Barefoot Bay: Seduced by the Best Man (Kindle Worlds Novella) (SEALs on Vacation Book 2)

by Zoe York

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Seduced by the Best Man

  Zoe York

  www.zoeyork.com

  Contents

  Introduction

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Discover More Books By Zoe York

  Seduced by the Best Man

  * * *

  Navy SEAL Dylan Van Doren knows a thing or two about keeping his enemies at bay. But even though Astrid Hughes is—was—the maid of honor in his brother's disaster of a non-wedding, she doesn't look like his enemy. She doesn't feel like one, either, when he pulls her into his arms and kisses her senseless.

  Astrid values loyalty above everything else. So it's totally wrong to let herself fall into a vacation fling with her best friend's ex's brother, right? Maybe not if they keep it a secret. And if they promise each other they'll walk away at the end of the week, no matter what.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Seduced by the Best Man. This book is entirely the work of New York Times Bestselling author Zoe York.

  I couldn’t be happier to welcome my friend Zoe to Barefoot Bay because I know my readers will adore her snappy style and emotional stories, and that Zoe’s readers will love this vacation in Barefoot Bay! Best of all, “SEALs on Vacation” is a duology within the series because even Navy SEALs need a break on the beach, right? And there’s nothing better than a little wedding party love to keep things interesting. Enjoy!

  Roxanne St. Claire

  PS. If you’d like to read all of the Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds novels, or would like to explore the possibility of writing your own book set in my world, stop by www.roxannestclaire.com for details!

  Chapter One

  Astrid stared at her best friend in horror across the strange motel room a few miles and a world away from Barefoot Bay.

  She'd come here immediately after making a very awkward apology for the bride's absence from the wedding scheduled to take place…now. “What do you mean you've made a terrible mistake?”

  Simone waved toward the white lace dress she would have been wearing when she did a runner. “I think I just panicked. When I put that on.”

  The dress was now thrown across the small desk against the wall, and Simone was wearing clothes Astrid had brought her.

  “It's too late to change your mind!” She could hear her voice going tight and screechy, but Simone had left it to Astrid to break the news to the Navy SEAL groom—and his even more menacing twin brother, the best man.

  Neither had been very happy with her, but she’d stood there and defended Simone, knowing this was for the best.

  She tried again. “You don't love him!”

  “But we…”

  “No buts. I held my tongue when you seemed happy enough, and now that you've wised up, I'm not going to let you backslide.”

  “I'm scared.”

  Sympathy—and maybe a good dose of empathy too—softened Astrid’s heart and she plunked down on the generic, too-hard love seat in Simone’s room at the motel just off the highway on the mainland, north of the causeway to Mimosa Key.

  The Casa Blanca Resort & Spa it was not.

  She fished a bar of chocolate from her purse and cracked the seal on the mickey of tequila she’d borrowed from the honeymoon suite when she'd packed up some of Simone's belongings and smuggled them out to her. She had to go back to get more, apparently, but she'd been let in to the suite by an understanding manager, and she hadn't been thinking clearly.

  When she went back to get the rest, she'd leave Garrett, the jilted groom, some money for the tequila. And the chocolate. And the snack pack of Pringles she’d stress-munched on as she drove inland toward the runaway bride.

  Her friend having a dramatic change of heart at the last minute was having a seriously negative impact on her eat-clean plan for the week.

  A week that was supposed to have been about getting back to basics and reconnecting with herself. Blah blah blah.

  She really just wanted to be ten pounds lighter for her family reunion next month. After all, she would be the only cousin in her generation without a husband or bouncing adorable children. And the career she loved—illustrating graphic novels—wasn't much respected either in her family of scientists and engineers.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, snapping off a piece of chocolate and handing it to Simone. Her friend didn’t have to fit into her wedding dress anymore. “We’ll book you a flight home first thing tomorrow." Astrid thought for a second she should volunteer to go home early, too, but this was her vacation, and really, her credit card couldn't handle two last-minute flights. "And we’ll plan a trip to Cabo. Just girls.”

  It also couldn't handle that, but she'd pick up another freelance job to pay for it. Anything to keep Simone focused on the future. A Garrett-free future. A less-reckless future. A future where Astrid didn't stress-eat Pringles and chocolate, or consider doing tequila shots mid-day.

  “Just girls,” Simone repeated. “Maybe…”

  “No maybes, honey.” She stuffed another piece of chocolate at her friend.

  “I should call Garrett.”

  “No.” Astrid shook her head. “That is the last thing you should do. Especially today. He’s face down in a bottle of wine somewhere, because you left him at the altar. Remember that? Earlier today? That bold, probably-for-the-best move? Stick with that. Otherwise you’re just compounding the hurt.”

  “I wasn't ready,” Simone whispered.

  Astrid nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You knew…”

  This was a delicate tightrope to walk. Yes, she'd known it was a mistake. She was pretty sure everyone had known what a disaster this whirlwind wedding was going to be. But Astrid had learned when her older sister Gretchen got married that pointing out the faults in the prospective groom was a terrible idea.

  Not that Garrett had faults, really. He was a good guy. Astrid understood Simone’s second-second thoughts. Third thoughts? Her waffling, whatever round of thinking it was.

  Astrid got it. Garrett would make someone a rock-steady, super-sexy husband. Just not Simone.

  Now, if Simone had been marrying Garrett’s twin brother Dylan, on the other hand…Astrid would have probably said something.

  Because there was nothing of the marrying kind in Dylan Van Doren. Super-sexy, yes, he had that in spades, even more than his brother. Dylan was the kind of sexy that made your stomach flip if he held your gaze an extra beat. He was rock-st
eady, too, but in the lethal-in-a-dozen-ways kind of stability that would be more suited to starring in action films than taking up residence behind white picket fences.

  And Astrid should know. She spent a lot of time thinking about white picket fences. Not in the creepy way, of course. She wasn’t in a rush to get married. But if she ever did, if she ever found a guy who ticked off all three of her Yes, This One marriage requirements, she’d be super serious about it.

  No last minute weddings for Astrid Hughes.

  She was smarter than that.

  * * *

  Dylan nudged the bowl of tropical fruit trail mix across the booth toward Garrett, but his brother wasn’t looking for food to absorb the alcohol hitting his gut right now. No, Garrett wanted the blind oblivion at the bottom of the wine bottle, and frankly, Dylan didn’t blame him.

  The poor guy almost married the wrong woman. Dylan shuddered at the thought.

  This was for the best.

  But it was damn awkward that they had a week of vacation booked at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa with some of her friends. Everyone could go to their own corners, of course, the place was private and big enough for that.

  He’d thought about leaving, but his brother was intent on staying and holding his head high.

  Dylan slid a glance sideways. Okay, at the moment Garrett’s head was lolling in a significant way. But tomorrow, he’d hold it high. Van Doren pride would see him through.

  “It was supposed to be our honeymoon suite…” his brother mumbled.

  Dylan winced. Yeah, that wouldn’t do. “Here,” he said, sliding his room keycard into Garrett’s pocket. “I’ll sleep in the heart-shaped king-sized bed tonight. You snooze your way through your hangover in my room.”

  “Snot heart-shaped.”

  Snot… It’s not. Dylan nodded. “Gotcha. My loss.”

  Garrett just grunted.

  “You'll be okay,” Dylan said, feeling a bit lost. Emotional comfort wasn't his forte.

  Another grunt. Receiving it wasn't in his brother’s nature, either.

  “Good chat…” he finally said with a sigh. But they sat together like that for another hour. Silence they could do like champs.

  He dodged a couple of confused and curious wedding guests being handled with diplomatic grace by Willow Hershey in the lobby. One thing to be said for this resort—the staff were stellar. Plus it was gorgeous. As long as he didn't have to interact with any of Simone’s friends today, he'd go to bed thinking this wedding disaster had gone about as well as it possibly could.

  With a relieved bounce in his step, he let himself into the honeymoon suite—and skidded to a halt.

  Long, creamy legs were the first thing he saw. Then pink satin stretched tight across a lush rear end he took a healthy second-glance at because he wasn't dead inside. But when the intruder jerked her body upright with a breathy gasp and spun around, abandoning her criminal search through his brother’s stuff, anger took over, trumping his very male reaction to Astrid Hughes’ perfect ass.

  The maid of honour was looting the honeymoon suite.

  Chapter Two

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Astrid swallowed hard. Dylan’s eyes glittered dark and threatening under his furrowed brow, and she was pretty sure if she didn’t give him a good reason for her rifling through Garrett’s suitcase—which she didn’t realize was his suitcase until one second before she also realized she wasn’t alone—and frankly, she didn’t have a good reason.

  Did being physically and emotionally exhausted count?

  “Uh…”

  He snorted. “Get out.”

  She stood up a little straighter and crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

  He leaned in, his suit and dress shirt looking completely wrong for his six-foot-plus built frame—no tie, because when weddings were called off abruptly, ties became unnecessary. Also she was pretty sure his thick, muscled neck hated ties. And dress shirts. And annoying women in pink satin from the way those muscles were twitching right now. “You heard me, Astrid. Get out of my room.”

  “It’s not your room. It’s your brother’s, and Simone’s, and I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m acting on behalf of my friend. She gave me her key to collect the last of her possessions. Her key, so there.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And what did you think you would find in my brother’s suitcase?”

  “It matches the other one.” She pointed to where she’d set Simone’s suitcase, zipped up already, by the door. “I didn’t realize it wasn’t hers until you came in. I’d literally just bent over—”

  His already dark gaze grew black as he glowered at her. “Cut to the chase.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And I realized she probably hadn’t packed boxer briefs.”

  “So you didn’t take anything?”

  He didn’t sound like he’d believe her even if she swore up and down she hadn’t, so she went on the offensive instead. “You have some nerve acting like I’m a criminal here. We’re both in exactly the same position.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket, slinging it over a chair before he slowly began rolling up his sleeves. His attention didn’t leave her for a second. If she were a criminal, she’d never survive an interrogation with him. “And what position is that?”

  “Untangling a mess that should never have gotten this far,” she whispered. Surely they could agree on that point.

  He snorted.

  Okay, maybe not.

  “I was in the sandbox until three weeks ago. I had nothing to do with watching this mess unfold and doing nothing about it before it got to this point,” he said with a sneer. “Where were you?”

  “The sandbox?” God, she sounded like a dummy.

  He waved his hand. “The Middle East.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. Right. He was a SEAL, just like his brother. Although not just like his brother. Garrett was a nice guy. Dylan was…not nice.

  “And as far as untangling things go, don’t make this into a bigger drama than it is. Simone left before they got married, which is a good thing. Garrett got drunk, which is to be expected. And tomorrow they’ll both move on with their lives. We don’t need to contribute to the gossip mill. This isn’t a big deal. It is what it is, and we should both set a good example for the other guests to just chill.”

  All well and good, except Simone had been cagey about booking a flight home. But Astrid wasn’t going to tell Dylan that. It was none of his business.

  Except she was a lousy criminal and he was a master interrogator, so it took him no time flat to figure out she was hiding something. His scowl deepened, the hard planes of his face making him look every inch a man who would not be denied.

  She found herself breathless, her mind racing to keep up as he moved closer.

  “Astrid?” Jesus, even the way he said her name was intense.

  “Yeah?”

  “What else do I need to know?”

  “Nothing?” Damn it, why had her voice lifted like that? “Nothing.”

  There, that was better. That was definitive.

  He gave her a disbelieving look, but instead of pushing her further, he finished rolling up his second sleeve and turned toward the minibar.

  She took the opportunity to edge toward the door, but she didn’t get that far before he ducked down, made a surprised grunting sound, and turned around.

  Why did his gaze freeze her in place more effectively than a Star Trek tractor beam?

  Maybe because he was a real life warrior and she was a geek who thought in pop culture nerd references.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, even though she had a pretty good guess. His face had where is my damn tequila written all over it.

  “This morning my brother and I had planned to have a toast to his impending nuptials,” he said slowly, prowling toward her. "That didn't happen, of course, but I'd put something in here for that event. And only one other person has been in this room…"

  She took a step back.<
br />
  He took two steps forward.

  One back.

  Two forward.

  One back— she slammed into the wall.

  “I thought you said you didn’t take anything that wasn’t yours?”

  “I think technically speaking, the contents of the minibar could be assumed to belong to both people registered to this room—”

  “The tequila wasn’t provided by the resort,” he said, cutting her off. His voice was hard and pointed, and it made her want to shove him in the chest.

  So she did just that.

  He didn’t move.

  “Hey, buster. You need to turn your misplaced outrage toward someone else. Because yeah, I took your tequila, but it was for the bride and it was in her fridge. Easy mistake, and you should cut me some slack.”

  Instead of backing up, he leaned into her palms, setting his own hands on the wall on either side of her.

  Up close, his chiseled face and hard eyes were less menacing than they were from afar. Still impressive. But she didn’t feel any fear from his nearness.

  Nope. Fear was not at all what she was feeling. Heat swirled through her body as he gave her a slow, cold perusal.

  Damn it, if he had this effect on someone who didn’t like him in the middle of a fight, what would it be like to be on the receiving end of one of those glances if he liked you?

  “So you admit you took my tequila,” he finally said.

  Seriously, that was what he cared about? “Well it was that or the champagne and that seemed kind of callous, given that she should have been popping the latter on her wedding night. I don't even drink tequila so you can stop looking at me like I'm a criminal, by the way.”

  "You stole a bottle of tequila. You are a criminal.” But the hard judgement had left his voice. Now he sounded like he was poking her because he could. Because she was in front of him and maybe because he'd had a shitty day, too. Or maybe because she looked like someone he could pick on.