Bad Boy SEALs

by Scarlett Avery

  "Tell me about it. They weren’t happy, but I didn't give them a choice. Officers Keenan and Malone will be the ones taking over.” There are four female officers assigned to my protection. Officers Roderick and Stohler are with me all the time on rotation—unless we’re traveling. The two others are on standby. “In any case, come on, I need to finish my hair and makeup and get dressed. Speaking of which, you look absolutely smashing in that outfit."

  "You like?" Charlie asks before giving me a twirl.

  "You say that as if you don't already know what you look like," I snort.

  Charlie knows too well the effect she has on men. I’m not saying I’m a bag of potatoes, but Charlie owns her beauty and sexuality. Whereas I’m still wearing my training heels. Tonight, she’s wearing a pair of gold glitter shorts that make her legs look a mile long. She paired them with a sexy fitted top that drops in a V revealing her perfectly shaped breasts. Her feet are gilded with a pair of sexy as hell high heels. Louboutin I’m sure. And of course, her makeup is impeccable and her platinum blonde hair very well coiffed. Add to that a few chic accessories and one of her many designer bags and voilà! Charlotte Wentworth looks like a supermodel.

  "Remember, it’s the party at the Warwick Club tonight."

  "Oh yeah, I totally forgot." That's a lie. Not that I’ll ever give her the satisfaction of knowing, but it’s been impossible to erase the conversation I had with Charlie from my memory banks. Nothing seems to work. Not even losing myself in work, which is usually my go-to excuse to ignore my singleton status. Once I was able to put the embarrassment behind me, I was left intrigued. Who are those men who don't even flinch at the sight of a gun? "Let's go to my bedroom." I wave at her as I trail down the corridor.

  "I simply want to look my best," she says.

  "You always do, Charlie." I stop when we reach my bedroom door and glide my eyes up and down her body. I didn't see it the first time, but now it's clear as day. "Hmph."

  "What?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

  "That outfit screams ‘date’. Are you all dressed up hoping you'll bump into your American demigods?" I know it’s slightly sadist of me to ask that question.

  "Honey, I know you refuse to believe me, but they’re your gods, not mine." I roll my eyes as I open the door. "Until you decide which one you want, it's hands-off for me. And for the record, I’m not picky. It can be the hot one with dark brown hair and blue eyes or the heroic blond Viking. Either of them would make for a nice consolation prize," she laughs.

  "Whatever," I shrug in a dismissive way, but I totally get a kick out of it. The way she stands her ground in her conviction that those two guys seemed completely fascinated by me does wonders for a girl’s ego. “So, you're planning on hooking up with one of the other club members?" I laugh.

  "Actually, I'm meeting someone for dinner and then we’ll head together to the club. He wants to check it out," she reveals.

  "You have your eye on someone new and it’s only now I find out about it?" I feign being upset. "I thought we were best of friends. Shouldn’t I know all the sordid details of your depraved sex life?"

  "There hasn’t been much to share." She takes a step forward and places a hand close to her mouth and whispers, "It's been a month. I hit a dry spell." The way her eyes widen, you’d think it's the end of the world.

  "Poor baby," I console.

  "Are you going to make fun of me or do you want to hear about this guy?"

  "I’m all ears." Being the Prime Minister's daughter doesn't bode well for an exciting sex life. I'm constantly being scrutinized. There are ridiculous expectations that are impossible to meet. The second anyone sees me even casually talking to a guy, there's already speculations of marriage. And let's face it, it’s nearly impossible to find a quiet spot for a quick shag when you're constantly being shadowed. Charlie doesn't have to live in a bubble. She doesn't have those constraints. She can shag whoever she wants whenever she wants. Her sexy and steamy tales are as close as I'll ever get to living on the edge. "So, where did you meet him?" I ask.

  Instead of answering she looks down at her dressy watch—the one with diamonds surrounding the bezel—and says, “I don’t want to be responsible for your tardiness. Go get ready,” she waves in front of her. “I’ll concoct a few martinis and I’ll tell you all about Mr. McSexy.”

  “I don’t know if I should drink,” I caution. “It’ll knock me out. I was doping myself with espresso before you got here.”

  “Didn’t you sleep on the plane? Isn’t that the whole point of flying first-class?”

  “I did, but that’s of little comfort to my exhausted body,” I retort.

  “It’s only one drink, honey. You’ll be fine. You’ll be mingling all night. There won’t be any time for you to sit still.”

  Charlie and I have this tradition since Daddy got elected. When I attend these types of formal events, Charlie transforms herself into my stylist—regardless if she’s attending or not. I don’t really need fashion advice because I’m as much of a fashion addict as she is, but since we’re both quite busy with our careers, this is a sure way for us to bond. It’s also a time where Charlie fills me in on all the latest socialite gossip while we sip on champagne or martinis.

  “Maybe one,” I wink.

  “That’s my girl,” Charlie cheers. “Get in there,” she points to my bathroom, “and do your thing. I’ll be right back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “Two Astor Martinis coming up,” she says.

  “Oh, I forgot to turn the music back on. Can you select something? And can you also bring me my powder brush?” I ask. “I left it near the speakers and my unfinished cup of coffee,” I add.

  “Yes, my queen,” she bows.

  A few seconds later, the raw soulful sounds of Rag'n'Bone Man’s, ‘Human’ seeps throughout my penthouse.

  Damn, I still love that song. “Great selection, Charlie.”

  “My queen is happy. I’m pleased,” she retorts.

  “Oh, cut it out,” I admonish.

  “Yes, my queen, I shall.”

  I roll my eyes.

  I make my way back to my bathroom, bobbing my head and shaking my hips. As tired as I am, I’m looking forward to seeing my father again. We’ve exchanged several text messages, but I’ve not hugged him since we parted ways at the restaurant after my birthday lunch. The best part about tonight is that it’s just the two of us.

  While Charlie plays bartender, I remove the huge rollers from my hair and allow my curls to cascade over my shoulders. Happy with the temporary volume, I move onto my face. A few strokes of color here and there and I’m nearly done. As I apply my lipstick, I realize that my best friend is still in the living room. “Charlie did you fly back to Buenos Aires to fetch those martinis?” I shout, amusement lacing my voice.

  “I’m coming,” she shouts back.

  I shrug and finish my makeup. A few minutes later, I’m fully ready—lashes coated with two layers of mascara and lips painted in a soft shade of pink. Considering how exhausted I was when I walked back into my place, I'm fairly pleased with my reflection. I step out of the bathroom just as Charlie enters my room with a martini glass in each hand. She has my big makeup brush trapped between her teeth.

  "Where were you?" I ask walking to her. "At this rate, I might as well wait until I get to the ceremony to have a drink," I say, helping her by removing what's in her mouth and throwing it on my bed.

  “I'm sorry about that. Here you go," she says handing me a martini.

  “Thanks." My lips are already eager to touch the red liquor floating in my glass.

  "Cheers!" Charlie exclaims.

  "Cheers!" I parrot, lifting my glass to meet hers. “God, this is delicious.” I close my eyes to better appreciate the slight bitter aftertaste of the Campari. Damn, those Italians know a thing or two about liqueur.

  “I must say, I nailed this one,” Charlie says proudly before taking another sip.

  "Yes, you did. What took yo
u so long?”

  “Damon texted me.”

  My eyebrows knit together. "I gather he's the one you’re meeting tonight?"

  “Yup. Since he's new to London, he wanted to confirm the location of the restaurant. It was supposed to be quick, but it turned into an all-out dirty sexting session.” I can just imagine. “Those Americans," she shakes her head.

  "American?" I repeat. She nods eagerly. “Honestly, Charlie what's up with this new obsession? First the guys from the Warwick, now this Damon."

  "You say that because you haven't seen him." She actually licks her lips. “He’s not nearly as gorgeous as your gods, but he'll do nicely for tonight," she winks. She's incorrigible. "Not to change the subject, but I love the look. Your makeup is spot on. And I love the way your hair falls like that. Very. Sexy," she reaches out and caresses one of my curls. “You’ve always had glorious hair.”

  "Not too much?” I ask, waving a hand at my face.

  She shakes her head. "No. It's absolutely perfect. What are you wearing?"

  "I don't know yet,” I say before taking another sip of my martini. “I ordered a few dresses from Net-A-Porter.com. They were delivered yesterday. Obviously, this would’ve been so much easier had it not been for the delay caused by the storm. Now I have very little time to decide."

  "Let’s go check them out and I can tell you all about Damon. And Dexter,” she raises her eyebrows innocently.

  “What?” I shriek. “You’re seeing two men at the same time?”

  “They’re identical twins and they’re equally hot,” she says in a matter of fact way.

  “Is that your explanation?”

  “Well...”

  “You’re going to fuck two brothers?”

  "I didn’t say that." She almost looks insulted. Good thing I know better.

  “But you’re considering it.”

  “I’m not sure what makes you come to that conclusion, Amelia.”

  "Seriously?” I arch my eyebrows knowingly.

  "You’re right,” she flashes me a devilish smile. “I’ve been known to be out there when it comes to sex.” Understatement of the century. “Why have one cock when you can have two?"

  "I barely can handle one man, I can’t imagine two," I admit.

  “It’s not what you do to them, it’s what they do to you,” she retorts.

  “And you’d know that from first-hand experience,” I quip.

  “Not yet. That said, I know a few friends who’ve dared and they say it’s an out-of-this-world experience. It’s like nothing you can even imagine. The thrill of having two men who make you the center of their universe is apparently indescribable.”

  “Yeah, I’m good with one guy,” I say.

  "I’m dying to try a threesome," she says. “Alas, all the guys I've been with so far were interested in watching two girls make out before fucking us. I'm all for naughty, but I have no desire to lick another girl’s fanny. I much prefer choking on a cock."

  "Oh, God," I cringe.

  “Please, you’ve heard way worse from me.” She’s right. Everything I know about sex, I owe to Charlie. “I have no filter when it comes to smut, remember?”

  I roll my eyes. "Come on, let's go see the couture before I’m late.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Amelia

  It’s show time in fifteen minutes—that’s how I describe the experience of walking into a large room filled with people standing and clapping in ovation as I walk side-by-side with my father.

  After a lifetime of this, it still makes me slightly uncomfortable. All those people staring at you. It's a big burden to carry. My mum was quite good at this. She was the perfect political wife—smart, educated, poised, elegant, well-spoken, and she had the perfect timing when a touch of humor was necessary. I guess she was groomed to assume this position since birth, but then again, you could say the same of me. I don't mind playing Daddy's date for the evening, but I doubt I could handle years or even decades of this. I have no aspirations to become the woman standing by the side of a future Prime Minister nor do I have the desire or passion to lead our nation.

  I’ve been coaxing myself to relax, but my stomach is still tied up in a knot. I'm not sure why. I've never been this restless before a ceremony. I guess I'm feeling the first wave of inevitable fatigue. Although I don't feel sleepy, it's the only explanation I can come up with. It’s either that or I'm a lot more nervous than I thought about this dress. I’ve been anxiously walking back and forth the length of the space assigned as the waiting room, unable to keep my feet from moving. Intermittent to my pacing, I only allow myself to stop a few seconds—just long enough to examine my reflection in the long mirror. I don’t even recognize myself. As much as I pray that each step I take would somewhat calm down the rhythmic beating of my heart, it's to no avail.

  It's your night to own it, I repeat to myself as I remember Charlie's words of wisdom.

  "As beautiful as this dress is, I'm so happy I brought a change of clothes," I say to myself, smoothing down the satin fabric.

  Charlie, the consummate publicist, was able to convince me to join her after the evening concludes. I didn’t fight her. I'm dying to see with my own two eyes the American men she’s been gushing over. If they’re not there, I’m at least guaranteed to have a lot more fun with Charlie. These political events can be quite a bore—everyone is so polite and very stiff upper lipped.

  I look down to my watch and let out a long breath. “Ten more minutes,” I say when I hear a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I shout.

  “The father of the most beautiful woman in Britain.”

  My grin takes over my face at Daddy’s words. “Have I been downgraded?" I laugh and crack open the door and peek through the gap. “If I recall, last week you said that my beauty reigned supreme over the entire planet and now it’s merely our country. Hmph. I’m miffed. You made me believe that I was the fairest of them all. You lied to me, Father,” I purse my lips and frown to fully embody the role.

  "So you were paying attention," he chuckles. "May I come in or are you still getting ready?"

  “Oh, God no. I arrived here ready to step on center stage,” I wave him in.

  My father enters the room. I expect him to close the door, but instead he just stares at me. Suddenly his lower lip quivers and he shakes his head. "I take my words back. Your beauty is boundless. It transcends this planet and all of the other planets surrounding it,” he exhales when he takes me fully in. His awestruck expression says it all. “I've never seen you more radiant than you are right now. I cannot tell you how much you look like Mum. You’re breathtaking, ladybug.”

  I fight the tears threatening to spill. "You can't say things like that just before we have to step out in front of several hundred people," I gently scorn him. “If I start crying, my makeup will be a mess and I'll end up looking like a raccoon.”

  “Even with black smeared down your face, you’d still be the prettiest girl ever.” His loving tone moves me. Daddy closes the door behind him, and takes my hands in his.

  "If we’re exchanging compliments, then you should know you look dapper as always," I bring my right hand up to his lapel and straighten it.

  He looks down for a beat before meeting my gaze again. "Oh, this old thing? I've already worn this four times this year and it isn't even July yet. Please, it looks like a vulgar piece of cheap frock compared to your princess-like dress," he teases.

  "If you keep at it, you're going to make me blush."

  "And it would only serve to make you prettier." He lets out a long sigh. "Look at you." He shakes his head. "As much as I wanted to dupe myself into believing that you’re still my little girl, tonight, God sends a clear message,” he pauses. “Phew. You're a woman. This dress..." he pauses again. “I may go into cardiac arrest over it."

  "Too much?" I worry.

  His lips pull up into a teasing smile. "If it were up to me, I’d demand you wear a shapeless and frumpy jumper that goes down to your knees with incredibly
unflattering trousers,” he says that with a stony face. Only his amused raised eyebrow betrays him. “I’d also request you hide your long hair under a baseball cap or anything that hides the sparkling nature of your eyes," he adds.

  "Is that your way of saying you don't like what I'm wearing and how I look?" I ask.

  "Not at all, ladybug. It's my way of saying that time isn't on my side." What is he talking about? Instantly my heart jumps to my throat. "Soon, a lucky man will sweep you off your feet and you’ll forget all about your old man." Daddy chokes up.

  It takes me a few seconds to compose myself before answering him. "Don't be silly. You'll always be number one in my heart. Period. End of story. All the other men will have to stand in line."

  “And exactly how many blokes are we talking about, Amelia Cavendish?” His answer comes swiftly. “Are you trying to kill me?" We both laugh. My father’s eyes twinkle with adoration. He smiles and reaches out for my face. “You wore them?”

  “Yes.” I match his solemn tone. “Thank you for these. I love them so much.”

  “They look absolutely superb on you,” he says, touching my sparkling earrings. “They look as good on you as they did on Mum."

  "You think so?" I ask hesitantly.

  "How can they not? You’re her spitting image. I wish she could see you. What am I talking about? I’m sure she must be smiling from Heaven above right now. I have no doubt she's sitting right beside God with a glass of champagne by her side, looking down and beaming with pride and clapping her hands together at the glorious sight of her only daughter."

  “I hope so,” I say simply.

  I couldn’t imagine this evening without a reminder of my mum. Daddy gave me a pair of her vintage Cartier dangling diamond earrings for my twenty-fifth birthday. They’re perfect for tonight.

  “Enough of me being a sappy old fool who’s still...” My father freezes his eyes widening. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but every fiber of my being knows what he was going to say, Who’s still in love with his wife. He’ll never admit it aloud because that would just be like revealing he’s made a catastrophic error that’s derailed his life and ours. No, Britain's Prime Minister would never be able to be that frank on such a loaded subject. He quickly brushes the misstep aside. “Seriously, the dress is stunning on you, ladybug.”