SEALed and Delivered

by Monroe, Jill

  Twelve military heroes.

  Twelve indomitable heroines.

  One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

  Don’t miss Harlequin Blaze’s first 12-book continuity series, featuring irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

  Watch for:

  LETTERS FROM HOME by Rhonda Nelson

  (Army Rangers—June 2009)

  THE SOLDIER by Rhonda Nelson

  (Special Forces—July 2009)

  STORM WATCH by Jill Shalvis

  (National Guard—August 2009)

  HER LAST LINE OF DEFENSE by Marie Donovan

  (Green Berets—September 2009)

  RIPPED! by Jennifer LaBrecque

  (Paratrooper—October 2009)

  SEALED AND DELIVERED by Jill Monroe

  (Navy SEALs—November 2009)

  CHRISTMAS MALE by Cara Summers

  (Military Police—December 2009)

  Uniformly Hot!

  The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell .

  Dear Reader,

  I was so very excited to be asked to be part of the UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries, because, quite frankly, what could be sexier than a strong, capable hero’s hero?

  Then I realized that although I had a family friend who was a former SEAL, I didn’t really know much about that part of the military. I began an amazing journey learning not just what it takes to become a SEAL, but also about the career-long training and the commitment these men make. I really stand in awe of these men, but also the women and families that support them along the way. All I can do is say thank you for your sacrifices.

  I had a lot of fun learning about BUDs and SQT and of course downloading pictures of SEALs in action off the Internet—that kind of research could go on for days! I did take a few liberties in the name of fiction, but I hope SEALed and Delivered lives up to the awesome reality.

  I love to hear from readers. You can visit me on the Web at www.jillmonroebooks.com or www.authortalk.tv.

  All my best,

  Jill

  Jill Monroe

  SEALED AND DELIVERED

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jill Monroe makes her home in Oklahoma with her family. When not writing, she spends way too much time on the Internet completing “research” or updating her blog. Even when writing, she’s thinking of ways to avoid cooking.

  Books by Jill Monroe

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  245—SHARE THE DARKNESS

  304—HITTING THE MARK

  362—TALL, DARK AND FILTHY RICH

  378—PRIMAL INSTINCTS

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  1003—NEVER NAUGHTY ENOUGH

  Thanks again to Pink, my amazing daughters and all my family for their support.

  To Gena Showalter—may everyone have a friend as good!

  Thanks to Kassia Krozser, who’s been with me from the beginning—some day I promise to put in a serial comma, and you’ll know that’s for you.

  For technical help, I often turned to HelenKay Dimon and James Miyazawa—thanks so much to the pair of you.

  Alison Kent, Betty Sanders, Donnell Epperson, Sheila Fields, Stephanie Feagan and Wendy Duren all allowed me to bounce an idea off them, and I appreciate it so much.

  Many thanks to both Kathryn Lye and Deidre Knight.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Prologue

  NEW CITY. NEW LIFE. New bookstore.

  Same old, same old, in the self-help section.

  Hailey Sutherland ran her fingers along the familiar titles; most of these books she already owned.

  Maybe the Problem IS Your Sex Life.

  Owned it. And yeah, the problem probably was her sex life, in that she always picked complete jerks to have it with.

  Make Love Happen to You.

  Yeah, as if women hadn’t been trying to make that reality for centuries. Besides, the book was mainly a bunch of self-esteem exercises. She and her self-esteem had come to an understanding some time ago. They loathed one another.

  Becoming the Woman You Are Meant to Be.

  “Come to mama,” Hailey whispered as she pulled this new book from off the high shelf. She thumbed through the glossy pages. Personality quizzes, wish-list management sheets, projection tips…With a sigh, Hailey returned the book to the shelf. She’d done it all before.

  Yet, here she was again in the bookstore looking for the answer. Her cell phone rang just as she was returning the book to the shelf.

  “Hailey, you won’t believe it. I’ve just booked a wedding shower in the Tea Room,” gushed her sister, Rachel. She’d always been the enthusiastic one.

  “I don’t believe it,” Hailey deadpanned.

  “Well, believe it, and I’m going to need you to stop at the paint store on the way back home.”

  “So you finally decided on a color?”

  “Papaya Whip.”

  “Sounds yummy.”

  “I think it’s as close to the original color as we’re going to get,” she said with a heavy sigh. Her sister’s search for the exact same shade that highlighted the Tea Room’s ornate wooden scrollwork since the 1920s had been mercenary. Just like Hailey, Rachel had returned to The Sutherland a few months ago to take away control of their family bed & breakfast from the management company they’d hired after their parents’ death five years ago.

  Management company, what a joke. They’d mainly managed to run the place into obscurity and out of cash. But Hailey and Rachel were determined to change that. The B&B had kept generations of Sutherlands off the streets and employed, and it wasn’t going down on their watch.

  “With only two weeks, it’ll have to do,” her sister continued.

  Hailey almost dropped the phone. “Did you say two weeks? As in, we’re hosting a wedding shower in the Tea Room in two weeks?” Her stomach began to hurt.

  “I had to take the booking,” Rachel defended without sounding defensive. “You know how much we need the cash.” Enthusiastic and practical…that was her baby sis.

  With fewer and fewer reservations, her sister’s now exhausted savings caught them up on the pile of unpaid bills the management company had left them with. Hailey’s “rainy day” was to cover the soon-to-be established marketing plan that would return The Sutherland to San Diego’s preeminent social spot.

  At one point the Tea Room in The Sutherland had been the place for showers and parties in this area of California. It seemed a lot more doable three months ago. “Okay, but two weeks? We’ve never hosted anything like that before.”

  Rachel groaned into the phone. “Come on. You’ve been engaged three times.”

  “True, but all I had to do was show up for those parties.”

  “I’m sure something rubbed off. We can do it, Hailey. Look how easy everything has gone so far. We were both between jobs at the same time so we could come back and take advantage of that nice little loophole that let us drop the management company as if it’s hot.”

  “You’re still doing the song-lyric thing,” Hailey teased. After gradation, Rachel had grabbed her guitar and drove herself to Nashville to try and make it as a songwriter. Song titles often made it into her everyday conversation.

  Rachel ignored her and went on. “It’s as if fate wants us to revitalize The Sutherland.”

  Fate and a lot of hard work.

  “Okay, paint store it is,” Hailey agreed and she closed
her cell phone. She turned on her heel, nearly running into a large cardboard display. Overhead, a flashy red banner hung from the ceiling proclaiming, Don’t Wait On Fate—Jump-Start Your Life Today!

  Fate.

  Strange, her sister had just mentioned the word and here she was almost being attacked by it. The display was talking her language. Jump-start life—sounded like self-help to her. Although what awaited her inside the cardboard display was not a book, but rather a deck of cards. Fate Delivery Cards. Somehow those cards managed to make their way onto the counter and into her bag with a colorful and very detail-oriented book on ceramic tile—the real reason for her trip to the store.

  And since she was in the mood, she’d chalk her purchase up to fate, rather than poor impulse control.

  1

  Two Weeks Later

  NOT EVEN THE SOUND of footsteps echoed in the Naval Special Warfare Center as Lieutenant Commander Nathanial “Nate” Peterson led his trainees through the corridor. Each exercise had grown steadily more dangerous, and even though they’d gone over every aspect in the classroom, actuality always heightened the senses. Made the tension more acute.

  “Where’s the party?” a trainee called laughingly from the back. “I hear you always know.”

  Nate’s shoulders straightened. Strange thing about tension…some soldiers rose to the challenge, some men snapped and some, well, some of them bellowed smartass remarks to their superior.

  “You’re never going to live that reputation down.” Riley laughed quietly beside him. Their steps slowed as they approached the locker area where the men would change into their wetsuits.

  Nate shot a disgusted look at the man he’d known since their BUD/S training class. True, Nate had earned a reputation as a man who liked to play hard but he worked just as hard. Harder, actually. And yes, he always knew where the party was. But there was something all SEALs understood, and that was to keep priorities in order.

  Something that smartass hadn’t yet realized. Some men knew and understood from the beginning when to turn it off and on. Others needed that knowledge worked into their thick heads. Like the Ensign behind him. As it had been for Nate a few years back.

  Nate stopped, and turned to stare at the man who’d called the question, not needing to see the man to know who he was. Harper treaded toward a familiarity he hadn’t yet earned. “Maybe a party isn’t what you should be concerned about, Ensign Harper. Your swim time is slipping.”

  The younger man’s back stiffened, and the other trainees hustled quickly into the locker room.

  “So’s your conditioning,” Nate added. This next minute would be crucial. How Harper handled the criticism would prove to Nate if that man had what it took to earn his Trident. SEALs took evaluation and adapted and made themselves better.

  The Ensign swallowed. “I’ve passed.”

  Eight years ago Nate was this guy, with his BUD/S, Hell Week and Jump School behind him. All that stood in the way between the Ensign and the Trident that turned a man into a SEAL was The Finishing School or the official name—SEAL Qualifications Training, here on Coronado. With the end prize in sight, that was something a man could get cocky about. But that cockiness would be a downfall…no question about it.

  Although surely that had been long gone in Nate by the time he’d hit SQT. Some hardass instructor had ensured it. A man lost his swagger when he was wet, cold and covered in sand. Lost the arrogance, because his life, and that of his Team, depended on professionalism not ego.

  Now it was his turn to make sure these men thought only of focus and discipline, and each other, not themselves.

  Unfortunately.

  “Minimum standards are forty-two pushups in two minutes. You content with the minimum?” Nate asked.

  Something stony and strong-willed flared inside the other man’s eyes. Good. “No sir,” he answered, with nothing but determination in his voice.

  No sir was right. Harper might just be the best man to come out of this class.

  “Suit up,” Nate ordered and turned, not waiting for a response. Their next drill was in an hour.

  Once the candidates were out of earshot, Riley glanced at him. “How do you keep a straight face during that?”

  Nate let his guard down a little and smiled. “By counting the hours until I’m out of here,” Nate told him as they continued down the hall, just the two of them. “Besides, if I’m not on the Teams, I’m damn well going to make sure my replacement can do the job.”

  “Still doing the physical therapy?” Riley asked.

  Nate shrugged. Three months ago, he’d been injured while rescuing a pirated freighter with rigged explosives. Now another man had his spot on his Team. While Nate was teaching. The muscles of his right leg cramped, and he breathed through his nose. Control.

  But as soon as he was healthy, goodbye settling for being an instructor, goodbye Coronado Island, goodbye San Diego.

  “If it’s any consolation, I’ve heard good things about the training you’re providing. I guarantee your fresh-off-deployment perspective will save a life.”

  He knew what Riley was trying to do, and appreciated the effort but men didn’t join the SEALs for a pat on the back. Most of the stuff he and his fellow SEALs had done was so covert the files wouldn’t be opened until he was long gone. Little would ever make the history books.

  But Nate’s friend did point out a reality. In another year, these men might be beside him down range. Most of these men he’d be happy to serve next to as SEALs…but they weren’t there yet. He might not like instructing, but he’d make damn sure the new guys wouldn’t hold a Team back. They’d be ready on day one. “So is there a party?” Riley asked hopefully.

  “After this exercise, I’m on my way to pick up the beer,” he said, with a wink.

  “Hoo yah.”

  “WHOO HOO! NAKED!”

  The echoes of laughter flowed from the newly-repainted Tea Room into the modernized kitchen. Hailey glanced at her sister Rachel and smiled. “Those are the sounds of a good party.”

  “I have to hand it to you, Hailey. You did a great job with this wedding shower.”

  “As you’ve pointed out, I’ve had three. Glad something useful came out of those relationships.” With a flourish, Hailey topped the last of the mousse with chocolate shavings. “Of course you can’t really go wrong with chocolate and champagne.”

  “Or naked beefcake.”

  “I don’t think The Sutherland is quite ready for that.” Hailey lifted the tray and scooted backwards, pushing the door out into the Tea Room with her backside.

  “The chocolate’s here!” called Amy Bradford, the bride to be. Although they’d been friends since school, they’d lost track of each other. Reuniting with old pals was another positive she could attribute to returning home.

  “Wait,” said a redhead, who Hailey had learned was the maid of honor. “The girls and I chipped in and bought you something to wear on your wedding night.” The other guests met this announcement with everything from giggles to a few oohhs. In a flourish, she presented to the bride a large paper-wrapped box tied with a bright yellow bow.

  “Five bucks says that box is empty,” Rachel whispered.

  Hailey glanced at the dozen or so women. Despite their pastel sundresses, these ladies looked like they were up for a little mischief. Hailey shook her head. “Not taking that bet.”

  Careful not to rip the ribbon, the bride did indeed open an empty box to the laughter of the group. With the last present now revealed, Hailey and her sister moved forward to serve the desserts. The rest of the guests made room on the table for the treat their little B&B had always been known for in decades past.

  Amy glanced up toward Hailey. “I can’t tell you how excited I am that you have reopened The Sutherland. When I was seven and a flower girl, my aunt had her shower here.”

  “Amy’s had her heart set on this place ever since,” the maid of honor added. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I found out you just happened to have a f
ree weekend.”

  The two sisters looked at one another. Yeah, they had plenty of free weekends. But it was nice to keep up the illusion of exclusivity.

  “It was fate,” Amy said with the kind of beaming smile only a woman about to be married could get away with.

  Had Hailey ever worn such an expression at any of her wedding showers? She doubted it.

  “And the Tea Room looks just as beautiful as I remember,” Amy continued.

  “Tell your friends,” Hailey encouraged, ever the businesswoman, and ready to tear her thoughts away from her failed engagements.

  After serving the ladies, and refreshing their tea, Hailey and Rachel began to discreetly clear away the wrapping paper. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Rachel said quietly. This was the first real test of their hosting skills. While The Sutherland had been in their family for generations, and they’d performed their fair share of serving, their mother had always been the hostess.

  Just to make sure the place shined, the last coat of paint to the Tea Room had gone up sometime around two that morning. Now looking around the beautiful banquet hall, Hailey experienced a swell of pride to see her home restored to as close as the sisters could remember it. The cypress wainscoting she was never allowed to touch gleamed. Prisms of light reflected around the room from the newly washed crystals hanging from the chandelier. The cornice molding gleamed with its new coat of papaya whip.

  She just hoped no one looked under the crisp linens because the tables were a disaster. The management team apparently held an aversion to coasters. After hearing the delight of their new guests, the memory of all their hard work faded away. Grandpa Sutherland would be proud.

  “This dessert is to die for,” one of the ladies exclaimed.

  Hailey winked at her sister.