiancé, Mick, stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder
so naturally, it was as though he couldn’t be within a foot of his fiancée
without touching her. It made Maeve smile.
Maeve approached them, but before her
first foot fell to the tiled floor of the kitchen, she was swept into a
romantic dip, seeing nothing but the ceiling and two eyes the color of the
Ireland’s emerald coastline.
Before she could even register Jack’s body
pressed against hers, she felt his breath tickle her lips with his face so
close to hers. She inhaled sharply from the shock, taking in his slightly soapy
scent mixed with a hint of Sam Adams.
Captivating grin firmly in place, his
hand tightly cradled her back, while the other ventured gently up the skin of
her neck, pausing slightly as though to detect her rapid-fire pulse. His touch
was electric, sending shivers down her spine.
The moment couldn’t have lasted more than
a second or two before he spoke, his breath intermingling with hers, igniting
an unexpected fire inside her that toasted her down to her bare, pedicured
toes.
“Beautiful, are you tired?” he asked, in
a voice she hardly recognized.
Even as she struggled to comprehend his
words, Maeve couldn’t resist sliding her hand along the front of his chest on a
muscle-rippled path to his sculpted shoulders. Breathless, she only managed to respond,
“Huh?”
“Because you’ve been running through my
dreams all night.”
A gagging sound came from somewhere in
the kitchen, and Jack raised an eyebrow in the direction of the sound.
Bess was the source. “
That’s
the
best you can do?”
Holding a beer in his firm grip, Mick
shook his head. “Better brush up on your pick-up lines, Jack, or you’ll be the
first best man in history to go home alone after a wedding.”
“I like the dip, though.” Lacey’s grin
was wistful. “Nice touch.”
Baffled and uncomfortably steamy beneath
her sheath dress, Maeve struggled to snap back to reality. “Anyone care to clue
me in about what you’re all talking about?”
Jack’s eyes were full of laughter
as he set Maeve to rights, two feet on the ground. “The best man is always
supposed to hit on the bridesmaids. Haven’t you been to any weddings?”
“Plenty. Including my own.” Still
reeling, Maeve found herself unable to meet his eyes. For a moment in his arms
so brief, the effects registered 7.9 on the Richter scale. “Our best man went
home with my maid of honor after one-too-many shots.”
Jack waggled his eyebrows. “I should be
so lucky. Lacey’s sister is hot as hell.”
“And married,” Bess warned. “You’d
never.” She flipped the chicken in front of her and did a double-take over her
shoulder at Maeve. “Oh my God. Are you blushing, Maeve?”
Blushing was an understatement. Half the
blood in her body had rushed to her cheeks and the other half rushed… someplace
much farther South. It was hard enough tolerating Jack Falcone’s unplanned re-emergence
into her life after they had bumped into each other at O’Toole’s one night out
with her housemates.
But now that
his
friend, Mick, was
engaged to
her
friend, Lacey, there was no avoiding him.
Not that she’d tried too hard. After all,
what girl could resist having a set of pecs like his around her house from time
to time? But if she were to maintain his friendship—strictly
friendship—then Jack had to adhere to her stringent hands-off policy.
A girl only has so much self-control.
Lightly touching her cheeks, Maeve
protested. “I am not blushing. I had the top down on the convertible and probably
got too much sun.” Maeve’s eyes darted to Lacey and Mick. “And what is he
talking about? Best man for what?”
Hands entwined with her fiancé, Lacey glowed.
“Mick and I finally set a date for the wedding. And we’d like you and Bess to
be bridesmaids. I asked my sister to be maid of honor.”
Despite her escalated body temperature, Maeve
managed a smile. “You know I’d love to. So when are you doing it?” She stepped
away from Jack, hoping he didn’t notice the trickle of perspiration on her
brow. Why
was
her body responding to him this way? She wasn’t sixteen. She’d
been held by plenty of men. But, God help her, his arms were honed from granite.
Lacey bit her lip. “Six weeks from
tomorrow.”
That was enough to snap Maeve back to
reality. “Six weeks? You can’t plan a wedding in six weeks.” She stepped toward
her. “Oh my God. Are you pregnant?” Wavering, she found herself balanced by
Jack’s sturdy presence behind her.
“No. Mick got the orders he was
hoping for. He’s headed to the SEALs in Coronado in two months. We’re delaying
the honeymoon till we’ve moved to San Diego. That’ll be an easier flight to
Hawaii, anyway.”
“Honeymoon in Hawaii?” Bess let out a
squeal.
Lacey’s hand traced Mick’s arm
affectionately. “We’ll just do something small—you know, at City Hall with
you guys, our families, and a few others.”
Maeve’s eyes bugged out. “City Hall? No,
no, no. Lacey, you need a real wedding. White gown, bouquets, overcooked
chicken, drunken guests.” She finally set down her keys and purse on the
kitchen table, grateful that no one had noticed her missing shoes. Now was
definitely not the time to share her bad news.
Lacey laughed. “There’s no time. And I’m
fine with it. I’d rather use the money for a down payment on a house.”
“A house?”
Lacey pressed her lips together and
smiled. “Can you believe it? I’m finally going to own a house of my own. We’re
headed out west in a few weeks to look at some properties. Finally I won’t be
the only real estate agent who doesn’t own real estate.”
“A house? That’s so—wonderful.” And
permanent, Maeve thought, her smile frozen in place. She had known it would
happen. From the moment Mick and Lacey got engaged, Lacey had told her an
eventual move to Naval Base Coronado was in their plans. But actually buying a
house?
At the reality of losing her best friend,
she swallowed a half-sob, and masked it in feigned happiness. “I’m so happy for
you,” she said, hugging her a little tighter than usual at the thought of her
friend being a full continent away. “But City Hall? We have to do
something
,
Lacey. You only do this once. Well, theoretically.”
Pulling a spoon from the drawer, Jack shrugged.
“Words falling on deaf ears, Maeve. Bess and I have been telling them that for
almost an hour now.” He stole a taste of the gravy on the stove and received a
firm slap on the hand from Bess in rebuke.
Lacey shrugged. “No one can pull off a
wedding in six weeks.”
“I can,” Maeve said firmly, trying to
convince herself as much as them.
“And in June? Everything will be booked
solid.”
Mick rested one hand on his fiancée’s shoulder
and touched her cheek affectionately. “We don’t need to rush it. I don’t want
you having regrets.”
Maeve stepped back instinctively, feeling
as though she was intruding on their private moment, and she felt Jack’s hand
lightly touch her back behind her.
She stiffened. As a friend, he had made
this simple gesture a thousand times since he had come back into her life
almost two years ago. Yet somehow tonight his touch made half the air escape
her lungs. She swallowed, and dared to meet his eyes.
He grinned at her. “If Maeve says she can
plan a wedding in six weeks, she can.”
Maeve warmed. After such a bad day at
work, it was nice to know someone had confidence in her skills. Her eyes met
his for a brief moment and the connection seemed magnetic, before he snuck
behind Bess for another sample of gravy.
Why was she reacting to Jack this way?
It must be the effects of being jobless. She
was simply feeling vulnerable. That’s what it was, she assured herself. It was
perfectly natural to be drawn to the first strong presence she encountered. As
he turned away from her to sneak a spoonful of potatoes, her eyes drifted over his
broad, muscled back appraisingly.
And what a fine presence he was.
Barely withholding a purr, she turned her
attention back to Lacey. “It doesn’t take much to throw a wedding. You’ll still
have money for a down payment. I can do it on a budget.”
Bess laughed. “This, coming from a woman
who’s never worked on a budget in her life.”
“I’ll pitch in,” Jack said. “You’ll need
a Navy guy to figure out the Navy stuff. You know, sword arches and all that.”
