Hot SEAL, Heartbreaker (SEALs in Paradise)

by Cat Johnson

  “I’ll get us something.”

  “Thanks.” He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and padded to the attached bathroom to get rid of the condom.

  When he came out, he saw she’d gotten out of bed and had pulled on an oversized T-shirt . . . and nothing else. He liked it.

  “Beer?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed toward the doorway.

  “Definitely.” He nodded on the way back across the room, where he found his underwear on the floor. Pulling them on, he searched for his shirt and said, “I’ll come help you.”

  She waved away his offer. “No need. Stay here and be comfortable. I’ll bring it in. The remote control is on the nightstand if you want to turn on the TV. Put whatever you want on.”

  “Okay.” He watched her disappear down the hall and glanced at the nightstand to see the remote was there, as she’d said. Right next to the empty wrapper from the used condom.

  Control of the TV. Eating in bed. Beer. Sex. She hated Valentine’s Day. And she was willing to be his fake girlfriend.

  This woman might just be perfect.

  A quarter of an hour later, over sandwiches, Alicia said, “Why do you think you aren’t you involved with anyone?”

  He froze and had to rethink his earlier assessment of Alicia’s perfection as she asked that question.

  He’d just opened his mouth and was about to take another bite of the sandwich she’d made and delivered to him in bed as promised when she decided to initiate meaningful conversation.

  Food was served best without a side of serious talk.

  The worst part was that this might be the best sandwich he’d ever had. Salami, ham and provolone cheese with mustard and hot peppers on a roll with pickles, potato chips and a bottle of Coronado Brewing Company beer. He’d taken her for a salad kind of girl. Possibly an all-natural, Kale chips kind of person. He’d been wrong.

  He'd also been mistaken in assuming she could compartmentalize the therapist inside her. That question was definitely one would a shrink would ask.

  He was sexually satisfied—for now—and about to fill his belly with some good food, but her prying stopped him from taking the next bite. He lowered the sandwich.

  “I have a girlfriend.” When a menacing wrinkle appeared between her brows, he added, “You. Remember, oh fake girlfriend of mine?”

  With any luck, the joke would end this discussion and he could get back to eating.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Why are you still single?”

  Nope. Guess not.

  He could counter and ask her the same question—why didn’t she have a boyfriend? Often the best defense was a strong offense. But he wanted to end this conversation, not prolong it.

  Regretfully, he put the sandwich back on the plate and put the plate on the nightstand. Like it or not, it was time to be serious.

  And just when he’d been enjoying that sandwich too . . .

  Turning back to her, he lifted one shoulder. “I’m not exactly a hearts and flowers kind of guy.”

  “I beg to differ.” She glanced pointedly across the room.

  He followed her gaze and saw the roses he’d given her sitting on her dresser inside what looked like a glass water pitcher. They were a whole lot less perky and fresh after all this time, but she hadn’t tossed them out yet.

  “Those were just a prop. For our fake date,” he said.

  “All right. What about how you brought champagne to my sister’s for Valentine’s Day and you brought wine for dinner?”

  Brian lifted his shoulder. “More props.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’re a gentleman.”

  “If you think I’m a gentleman, then I’m going to have to up my game next round.” He purposely let his gaze travel down her body, lingering on the points of her nipples poking through the fabric of her T-shirt.

  She didn’t react to his attempt at a salacious stare and continued, “In fact, I daresay you’re a romantic.”

  A bark of a laugh escaped him. “Now, you’re pushing it. There’s no way in hell anyone could call me romantic.”

  “A man who comes to a lady’s rescue in a bar? Who fends off a perceived threat? That’s the definition of chivalry.”

  “You told me you didn’t need or want my help.”

  “Correct. However, your motives were still noble.”

  Noble. Chivalry. Gentleman. Romantic. The list of adjectives she was spewing in relation to him put his brain in a tailspin.

  He refused to accept her calling him such things. “Nope. No disrespect, but you’re wrong.”

  Contrary to what he thought her reaction would be, she just shook her head and grabbed her own sandwich. “No, I’m not.”

  Apparently she considered the case closed. But at least she was finally quiet as she dug into her food, something he’d have to remember in future. When Alicia talks too much, feed her.

  Usually he enjoyed listening to her talk. Even her crazy theories and ponderings entertained him. But not today.

  Her ramblings today had gotten in his head. Maybe because he knew she might be right. The reason he’d given her for not being in a relationship was mainly bullshit. He suspected the real reason for his remaining single was flying to California tomorrow for a birthday trip to the Hotel Coronado.

  And suddenly, he was dreading seeing her. He loved his mother. But with her came memories of a less than ideal childhood he preferred to keep buried.

  Now, thanks to Alicia and her damn head-shrinker degree, he had to seriously consider the idea that he avoided love not because of the nature of being a team guy, or because romance wasn’t in his own nature, but because he’d grown up watching his mom suffer the effects of a failed love life, starting with his absent father and going downhill from there.

  His appetite for the sandwich had faded with the conversation and his own thoughts.

  Not Alicia’s appetite though. She’d cleaned her plate.

  She set down the dish on the nightstand on her side of the bed right before she straddled him.

  He felt the heat of her bare core through the fabric of his underwear as she draped one forearm on top of each of his shoulders and fiddled with the hair at the back of his neck.

  Her gaze hit on his sandwich, barely touched with only a couple of bites taken out of it. “Didn’t you like it?”

  “I loved it. I’ll eat it a little later.”

  A smile bowed her lips. “Or maybe a lot later.”

  As she leaned in toward his lips, a devilish look on her face while she ground against him, he decided this might be exactly what he needed to get her psycho-babble off his mind.

  A good hard fuck was the best way he could think of to clear his head.

  “Oh, before I forget.” She pulled back, before he could silence more talk with a kiss. “What’s this dinner you need me for? The one you texted me about.”

  He was second-guessing that invitation. Putting his mother in the same room as his fake girlfriend who was also a therapist was the worst idea ever.

  What had he been thinking when he’d typed in that text?

  He knew exactly what he’d been thinking. He wanted to see Alicia again and this seemed like a good excuse.

  “Oh, that. Yeah. It’s nothing. I don’t think I need you there. You’re off the hook.”

  “Are you sure?” She frowned.

  “Positive. But there is something you can do for me now.” He pressed her harder against the hard length between them.

  “Gee, let me guess what that could be.” She smiled.

  This was good. Pointless sex talk. More fucking. This he could handle.

  Alicia could save her analysis for paying customers. He didn’t need or want it.

  SEVENTEEN

  Alicia was enjoying her second mug of coffee that morning while remembering last night.

  The first mug she’d drank with Brian. Now that he was gone she poured another to drink in solitary.

  But she could not let he
rself get used to him being around. Couldn’t get used to the sex either. Theirs was a fake relationship—she reminded herself.

  Things with Brian were on an as-needed basis. Only if necessary to perpetuate the lie.

  That was all.

  Except for last night. But that had been just two adults scratching an itch.

  Even so, they probably shouldn’t do that again.

  Or at least not too often.

  Brian had only been gone an hour when Alicia’s cell rang, sending her sprinting toward the sound.

  She felt the tug of sore muscles as she went. Sex with Brian was a work-out.

  Alicia managed to make it to the bedroom in time, but had to search for the phone. She found her cell under the T-shirt she’d been wearing before he’d pulled it off her and tossed it onto the nightstand.

  She extricated the device from the cotton but wasn’t rewarded for her efforts. Because it wasn’t Brian calling to say he’d had a great time. It wasn’t Shelly so she could tell her all about her night.

  Hell, it wasn’t even Jen, who Alicia would have definitely preferred over who was on the other end of that line.

  It was her ex.

  Crap.

  She hadn’t texted him back and now that pigeon was coming home to roost because he was calling her.

  Staring at the phone, she held her breath, not daring to touch it lest she accidentally answer it.

  This was one call that needed to go to voicemail.

  Bastard.

  Why was he trying to talk to her again after all this time? After breaking her heart.

  Finally, the ringing stopped but the wait to see if he’d leave a message seemed eternal. As agonizing as when she’d waited, refreshing the screen over and over, to see if her test scores had been posted in grad school.

  As agonizing as that one time she’d been late and had to wait for the pee stick to show a negative or a positive. In hindsight, thank God it had been negative. The break-up was painful enough without having a baby connecting them.

  The beep of the voicemail had her jumping, she’d been so deep in her own head.

  Still she didn’t tap the screen to listen to it.

  It was as if it were Pandora’s box. If she didn’t open it, everything would remain the same and she’d be okay.

  Backing away from the phone she’d placed on the nightstand, she returned to the kitchen.

  There, she saw Brian’s empty mug in the sink right next to the counter where she’d abandoned her own full mug when the cell had rung.

  His mug, as much as that phone call, was a very real reminder that it was more important than ever she remember there could be nothing real between them.

  They weren’t serious. Couldn’t get serious. It was the only way she wouldn’t get hurt.

  The phone rang again and Alicia narrowed her eyes. She was starting to hate the damn thing.

  If it was Greg again—

  That thought and the anger had her striding to the bedroom, ready to give her ex a piece of her mind, until she saw on the caller ID that it was Shelly.

  She dove toward the phone and swiped the screen. Picking it up and pressing it against her ear, she said, “Shell.”

  “Hey, I finally have a day off.”

  “Thank God.”

  Shelly laughed. “I know I’ve been putting in a lot of overtime but I’m not that overworked. But thanks for the empathy.”

  “It’s not that. Greg called. And I slept with Brian.” There was silence for long enough, she said, “Shell?”

  “I’m here. I’m just trying to decide which of my dozen questions to ask first.”

  “Let me know when you come up with one.” She would just be there waiting, trying to breathe.

  “I guess my first one is, what did Greg have to say?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t answer.”

  “Did he leave a message?”

  “Yes. I didn’t listen to it.”

  “Wow. Okay. You know what? You’re under no obligation to answer his calls or listen to his voicemails. Not after the way he left you.”

  She blew out a breath. “Thank you.” Not that she needed her friend’s permission, but she felt better having it.

  “Still, I’m kind of wondering what he wants after all this time.”

  “I know but I can’t do it. I can’t even hear his voice again. I don’t need to know what he wants badly enough. I can live with not knowing.”

  “Good for you. I’m proud of you. Now, on to that other bomb you dropped on me. You slept with Brian?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid that might have been a mistake.”

  “Why? It wasn’t bad, was it?”

  She laughed. “No. It wasn’t bad. It was good. Very, very good.”

  And that was exactly why she shouldn’t have done it. Because she was going to want to do it again.

  Meanwhile, it wasn’t lost on her that she’d berated Brian for saying he sometimes discussed sex with his friends and here she was, spilling the tea to her friend.

  She’d have to get over the guilt of that hypocrisy. She had too many other things to worry about right now.

  “Can you come over?” She felt like she needed her friend there.

  “On my way. I’ll pick up breakfast. Then we can dish over exactly how good Brian was.”

  “Great. Can’t wait for that conversation,” she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

  “I know I can’t. See you soon.”

  Alicia disconnected as the line went dead.

  Laying the phone down she noticed her hand was shaking. She knew why too. One phone call from her ex —that she hadn’t even answered—and she was a mess.

  She stared at her trembling hand as anger and pain surged through her simultaneously.

  This. This was what happened when you trusted a man with your heart.

  She needed to remember this horrible feeling and never let it happen to her again.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Brian.”

  He accepted and returned the hug from his mother and was enveloped in the familiar scent of her perfume.

  “Mom. It’s good to see you.”

  It was less good to see the man hovering nearby, smiling as he watched the reunion.

  He had a bad feeling he was about to be introduced to his mother’s new boyfriend.

  When she finally pulled back from him and glanced at the stranger, he knew he was right. “Brian, I want to introduce you to Dale. He’s . . . my friend.”

  He felt his brows creep up. “A good friend to travel across the country with you,” he mumbled.

  Dale—he’d need his last name so he could investigate this man properly—stepped forward, hand outstretched.

  “Good to meet you, son.”

  Son? Oh, fuck no.

  “Yeah. You too.” Brian glanced at his mother. “Did you make dinner reservations?”

  Time to get this thing started . . . so it could end.

  He felt bad the moment the thought crossed his mind. He hadn’t seen his mother in too long. He should be happy to spend time with her. But he hadn’t bargained for a potential future step-dad to be hanging around with them.

  He’d had enough of these characters pass through his life when he’d been a kid. None of them stuck around long enough to make it official. And every one broke his mother’s heart when they left.

  This one would be no different.

  “Actually, Dale handled all that.” She glanced at the man again, a smile on her lips.

  “Table for three, with a view.” Dale smiled pleasantly, which for some reason grated on Brian’s nerves.

  He took the time to evaluate him more closely. He was older, probably around sixty. His dark hair was peppered with a good amount of gray, as was his closely cropped beard.

  His clothes were quality. The suit fit well. The shoes were leather shined to perfection. The man had an air of money, which also put him on alert.

  It was too easy to fake it. Who was to s
ay if the man owed a fortune rather than owned one?

  “The table’s ready, if you’d like to sit. Or we can have a drink first,” Dale offered.

  “The table’s fine,” he answered.

  He moved to take his mother’s arm but Dale beat him to it. The two paraded ahead of him toward the entrance to the dining room, leaving him to trail behind . . . like a child.

  Jaw set, he began to make his recon list.

  Priority one was to get Dale’s last name. Although without ID, that could be fake. He’d have to quiz him for details and see if he tripped himself up.

  The list continued. Occupation. Where he lived. His immediate relatives . . .

  The hostess seated them at a table with a view of the beach and the ocean beyond. He ignored it and focused on his mother.

  Her gaze swept the scene before them. “Isn’t it just beautiful?” she breathed. “Dale, thank you for requesting a waterfront table.”

  “Nothing’s too good for you,” he replied, sounding like some sort of sleazy seducer.

  “Brian, don’t you think it’s beautiful?” she asked.

  Finally, he glanced in the direction she still stared. “Mm. Yeah.”

  He didn’t mention how he couldn’t see this particular stretch of coast without remembering vividly the burn of the saltwater in his eyes and the razer-like cuts of the sand on his skin. He’d done too many sugar cookies there—a cute name for the instructors’ favorite BUD/S torture. He couldn’t sigh over its beauty now.

  He turned his full attention back to the happy couple. “So, how’d you two meet?”

  “Funny story . . .” his mother began.

  “Isn’t it always though?” Brian smiled, thinking a man who was after what little his mother had would come up with some adorable meet-cute. All part of the MO.

  “It was at the liquor store actually,” Dale supplied.

  Ah, so that was it. Dale was a drunk. He wouldn’t be the first one of those his mother had dated.

  “They were having a wine education class. And out of the dozen or so participants, Rita and I were partnered up,” Dale continued.

  His mother looked lovingly at Dale. “It was serendipity.”

  “It was,” he agreed, while Brian wanted to barf.