SEAL's Touch: A Dirty Bad Boy Romance (Small Town SEALs Book 3)

by Vivian Wood

  “Fucking hell,” Smith groaned to himself, leaning his head against the back of the leather armchair he was sitting in and closing his eyes, annoyed with himself.

  He and Cameron had just gotten back from Paris that morning. Having wrapped up the remainder of their business there the day after visiting the Louvre, they’d pleasantly parted ways on the tarmac after a relatively uneventful plane ride home, which is how Smith now found himself sulking alone in his study.

  Things between them had been far more cordial after their little talk outside the cafe, and the impromptu kiss that had followed. Smith had been surprised to find that--sexual interactions aside--he rather enjoyed Cameron’s company.

  For her part, Cameron seemed to feel much the same about him. She chatted and joked with him more easily, lightening the pressure and mundanity of their work by simply being there with him. Smith had the distinct impression that somehow, despite their sordid history, they were becoming... well, friends.

  Which was just ridiculous. Smith had friends, and he had women, but never before had those two circles overlapped for him. He was finding the parameters of their new relationship even more frustrating than they had been before. He just really didn’t know what to do about it now.

  Intuitive as she was, Cameron had seen straight through the momentary passion of their kiss on the bridge, to the underlying issues of their work relationship and his father’s inappropriate meddling in Smith’s affairs that were hidden beneath. She’d been the one to back off, not him, and that fact bothered him as much as it made him relieved. This woman was doing things to his resolve to keep his work and private lives separate that Smith didn’t fully understand himself, and it was driving him mad.

  Smith’s eyes snapped open as he was hit with a sudden idea. He stood up, draining the rest of the scotch from the glass as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

  What he needed was a distraction. Something to take his mind off of the redheaded temptress that was disrupting the meticulous order of his life, and he needed it now.

  Smith scrolled through his contacts, selecting his friend Jake’s number as he wandered out of the study and down the hall toward his bedroom so he could change clothes.

  Jake answered on the third ring.

  “Smith! What’s up, man? It’s been a while.”

  Jake was talking loudly, so as to be heard over what sounded like club music in the background, which Smith took as a good sign.

  “I’m looking to have a little fun tonight, mate,” Smith said, sliding on a pair of black boots. “You know where that might be, yeah?”

  “Sure, man. Come on down to Ninth Circle. I just got here, and I gotta say, the place is crawling with hot pussy tonight.”

  “Perfect,” Smith said, going over to the mirror to check his hair. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  Smith got off the phone, turning back to the bed to grab his leather jacket from where he’d tossed it earlier. He slid it on and headed for the elevator doors of his penthouse, prepared to do whatever it took to get Cameron out of his head, if only for a night.

  “I love your accent,”the brunette that was currently sitting on his lap whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his face. “It’s so sexy,” she purred seductively, trailing a long red fingernail down the side of his neck.

  The contact made Smith’s skin crawl, and not in a good way as the woman was probably intending. He reached up, clasping her hand in his, unable to go on letting her touch him, but not quite big enough of an arsehole to just dump her on the floor outright.

  “How about I go get us a couple more drinks?” he murmured, deftly sliding out from beneath her and standing.

  He released her hand, looking down at the nameless woman sitting alone in the booth he’d just vacated. Her eyes were dark and full of carnal promise as she gazed back up at him, her painted lips pursed in a playful pout.

  She nodded, her eyes traveling up and down his body, leaving little to the imagination about what her intentions with him were upon his return.

  “Hurry back,” she said, leaning forward just enough to give him an eyeful of her sizeable cleavage in the slinky black dress she was wearing.

  Smith repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the thinly veiled attempt to bait him, and turned away from her without another word as he made his way toward the bar at the front of the club.

  Smith had been to Ninth Circle countless times before, but this time was different, he admitted to himself. The press of scantily clad bodies on the dance floor and the sounds of drunken conversation over the loud pulsing music didn’t hold their usual appeal. The acrid smells of sweat, sex, and spilled alcohol lingered heavily in the air, making him wrinkle his nose with distaste.

  Had this place always seemed so... desperate? Or was Smith just drunk enough to start feeling profoundly sorry for himself?

  Smith sidled up to the bar, preparing to wave down the bartender for another drink, when his eyes landed on a head of bright red hair standing a few feet down from him.

  Smith felt his heart lurch in his chest with a mixture of surprise and giddy anticipation.

  It can’t be Cameron, can it? I mean, what are the chances…

  He was just about to walk over to investigate for himself, when the woman turned around to face his direction.

  “Sir, what can I get you to drink?”

  Smith was vaguely aware that the bartender was talking to him, but he was too overwhelmed with disappointment at the revelation that the redheaded woman wasn’t Cameron to care.

  Did I want it to be her? Wasn’t the whole point of coming out and getting hammered so that I could forget about her to begin with?

  Christ, what is wrong with me?

  “Sir?”

  “He’ll have a Four Horsemen; make it two of them,” a male voice answered for him. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here. He’s easily distracted by pretty things.”

  An arm came down heavily across his shoulders, forcing Smith to tear his eyes away from the redhead as he turned to face Jake and the unamused bartender. The bartender rolled his eyes and went off to make their drinks as Jake chuckled at his own joke.

  “I never pegged you for the sort to stare wistfully at women from across the bar,” Jake teased as the bartender brought over their drinks, setting them down silently and moving on to serve other patrons. Jake lifted one of the glasses, taking a sip as he eyed the woman he’d caught Smith looking at. “You got a thing for redheads now or something?”

  Smith shook off Jake’s arm, reaching for his own drink. “Fuck off,” he grumbled, taking a large gulp.

  Jake laughed, playfully holding up his hands in surrender. “Easy, man, I was only kidding.” His expression sobered a little as he crossed his arms, leaning against the bar as he hooked an eyebrow at Smith. “What’s got you so pissy? When I left you earlier, you had that hot chick wrapped around you like a fucking python. Did she leave without you or what?”

  Smith shook his head, his eyes studying the grains of the wooden bar. “No, I’ve just got... work shit on my mind.”

  Jake laughed again. “Yeah, I kind of figured as much when you called me out of nowhere. But, you know, a beautiful woman all over me usually does the trick when I’m trying to take my mind off of things.”

  Smith couldn’t very well tell Jake that his “work shit” involved him being obsessed over an employee he had slept with, and that he couldn’t take his damn mind off of her because he kept thinking he saw her face everywhere he went.

  So instead, he just shrugged, knocking back the rest of his drink in one go. “I don’t know, Jake. I think I’m just gonna go back home.”

  “Aw, come on! The night is still young,” Jake protested, clapping his hand on Smith’s shoulder. “There’s still plenty of time to forget whatever’s gotten you so worked up.”

  Smith fished his phone out of his pocket to look at the time. Jake was right, it wasn’t even midnight yet.

  But the more he drank
, the darker of a mood Smith seemed to find himself in. Drunk or sober, thoughts of Cameron kept pulling him under, as if he were some sort of masochist that enjoyed torturing himself with things he couldn’t have.

  And who says you can’t have her? his mind goaded. It’s your own stupid rule. So what if you break it?

  Smith pondered the appeal of that possibility for a moment, idly twirling his empty glass on the bar top as mental images of Cameron’s writhing naked body assaulted him.

  So what, indeed.

  “Hello? Smith?” Jake gave his shoulder a little shake. “Are you even listening to me, man?”

  Smith shook his head, clearing his wayward thoughts. Apparently Jake had been talking to him while he’d silently weighed the pros and cons of fucking his assistant.

  No matter, it was time he got going anyway.

  “Yeah, sure. Listen, mate, I’m gonna go on and head out now,” he said, taking a step back so that Jake’s hand fell from his shoulder. Smith threw down a couple of bills to cover their drinks before turning to leave. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head in response, but Smith was already halfway to the door by that point.

  Smith spilled out of Ninth Circle and onto the street, where other drunken clubgoers loitered, smoking cigarettes or just talking. He got his phone back out, with the intent of calling an Uber driver, before suddenly changing his mind and shoving both hands in the pockets of his jacket as he looked around, thinking.

  Cameron’s flat was only three blocks up and a handful of blocks over from here, if Smith recalled the one time he’d been there correctly. He could easily walk there from here...

  And do what? Knock on her door in the middle of the night, drunk and off company time? Ask her to explain where, exactly, they stood with each other now?

  Or maybe he just needed to know if Cameron thought as much about fucking him again, as he did about her?

  Whatever the reason, Smith found himself crossing the street, headed in her direction.

  Cameron’s flat was located in... well, Smith wouldn’t call it the city’s underbelly necessarily, but it was right well close to that. He hated to think of her walking around here alone at night. It didn’t seem like the safest place for a woman like Cameron to live.

  Any good employer would be concerned about their employee’s safety outside of work, Smith reassured himself, rationalizing his current train of thought. It’s not just because it’s Cameron.

  Smith walked for about fifteen minutes, before stumbling across a somewhat familiar stretch of refurbished warehouses. He recognized the one that was Cameron’s loft only three buildings down from him, and felt himself hesitate as he instantly stopped walking.

  What the hell am I even doing here? Smith thought, suddenly appalled with himself. I can’t do this. This is completely mental, is what this is.

  But still, I’m already here. What’s the harm in just seeing if she’s still awake?

  Smith would never know for certain which side of reasoning would have eventually won out.

  Because, in that moment, a car pulled up to the curb outside her place and parked…

  And then a man got out and walked up to her door.

  Smith quickly hid himself in the shadows outside the halo of the nearest streetlight as he watched, his intrigue quickly morphing into bitter rage as Cameron greeted the unknown man at her door by embracing him.

  Smith turned away before he was forced to witness any more of their exchange. He started walking in the opposite direction, not knowing where he was going anymore, just knowing he needed to get as far from her as possible.

  Smith turned a corner, stopping so that he could lean against the alley wall and regain some sense of composure over himself. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was all he could hear as he closed his eyes, taking a deep calming breath as he resisted the urge to punch the brick wall behind him.

  Cameron had a fucking boyfriend, it seemed. And Smith had been a big enough of a git to not realize it until now.

  Underneath his anger, Smith was surprised by the sheer amount of jealousy--and what’s more, betrayal--that he felt at her little deception. He’d agonized over the morality and nature of his relationship with Cameron for the past two weeks, only to find out now that she wasn’t even single to begin with.

  Even if she’d only hooked up with this guy after he’d first met her at Circle Bar, she’d still flirted with him outside that cafe, still kissed him back when he had kissed her on the bridge.

  Hell, she’d been the one to kiss him first when she’d fallen into his lap on the plane ride to Paris.

  Smith shook his head roughly, pulling his phone out again so that he could call an Uber home, for real this time.

  He was done with whatever game this was that he’d been playing with Cameron over the past couple weeks. So fucking done.

  8

  Cameron closed the door to the filing cabinet and hustled out of the file room, heading around the corner to her desk. She sat down in her chair, considering what she should do next. She turned her chair toward the floor to ceiling window, looking out at the city.

  The sun was just setting. It reminded her of her time in Paris, how twilight was such a magical time there, with the lights just beginning to come on.

  She sighed and turned her back on the sight. There was no use thinking about what might have been.

  Her phone buzzed on the desk next to her computer. She typed in her passcode and read the new text.

  Sources inside Calloway Corp say that any money mismanagement has to come from the top 3 or 4 ppl. Focus on the two Calloways. — E

  Cameron frowned. She knew that The Daily News had multiple sources digging into the company, but she had no idea who those sources were. Nor did she have any idea who might be responsible for the missing money.

  Could it really be Smith or his father? Smith seemed so financially comfortable. Not to mention the fact that he was generally forthright about his issues.

  Spencer Calloway seemed more capable of a guise, yet he had even less reason to do so. If Smith was financially comfortable, Spencer was living the high life.

  Cam erased Erika’s message. She wished she had some answers for her boss. She’d been the recipient of Smith’s cold shoulder all week, which meant all her spare time went to looking into the company’s finances.

  All of her covert research was made a thousand times easier by the fact that the company was running its own audit. Stacks and stacks of binders were piled in the file room, all containing sensitive financial information.

  She’d secretly filched three or four binders at a time, taking them home to study. She had gotten deep enough into the stacks to be reassured that The Daily News was right.

  Someone was definitely doing more than mismanaging funds. Someone was outright stealing, but they were clever enough to cover their tracks. It was frustrating for Cam.

  She drummed her fingertips on her desk, her thoughts shifting to what she should do next. If she found nothing specific in the next two loads of binders, what would she do then?

  She looked up when Smith came out of his office, dressed in a tux for a fundraising event he was going to later. His expression was annoyed, which didn’t bode well for her.

  “Where’s the paperwork for the Paris deal?” he asked.

  “Um… let me see,” she said, standing so she could flip through a stack of papers on the corner of her desk. “These?”

  She handed him a sheaf of papers. He snatched them from her hand and flipped through them.

  “Where’s the rest?” he said, looking up. “This is only half of the paperwork.”

  “What?” she said, digging through the pile on her desk. “Let me see…”

  He thrust the papers at her, disgusted.

  “Maybe if you weren’t so busy with your boyfriend, you’d have the time to actually do your job properly,” he said. “I want those papers on my desk in the morning.”

 
; Her jaw dropped. Boyfriend? What the hell was he talking about?

  Smith turned and went back into his office, slamming the door. She was frozen for a moment, confused as to what he was talking about. She shook her head, aghast.

  Then she straightened her spine, looking toward his closed office door. She didn’t have to just wonder. He was the one who had dragged her supposed personal details into the conversation. She had the right to ask a few questions, didn’t she?

  Cam strode to the door and opened it. He looked up from where he sat at his desk. He wore the same angry expression.

  “I’m about to take a phone call,” he said, gesturing to the phone. “Do you mind?”

  “Actually…” she said, closing the door behind herself. His brows rose. “I want to know why you’re being so aggressive.”

  “I’m not being aggressive.”

  “You are! And you’re bringing up things from my personal life — which, by the way, aren’t even true — to make me angry. I don’t even have a boyfriend. So… what’s the deal?”

  Smith looked even more angry, but he didn’t answer. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, looking Cam up and down.

  “What, you’re just going to sit there? Please don’t tell me that you’re still in a snit about Paris,” she said, her voice rising.

  He stood up and came around his desk, his face twisted with rage.

  “I’m not mad about Paris, I’m mad because I caught your boyfriend coming over last night. You can see how I’d be mad, since I’d been kissing you not two days before that. Not to mention fucking you senseless a few weeks ago,” he said, stalking toward her.

  “I told you I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said, raising her chin and refusing to cower. She did back up, though. Her back hit the wall as he stalked her across the office.

  His arms came up to cage her in against the wall. His body almost touched hers, the barest inch separating them.

  “Really? Who was the man I saw going into your place last night?” he asked.