by Cassie Cole
Contents
Title
Copyright
Books by Cassie Cole
1 - Karen
2 - Karen
3 - Cairo
4 - Karen
5 - Karen
6 - Karen
7 - Karen
8 - Logan
9 - Karen
10 - Karen
11 - Hunter
12 - Logan
13 - Karen
14 - Karen
15 - Cairo
16 - Karen
17 - Karen
18 - Hunter
19 - Karen
20 - Karen
21 - Logan
22 - Karen
23 - Karen
24 - Karen
25 - Logan
26 - Karen
27 - Karen
28 - Karen
29 - Logan
30 - Karen
31 - Logan
32 - Karen
33 - Karen
34 - Logan
35 - Karen
36 - Karen
37 - Logan
38 - Cairo
39 - Karen
40 - Karen
41 - Karen
42 - Karen
43 - Cairo
44 - Karen
45 - Hunter
46 - Karen
47 - Karen
48 - Logan
49 - Karen
Epilogue
Bonus
Sneak Peek - Shared by her Bodyguards
About the Author
Saved by the SEALs
By Cassie Cole
Copyright © 2019 Juicy Gems Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior consent of the author.
Edited by Robin Morris and Dorothy Eller
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www.cassiecoleromance.com
Books by Cassie Cole
Broken In
Drilled
Five Alarm Christmas
All In
Triple Team
Shared by her Bodyguards
Saved by the SEALs
1
Karen
I approached the crowded Barcelona club with the intention of trying something fun.
Something girls like me weren’t supposed to do.
I could hear the bass pumping as I approached the club entrance, skirting around the long line of men waiting to get in. I could feel their eyes on my body, taking in the tight-fitting cocktail dress that hugged my hips and chest, and revealed far more cleavage than a microbiologist like me normally would have shown. I winked at one particularly handsome man, whose olive skin and sharp features made me tingle with excitement. The Spanish were a beautiful people.
I went right up to the bouncer. He took a quick look at me, checked my I.D., and let me right in.
I’d restrained myself for the duration of my semester abroad. Playing it safe, focused on my studies. My microbiology graduate thesis took up most of my time, especially since the University of Barcelona had one of the best—and most challenging—programs in the world.
But I was done. I’d passed my exams, turned in my papers on warm water cell growth rates. I only had a few more days before my roommate and I flew back to UNCW.
So now it was time to let loose and have fun.
The steady bass expanded into a barrage of electronic music as I passed through the doors into the club. It was one large room with a high ceiling, and a second floor balcony that circled the room. Strobe lights flashed and colored spotlights spun randomly through the room, giving me a camera-flash view of the pulsing crowd. The bar on the left side of the room was tempting, but I made a bee-line straight for the dance floor.
Once I was there I threw my hands in the air and moved my body along with everyone else while the D.J. pumped his fist in the air.
I loved to dance. It was literally my favorite thing, just ahead of pizza and sleeping in on Saturday mornings. But I’d been cowed by stories of pretty American girls getting kidnapped overseas from clubs like this. The logical part of my brain knew the chances were low as long as I was careful, but the fear still lingered in the back of my head. Enough that I hadn’t come out to a club like this all semester.
An olive-skinned Spaniard came face to face with me. His tight black shirt hugged his slender body and he wore black jeans, like a theater stage hand, except he was also gorgeous. After a moment of surprise he squared his shoulders with me and started dancing, arching a dark eyebrow to see if I would dance with him.
I smiled back and took his hand, and our bodies moved together like water.
The music pumped and I turned around, pressing my back against him and grinding just a little bit of my round ass against the front of his jeans. He leaned over my shoulder to press his cheek against mine, giving me a whiff of his cinnamon cologne. Then I was moving on to another guy who was watching me, pressing my body against his and moving my hips to the music.
It went on like that for three or four songs. It was tough to tell because the booming techno flowed seamlessly from one song to the next.
Guys started offering to get me a drink, but I turned them down. Rule number one: always get your own drink. Rule number two: never let it out of your sight. I’d grab a beer when I was thirsty, but I wasn’t ready to leave the dance floor yet.
I let loose as I moved through the crowd, dancing with men and women. An entire semester of stress began melting away. The stress would return when I got back to Wilmington, North Carolina, but for now I was free.
And I wasn’t planning on just dancing tonight.
When my back was damp with sweat I finally made my way toward the oval-shaped bar. Several of the men I’d danced with were there, and tried to catch my eye. I ignored them and flagged down the bartender.
I wondered who I was going to take home tonight. I’d told my roommate that I wanted the apartment to myself, and I was mostly serious. I’d had a healthy sex life—very healthy—back at UNCW, but I hadn’t taken any chances here in Barcelona. It felt like a missed opportunity being around all of these beautiful Spanish men and not taking advantage of the situation. Plus, an entire semester without having some horizontal fun was far too long. Especially for someone like me.
I deserved to give myself a going-away present.
One guy squeezed next to me to get to the bar counter, his broad back to me. I couldn’t help but stare; he was literally the most muscular guy I’d seen in my life. Enormous arms hung out of his black tank top, bronze skin shining in the gaps between his tattoos. His short-cropped black hair was perfectly combed and glistened with just the right amount of sweat. He didn’t seem to notice me.
The bartender ignored him and nodded at me. “Cerveza, por favor,” I said in passable Spanish.
“¿Que tipo?” What type?
“No importa.” Doesn’t matter.
He nodded and began pouring from a tap. Mr. Muscles twisted and saw me for the first time. I gave a start: his eyes were so brown they were almost gold.
“I thought I was the only American here,” he said.
I was speechless for a moment. I’d assumed from his bronze skin and dark features that he was Spanish, so it was strange to hear English spoken back at me.
“Same here,” I managed to say. His gaze was mesmerizing. “How’d you know?”
“The accent.” He leaned in close so he wouldn’t have to shout. I could smell the faint scent of musk underneath his spicy cologne. “Don’t fee
l bad. For staring.”
“What?”
“My eyes. I get it a lot, trust me.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t think I’d been admiring his body. “They’re gold! I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“I call it amber, but yep.”
“And hey, I thought my Spanish accent was good!”
He shrugged massive shoulders. “It’s passable. But as my buddy says, when great is the norm, good sticks out.”
I tried to maintain eye contact without looking at his ripped body. “I’ll say.”
Someone tapped on my shoulder. I twisted and saw the beautiful Spanish man I’d been dancing with earlier, the one wearing all black. I could smell his cinnamon cologne as he smiled at me. “I thought you looked American!” he said in slightly-accented English.
“Why, because I’m fat?” I joked.
“Because you’re beautiful.” He smiled. “May I buy you a drink?”
The bartender placed my beer on the counter. I took a sip and then raised it. “Already got one.”
He somehow hadn’t noticed Mr. Muscles until that moment. He took a step back and examined the larger man, then stuck out his hand. “I am Phillip.”
The American’s hand completely enveloped Phillip’s, like an adult shaking hands with a child. “I’m Cairo.”
Phillip frowned at me. “Are you two…?”
“Just met,” I said.
Phillip’s relief was obvious. “I am returning to dance. Perhaps I will see you out there?”
“Maybe so,” I said with a smile that held a promise in it. Phillip was near the top of my list of contenders.
Cairo waited until he was gone before asking, “Friend of yours?”
“Guy who grinded against my ass for half a song.”
He took a long, obvious look at my body. “Lucky guy.”
I gave him a that was cheesy look. “What kind of a name is Cairo?”
“The nickname kind. My parents are from Egypt.”
“Ohh, that’s as exotic as those eyes.”
He shrugged.
“What are you doing here tonight, Cairo? Trying to pick up guys like I am?”
He looked offended. “Guys? What gave you that impression?”
I gestured at his clothes. “No offense, but those jeans are a little too nice.”
“A guy isn’t allowed to wear nice clothes?”
“He can, but…” I arched an eyebrow at him.
He shook his head and looked around the club. “These are my buddy’s clothes. He made me wear them. Said I looked good.”
“No, you totally do,” I said. “But most guys I know that wear $500 designer jeans aren’t interested in picking up women.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Next time I’ll dress normal.”
“I’m sorry!” I said, laughing and putting my hand on his arm. It was like touching a warm boulder. “I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious. Don’t be upset.”
The bartender returned with his order of shots. He picked them up and smiled at me. “It was nice talking to a fellow American halfway across the world. Enjoy your night…”
He trailed off. “Karen,” I said when I realized he didn’t know my name.
He smiled one last time. “Enjoy your night, Karen.”
“You too, Cairo.”
I watched him carry them away. His torso was a V-shape underneath his tank top, the perfect shoulder-to-waist ratio of muscular man. He made my lady-parts twitch in a primal way. He turned the heads of several women as he disappeared into the crowd.
It was too bad he was American. I needed to find a Spaniard like him. Phillip was beautiful in his own way, but he was a little too skinny. After talking to Cairo I wanted someone with more muscle. Someone who could throw me around in bed like I was a toy.
I took another pull of my beer and left the half-full glass on the bar. I had no intention of drinking it, but I wanted to try something I’d learned from my roommate.
I danced my way back toward the middle of the room, but remained close enough to watch the bar. A new D.J. was replacing the first one. He must have been popular because he was greeted by a cheer from the crowd as he began playing his music.
The music washed over me as I danced by myself, always keeping an eye on the bar. There was no other sign of Cairo or his friend. It was almost disappointing; I was hoping to catch a glimpse of his dance moves.
More copper-skinned Spanish men came up and danced with me, but none of them were particularly appealing beyond a dance partner for a song. They weren’t ugly, but they didn’t have that oomph of sexiness that hit you in the gut the moment you saw them. They were all too skinny, especially in the legs. Where were the Spaniards with muscle?
I caught a glimpse of Phillip over by the bar. He had some density underneath his black clothes, and he was beautiful, besides. I could have a lot of fun with him.
He must have decided the same thing, because suddenly he found me in the crowd and grinned. He weaved his way toward me, his gorgeous smile never wavering.
“There you are,” he said. “Why is a woman like you dancing alone?”
I grinned up at him. “I was wondering that myself.”
“Your American friend has not joined you?”
“I told you,” I said, “I don’t know him.”
He squinted like he didn’t believe me. “Are you certain? You two seemed very friendly moments ago.”
He seemed strangely focused on Cairo. Not surprising since he was twice Phillip’s size. If I were a guy trying to pick up a girl at the club, Cairo’s presence would have made me wary too.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, bringing my hip up against the front of Phillip’s jeans. “I’m positive.”
He smiled knowingly, then stuck out his hand. “May I have your cell phone?”
I pulled it out and hesitated. “Why?”
He grabbed it and began tapping on the screen. When I tried to take it back he pulled away and said, “Hold on, I am almost finished! American girls are so impatient!”
Finally he stuck the phone out and made a ridiculous duck face with his lips. The front screen flashed as he took the selfie, then he handed the phone back to me.
“There. Now you have my telephone number.”
I chuckled at the new entry in my contact list, with Phillip’s silly selfie on the front. “Who said I wanted your number?”
“Your beautiful eyes told me,” he responded. “I see many things in those eyes.”
He leaned closer. The kind of lean that led to a kiss. I bit my lip and held my breath, but just before our lips touched Phillip whirled around.
“I will be right back! Do not go anywhere, my new American friend.”
I watched the supermodel-like man strut back to the bar and raise a finger to the bartender.
Yeah. I could have a lot of fun with Phillip.
Now to decide how to play things. We could keep dancing for another hour, or I could bluntly invite him back to my apartment right now. The sooner we left the club, the more time we would have back at my place.
I was imagining how his face would look between my legs when he noticed my abandoned drink, still half-full of beer. He looked at it, glanced to either side of him like he was about to tell a racist joke, and then moved his hand as if to pick it up by the rim…
Something dropped from the palm of his hand into the drink, fizzing for a moment before disappearing into the foamy depths.
I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t already been watching. Even so, I still almost didn’t believe what I’d just seen. Did he really…?
The bartender handed him a mixed drink. Phillip took that in one hand and my beer glass in the other and left the bar. He locked eyes with me and grinned, raising the beer glass like a torch. As he swaggered his way back to me, he gently shook the glass in a circle, swirling it around and creating a layer of foam. Foam that would conceal the pill dissolving inside.<
br />
This guy was trying to roofie me.
Son of a bitch.
“Hello again,” he said as he reached me. His accent seemed more pronounced now. “You left this at the bar.”
I put on my best smile as I accepted the beer. “How kind of you.”
He took a long pull from his mixed drink, something made with clear liquor and lots of ice. Then his eyes watched intently as I raised my own glass to my lips.
“Hey,” I said, lowering my drink. “Do you come here often?”
“Sometimes,” he said with a frown. “This D.J. is good. Finish your beer so we can dance some more.”
“We can dance right here.” I swayed my hips and rolled my head back and forth in time with the booming bass. “Or I’ll just put the drink down…”
“Someone will take it,” Phillip insisted. “Drinks are expensive at this club. Do not let it go to waste.”
I held it out to him. “Help me finish it?”
He raised his own glass. “I drink only liquor. Fewer calories, yes?”
“Come on,” I said, pouting. “Help a poor American girl out? Just a few sips…”
It was immensely satisfying seeing him try to think of excuse after excuse on the fly. I was enjoying watching the scumbag squirm. His cinnamon cologne, which had turned me on earlier, now made my stomach crawl.
But I could tell he was getting annoyed. Or nervous. It was probably best if I excused myself to use the restroom, then told the bouncer what had happened. The more nervous Phillip got, the more likely he was to do something really bad.
Before I could, Cairo appeared over his shoulder. He grabbed Phillip and whirled him around, rage glistening in those amber eyes.
“You think I didn’t see what you did?” Cairo growled, then threw a punch.
2
Karen
Cairo’s fist flashed, the smallest twitch of his enormous arm muscles, but it caught Phillip on the cheek and sent him flying backward. The crowd quickly gave them space and yelled with surprise, then excitement.
While Phillip tried to get up, Cairo darted toward me and snatched the glass out of my hand. “He spiked it. Did you drink any?”
