by Cat Johnson
WED TO A SEAL
Hot SEALs
Cat Johnson
Marry her. It was a crazy idea . . . and the more he thought about it, the better he liked it.
In his career as a Navy SEAL, Rocky Mangiano has been called a Jersey boy, a Yankee, and a few other choice names he shouldn’t repeat in mixed company, but never in his life has anyone called him “Daddy”. If the wrapped bundle of joy he finds on the doorstep is any indication, things are about to change and he has no clue what to do about it.
When the baby’s momma enters the picture things get even crazier, but given the fringe benefits that come along with the complications, Rocky’s not complaining. Not one little bit.
Hot SEALs Series
Night with a SEAL
Saved by a SEAL
SEALed at Midnight
Kissed by a SEAL
Protected by a SEAL
Loved by a SEAL
Tempted by a SEAL
Wed to a SEAL
Romanced by a SEAL
More Hot SEALs coming soon in print, eBook and audiobook! Sign up at catjohnson.net/news for new release alerts.
CHAPTER 1
Which one?
That was the only unknown weighing on Rocky Mangiano’s mind as he swallowed a gulp of beer and perused the choices before him.
After being home for something like a grand total of seven days over the past seven months, which girl to choose to spend a little time with tonight wasn’t a bad dilemma to have.
Rocky was there alone, but that didn’t mean he’d be lonely, thanks to the plethora of ladies employed by the strip club.
His teammates weren’t around, not even the few single ones who he might have persuaded to join him. Since they were finally home from back-to-back assignments—hopefully here to stay for at least a little while—the guys had scattered to see family.
Brody Cassidy was visiting his folks in Alabama, but there were hints that a girl there who was more of a draw than good old Mom and Dad.
James “Mack” MacIntyre had been summoned by his father to . . . somewhere. Rocky wasn’t sure where Mack’s dad lived, not that it mattered. His teammate was busy for the weekend.
His usual drinking buddies’ absence wouldn’t put a damper on Rocky’s evening. He hadn’t come to the club seeking male companionship.
No, sir, he certainly had not. He was here for company of the female variety.
He feasted on the colorful scene before him.
Red. Blue. Purple. Gold. The strippers’ sequined costumes, designed to catch the eyes of the male patrons, reflected the stage lights, sending thousands of shards of reflected light through the air to where they landed and danced on every surface.
Warring with the sequins for attention was the glitter. It coated every inch of the girls’ exposed skin, skin which came in every shade from ivory to bronze to deep cocoa brown.
Sure, it was frigging annoying to go home from the club covered in glitter and cheap perfume. Both seemed nearly impossible to get off his skin and his clothes. But it would be far more annoying to finally get home safely from a mission only to sit in his room all alone.
They’d been through some rough shit this last round. He needed to blow off a little steam. All he needed to figure out was who to do it with.
Focused on the creative gyrations of the girl currently on stage, he took another sip of the beer, happy and content to take his time in this decision.
Was enjoying drinking alone a sign that he had a problem? Nah. He didn’t think so in this instance.
Besides, he was far from alone. Hell, he was surrounded by people—both men and women—and for a change not even one of them was shooting at him.
That in itself was worthy of celebrating with a drink … or two.
Two. That was an idea. Maybe he wouldn’t choose just one girl. He’d been overseas so much this year with no expenses except the small storage unit where his shit lived when he was away that he’d been stockpiling his pay.
He could more than afford a couple of visits to the back for private lap dances tonight.
“Hey there, big guy.” The sultry words, spoken low and close to his ear from behind him, cut through the music being pumped out of the sound system and directly to his gut.
Rocky turned in his seat to get a look at the familiar bleached blonde. He recognized her as one of Brody’s past favorites.
Of course, that was before Brody’s very recent aversion to the strip club, which Rocky suspected was due to the addition of that girl back home in Alabama. Not that his buddy had willingly come right out and admitted that. It was like pulling teeth getting anything personal out of Brody.
Some guys kept things close to the vest. Brody was one of them, but the signs were there. The man who never took leave had done so an awfully lot lately. That, to Rocky, had serious relationship written all over it.
Rocky, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered keeping secrets in his personal life. He had to keep too many secrets from family and friends for work already.
With women he liked to be open about things when he could be, such as feelings and plans for the future . . . or lack thereof.
That’s what he planned to do with this lovely young lady who’d come to seek out his company.
Smiling, he turned more fully to face her. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
“Alone tonight? Where are your usual buddies?” She ran one long, colorfully polished fingernail down his arm.
“Sadly, quite a few of them have fallen.” When her eyes widened in horror, Rocky knew he’d better clarify his statement. “To the love bug, I mean. They’re fine. Don’t worry. Just otherwise engaged.”
This place was located right outside one of the gates of the base. These girls were very much aware that sailors made up probably ninety percent of their clientele. He should have realized she’d jump to the wrong conclusion.
She pressed one hand to the glittery bare skin above her exposed cleavage and blew out a breath. “You scared me. I’m glad to hear they’re okay. And I’m very glad you’re here.”
Her smile looked almost genuine. Hell, maybe it was. After all, if she played her cards right she’d be walking away with a nice tip from him tonight.
That was something to smile about.
Her eyes dropped down his body, skimming over the muscles of his chest beneath the T-shirt he knew was a size too small. Not his fault. It was made of cheap cotton and shrank in the laundry.
Now he was happy it had, if the admiration in her eyes was any indication of how he looked while wearing it. All of those hours of PT were good for more than just chasing down bad guys.
She leaned lower, giving him a nice view as she draped her arms over each of his shoulders. A cloud of perfume engulfed him and he tried not to breathe too deeply for fear he’d choke.
“Wanna go in back?” she asked.
“Sure. Can I finish my beer first?” Rocky hated warm beer.
He’d drink it warm—he had many times abroad—but while home in the good old US of A he was going to enjoy the amenities to the fullest. Ice-cold beer was one of them.
Besides, he was in no rush to hurry the night along. What did he have to do?
Not much besides head back to his bare barracks room. Maybe watch a little television. Have another beer. Go to sleep all alone.
Not a hell of a lot of inspiration to get moving.
She lifted one thin brow as if surprised he hadn’t jumped up and followed her back immediately. “Oh, okay.”
The stripper glanced around, as if deciding if she should waste her time waiting for him, or move on to more promising hunting grounds.
Fine with him either way. Ther
e were plenty of girls to go around, just like there were plenty of patrons—the place was particularly packed tonight for some reason. If Rocky knew what the date was he could maybe figure out why.
It was probably some sort of a holiday weekend but he couldn’t be sure. The months had started to blur together. Over the past half a year he’d been on the terrorist tour of the world—Turkey, Nigeria, Iraq, Syria.
Uncle Sam called and Rocky went, wherever and whenever he was told.
Tonight, for once, no one was telling him what to do and he was going to take full advantage of the freedom. If wanting to finish his beer lost him Blondie’s attention, so be it. There were more fish in the sea. Colorful, glittery ones of all shapes and sizes.
Her eyes flicked to a man at a nearby table before she said to Rocky, “Flag me down when you’re ready.”
“Sure. No problem.” Rocky lifted his beer to her in a toast and watched her go, not all that heartbroken.
Again he glanced around him and took note of the sheer number of men filling the place.
For lack of anything else to be concerned about, curiosity got the best of him. There was one simple way to find out the date. He stood for long enough to get his cell out of the pocket of his jeans.
Sitting again, he hit the button that should have resulted in the phone lighting up and telling him both the date and the time. Nothing happened. It remained dark.
Frowning, he pushed the button again. The cell lit just long enough to show him the dead battery alert.
He sighed, wishing he could just leave the phone dead and enjoy the evening.
He was home. Drinking. Well fed. Single and carefree. Barracks room though it was, he was going to sleep in his own bed, after showering in his own bathroom. His bills were paid and his career was kick-ass.
His life—at least for tonight—was just about perfect except for the fact that as long as he was an active duty SEAL, a text from command could come at any time.
Rocky tracked the progress of one of his favorite girls as she crossed the stage. Jasmine.
He could finish his beer and then grab her for a private dance. Then the evening would be perfect. He smiled at the thought.
Life was good.
Lifting his beer, he downed the last of it and stood. He’d go outside and plug his phone into the charger in the dashboard. He could check for any messages from command. Then he could come back inside and leave the phone charging while he enjoyed some attention from sweet Jasmine for a little while.
Command could wait the twenty minutes or so it would take for him to check the cell again. He was right outside the gate. He could be back on base and in the meeting room in five minutes from here.
Happy with that plan, Rocky stood and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 2
Isabel Alvarez. Single mother. Illegal immigrant. Stripper.
Her bio wasn’t exactly stellar and not at all what she’d planned when she’d left Cuba as a starry eyed girl heading off to university in America.
How had this become her life?
Isabel stared into the mirror in the dressing room of the club, but the dark-haired woman with big brown frightened-looking eyes and tawny skin reflected back didn’t supply any answers.
“You leaving for the night already?” Jasmine reached for a towel and cut her gaze to Isabel.
“I have to. The babysitter can’t stay any later.”
Jasmine nodded. “I hear you. Thank God babysitters make far less an hour than I can earn here or I’d never make ends meet.”
As Isabel hung her costume in her locker, she watched Jasmine swipe on a layer of red lipstick. Even though the woman had worked as long a day shift as Isabel had, she apparently was staying for at least part of the night shift too. “You’re going back out on the floor?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You working a double?” As mentally and physically exhausting as this job could get, Isabel should be working double shifts herself. She needed the money, but she needed her babysitter to be able to work when she did and that wasn’t happening today.
“Nah, I’m not staying all night but I saw one of my best customers out there. It’ll be worth it to stay late for this guy. After being gone for a while, those Navy guys are more than willing to part with their money. SEALs especially. They work hard but let me tell you they play even harder. This one’s not too hard on the eyes either. Definitely won’t be a hardship showing him a little extra attention in the back room.” Jasmine’s red lips tipped up in a smile.
Isabel lifted a brow as she listened to Jasmine’s plan for the evening. “Didn’t you tell me the day I started that if a customer told me he was a SEAL, then he was a liar?”
Since that had been only a couple of months ago, she was sure she remembered the lecture correctly.
Jasmine nodded. “I did and it’s true.”
Confused, Isabel shook her head. “Then why—”
“He never told me what he does. Never told me anything but a nickname and believe me I asked. That right there would have told me he is what I think he is. But besides that, he’s got the SEAL insignia tattooed right there.” Jasmine rubbed her fingers high on the front of her thigh to indicate where this guy’s tattoo was.
“Oh.” Wide-eyed, Isabel didn’t question how her coworker had seen this man’s upper thigh or when. Some things were better unasked.
Though Jasmine’s cash earnings being so high made a lot more sense now.
“All right. I better get back out there before somebody else gets to him first. Have a good night, sweetie. I know I will.” Jasmine winked and turned on one high heel toward the door.
“’Night.” Isabel watched her coworker leave, as her own emotions roiled within her.
She couldn’t do this job. Not if working here meant that men expected her to do more than just dance. What Jasmine was obviously not only willing, but eager to do.
Of course, Isabel was no virgin or a saint. The fact she’d had a baby without the benefit of having a husband proved that. But to give a stranger anything more than the standard lap dance was beyond her.
At least right now it was. If things got any worse in her life who knew what desperate measures she’d resort to. Apparently she didn’t make the best decisions.
Her ex, Tito, and everything that had happened in Miami proved that. And even though Isabel loved her daughter beyond reason and would do anything for her, little Lola’s mere existence was proof of her bad decision making as well.
The whole course of events that led to Isabel being here—in Virginia, in this strip club—proved she needed to keep her head on straight and make better choices.
From now on, she would.
Resolute, she reached for the make-up remover. She had to get back to her apartment, but she wasn’t about to walk in looking like a stripper . . . even if that was exactly what she was.
The babysitter—her neighbor’s thirteen year old daughter Hannah—didn’t know the details about what Isabel did for work and she intended to keep it that way.
It took some time to get all the make-up, not to mention the glitter off. She made do with just making sure her face was not glistening with the telltale stripper adornment.
Her clothes would cover the rest of her skin so Isabel could wait until she got home to shower.
When she was finally presentable, she grabbed her bag and headed out the back door tonight. It meant a longer walk to where she’d parked her car, but she figured it was easier to leave through the back than to work her way across the club packed with customers to go out the front door the way she usually did.
It wasn’t very late at night, but sunset came early this time of year.
She stepped into the darkness and glanced around her. Habit, she supposed. Being on the run tended to make a person extra vigilant.
Though if she were really being careful she shouldn’t be back behind the club where it was pitch black and there was no one who would see her if she needed help.
&n
bsp; Feeling uncomfortable being so alone in the dark, she made a decision. Next shift she’d deal with the crowd and exit through the front where there were plenty of people around. Safety in numbers.
She hustled a little faster through the darkness but breathed easier when she rounded the corner and was greeted by the warm glow of the parking lot lights overhead.
There were a couple of people hovering around the front entrance smoking cigarettes. The engine of a parked car rumbled to life as the headlights flipped on, while a pick-up truck pulled into the entrance and slowed to a stop, obviously waiting to take the car’s space in the crowded lot.
Blowing out a breath, she tried to calm her racing heart, the result of her frightened sprint from the back door to her car.
She’d gotten herself scared for nothing. Even so, she was definitely leaving by the front door from now on. No reason to take any chances.
As she dug in her bag for her key, which she realized should have been out and in her hand before she ever left the building, the owner of the truck was opening the front door of the club. As he held it, the two smokers ground out their cigarettes and followed him in.
She was alone again, but at least it wasn’t dark.
Grateful when she felt the key ring in her purse, she pulled it out.
All this stress couldn’t be good for her health. People had heart attacks even at only twenty-one, didn’t they?
Even if she didn’t fall over from cardiac arrest, her letting herself worry obsessively could probably dry up her milk. Not only would she have to deal with an unhappy three-month old, she’d also have to spend money on formula. Not to mention losing her best asset at the club—her double D-cups brought on by breastfeeding. Any reduction in her tips would be financially devastating.
She was being silly. Again. There’d be no heart attack. No drying up of milk. No getting attacked in the dark not far outside the gates of a US Naval base.
If anything defeated her, it would be her own mind and self-doubt. Isabel realized that. Now she just had to figure out what to do about it.
