by Seton, Cora
About the Author
A USA Today bestselling author, Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a BA in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer and actively began pursuing that dream when she was a teenager. She loves strong heroines and sexy alpha heroes, and just enough heat and danger to keep things interesting!
Elle loves to hear from her readers. Visit her website www.ellekennedy.com or sign up for her newsletter to receive updates about upcoming books and exclusive excerpts. You can also find her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter (@ElleKennedy).
Chapter One
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“You know what they say, dude—bigger is better.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Cash McCoy tipped his head in contemplation as he studied the display case. “But I also hear people say that small and subtle goes a long way.”
“Name three people who have ever said that to you,” Dylan Wade shot back, then hurried on before Cash could open his mouth. “Nobody says that. Seriously, when was the last time a chick looked at a ten-inch cock and thought, ‘Gee, I wish this was a four-incher’.”
“Ahem!”
The loud interjection came from the stodgy older gentleman behind the counter. With his perfectly groomed white hair and crisp gray suit, the owner of the store exuded a Downton Abbey-esque elegance. Not to mention visible disapproval as he stared at the two T-shirt-clad men in his stuffy shop.
Wonderful. Now they had no shot in hell of snagging any sort of deal from the guy.
Cash glared at Dylan, silently reprimanding him for tossing out the c-word in front of a man who clearly hadn’t had sex since the 1800s. Or if he had, it’d been in a shroud of darkness and underneath five blankets. The dude was throwing off some serious conservative vibes.
“Excuse us,” Cash said hastily.
He practically dragged his best friend and teammate toward the other side of the store, where he fixed him with a stern look. “Don’t screw this up for me.”
“Me?” Dylan’s green eyes shone with innocence.
Which was total bullshit, because the blond-haired SEAL was the furthest thing from innocent. Dylan was in a committed threesome relationship, for fuck’s sake.
Not that Cash was judging or anything. He wholly approved of both of Dylan’s partners—Aidan Rhodes was a stand-up guy, and Claire McKinley was a goddess. In fact, Claire was currently distracting Cash’s girlfriend with a coffee date while he and his friends carried out this covert op.
An engagement ring.
Christ, he’d never thought he’d see the day. Up until three years ago, he’d been perfectly content with his bachelor lifestyle. Brief flings and casual affairs had been his MO, but then he’d met Jen Scott, and all that had changed.
He loved the woman. So damn much that sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat after dreaming that he’d lost her. Holy hell, he wouldn’t survive without her. The woman was like a brilliant explosion of sunlight. Smart and funny and beautiful and compassionate. And so damn open. Her sincerity and honesty had definitely rubbed off on him. He’d always been gruff and awkward when it came to talking about his emotions, but he’d learned how to open up during his time with Jen.
She made his life better. She made him better.
“Your wisecracks are making Peter nervous,” Cash accused.
“Peter the Prude can survive hearing the word cock. Might do him some good.” Dylan crossed his arms. “And you’re screwing this up for yourself. Women like having big rocks on their fingers. It’s a fact. Like gravity.”
“She bawled her eyes out when we watched Blood Diamond,” he protested. “A big diamond might freak her out. What if she thinks child soldiers died for it?”
“For fuck’s sake, that’s why you researched this stupid place. Our man Peter already told you all the rings come with a certificate that says it’s not a conflict diamond. And it’s not like you can’t afford a big shiny rock. Your millionaire parents are fronting half the cost.” Dylan raised his eyebrows in challenge. “So go big or go home.”
His friend did have a point, though Cash still felt guilty about accepting money from his folks. They’d won a major lottery jackpot when Cash’s mother was pregnant with him, and they’d invested the money wisely over the years. When he’d told his parents about his plans to propose to Jen, his dad had insisted on paying for the ring, but Cash had resisted. He wasn’t too proud to accept money from his folks—they’d paid his way through college, after all—but Jen was his girl, and he was damn well going to pay for her engagement ring.
But his dad hadn’t taken no for an answer, and in the end, Cash had conceded to letting his folks pay for half. Which meant his budget was kinda huge.
And Jen’s finger would look nice with a big sparkling diamond on it…
“Fine,” he relented. “We’ll go big.”
“Thank you.” Dylan dragged him to one of the glass cases and pointed to a ring. “How about that one?”
Cash furrowed his brow. “It’s got a weird shape.”
“It’s a marquise cut, dumbass. And look at the clarity—nearly flawless. Plus the white-gold band? Seriously classy.”
“I’m scared to ask why you know so much about engagement rings.”
Dylan heaved out a sigh. “Claire likes those shitty wedding reality shows, and she forces me and Aidan to watch them with her. There’s this one called Ring My Bell—dude, you should see some of these chicks. They drag their boyfriends to a million jewelry stores and throw honest-to-God tantrums when they can’t find something that fits their budget. They’re cuckoo-fucking-crazy. Seriously. And their poor fiancés are clueless.”
Before Cash could comment on Dylan’s surprising amount of passion toward Ring My Bell, their teammate Seth Masterson strode into the shop, a deep scowl on his rugged face.
“The parking situation out there is bonkers!” Seth stared accusingly at the man behind the counter. “You know there’s a huge gravel plot right behind this store, right? Ever thought about turning it into a parking lot?”
Peter responded with a scowl of his own, and a tightly voiced, “No.”
“But it makes so much more sense than forcing your customers to park on the street,” Seth insisted. “All that empty space back there is a waste.”
Cash stifled a groan when he noticed the growing irritation in Peter’s eyes. “Don’t mind him,” he called to the storeowner. “He thinks he’s a city planner.”
“I should be a city planner,” Seth shot back. “I’d be amazing at it. I’ve got a really good sense of space.”
“More like a good sense of stupid,” Dylan cracked.
Seth flipped him the bird.
“Seriously, just stick to what you’re good at,” Dylan said helpfully. “Being an asshole.”
Cash grinned when Seth didn’t bother denying the charge. Masterson was the resident bad boy of their group, the pain in the ass who never knew when to keep his mouth shut. And although Seth was now happily married with two kids, marriage and fatherhood hadn’t smoothed out his rough edges. He was still the same smartass he’d always been.
Cash wouldn’t last a day without him, though. Or any of his friends, for that matter. They were more than teammates who watched each other’s backs on ops—they were brothers, damn it, and he wouldn’t have chosen anybody else to accompany him today.
“Shit,” he blurted as a thought suddenly occurred to him. His throat promptly closed up. “What if she says no?”
His friends burst out laughing.
“I’m serious,” he muttered. “We’re acting like yes is a given, but what if Jen doesn’t want to marry me?”
Dylan’s tone softened. “Of course she wants to marry you. Dude, that woman adores you.”
Yeah, she did. Of course she did. They were already living together, for fuck’s sake. If Jen hadn’t wanted a serious commitment from him, she wouldn’t have signed her name on that lease.
If it were up to Cash, he would’ve proposed to her a long time ago, but he’d forced himself to wait. To give Jen time to focus on her career and explore her passion. She was finally making a name for herself as a photographer, frequently featured in prominent magazines and going on assignment every few weeks. She’d worked hard to get to that place, but now that she was finding success, Cash was ready to take their relationship to the next level.
The forever one.
“Okay, how about this?” He gestured to a two-karat round diamond affixed on a simple silver band.
“Too plain,” Dylan said immediately.
He pointed to the ring beside it.
“Too flashy,” Seth piped up.
To Cash’s aggravation, that was how the next five minutes progressed. Every time he suggested a ring, his friends shot him down like a sniper.
“Too boring.”
“Too tacky.”
“Too pink—you don’t want a pink diamond, bro. That’s what Ben Affleck got J-Lo, and we all know how that turned out.”
“Do we?” Seth said blankly. “Because I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“It was all over the news!” Dylan exclaimed.
Seth narrowed his eyes. “Recently?”
“Well, uh, maybe like ten years ago, but it was still news.”
“Ten years ago? Jesus. And dude, you pay way too much attention to celebrity gossip.”
“I can’t help it. Claire makes me watch TMZ.”
“I’m starting to think ‘Claire’—” Seth air-quoted her name, “—is your cover for being a total pussy.”
“Guys. Seriously.” Cash raked both hands through his hair, beyond frustrated. “You aren’t helping at all. All you’re doing is bickering and shooting down my suggestions.”
Dylan and Seth were suddenly best buds again.
“Then make better suggestions,” Seth retorted.
“Yeah, then we wouldn’t have to tell you how stupid they are,” Dylan chimed in.
“Ahem.”
Peter made another appearance, and this time Cash was grateful for the interruption. Although the older man was frowning, Cash noted the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.
“Maybe I can be of assistance?” he prompted.
“At this point, any assistance is better than what these two are giving me,” Cash muttered.
The man crossed his arms. “Do you love this woman?”
Seth snorted. “No, he’s proposing to her because he hates her.”
The wisecrack went unacknowledged as Peter continued to study Cash’s face.
“Of course I do,” he answered gruffly.
“Good. Now, if you could describe your lady in one word, what would it be?”
That summoned another snort from Seth, but Cash ignored his friend and thought it over. Pictured Jen’s heart-stoppingly beautiful face, her big blue eyes and long golden hair. Her awe-inspiring energy. The way she babbled like a third-grader when she was excited. The brilliant smile she gave him every time he entered the room.
He swallowed, then cleared his throat to dislodge the emotion clogging his windpipe.
“Sunshine,” he finally said. “She’s sunshine.”
To his surprise, neither of his friends made a smartass remark.
And Peter broke out in a broad smile. “I know just the one.”
*
Jen Scott sipped her jasmine tea and watched her friend over the rim of her mug as she waited for a response to her big news. Or at least she considered it big news. Her editor had called her that morning offering her the assignment of a lifetime, but from the uneasy way Claire McKinley was drumming her fingernails on the table, you’d think Jen had been asked to assassinate the president.
“Well?” she demanded, her impatience spilling over.
Claire tucked a strand of reddish-brown hair behind her ear. “Honestly? It sounds dangerous.”
“Well, yeah. There are some risks,” Jen admitted. “But I’ll have a marine escort, not to mention an entire local military unit looking out for me. My editor says they’ll take every precaution to keep me safe.”
Her friend’s brown eyes flickered with doubt—which she was quick to voice. “Forgive me if I don’t place too much trust in the local military. There’s a reason we’re sending our marines down there—it’s because the locals aren’t equipped to deal with the violence.” Claire wrapped both hands around her coffee cup. “Honduras isn’t safe these days, hon. There’ve been two major abductions there in the past six months, and I saw on the news that some towns are completely overrun by gangs. Criminals take over entire city blocks. And don’t get me started on the drug cartels.”
“I won’t be encountering any drug cartels,” Jen protested. “The story is about poverty, and it’s not like I’ll be interviewing people. I’m just there to take pictures. Rick’s sending me to a village south of La Ceiba, and then a small town west of that. Nowhere else.”
Claire shook her head, visibly concerned. “It’s not safe,” she repeated. “Not for the locals, not for Americans, and especially not an American who looks like you.”
A spark of anger lit her belly. She wanted to ask what her appearance had to do with it, but she already knew the answer to that. Her looks had always been a thorn in her professional life, the main reason why so many people didn’t take her seriously. They got one glimpse at her blond hair and blue eyes and pretty face, and assumed she was an airhead. Or worse, a weak little blonde who couldn’t take care of herself. She’d encountered plenty of judgy, condescending people during her assignments, but fortunately her photographs spoke for themselves. She was good at what she did, and her editor was finally giving her a shot to prove it. A real shot.
In the three years she’d been freelancing for Today’s World, an award-winning magazine that covered global issues and current events, her jobs had focused on US politics rather than overseas conflicts. This Honduras assignment was the first one that could actually garner national attention for her, a photo essay she could actually sink her teeth into compared to snapping pictures of senators or political events.
“What does Cash think about it?” Claire asked carefully.
Jen sighed. “I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to run it by you first.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re smart and levelheaded, and you also know that some things are worth the risk.”
Claire’s unorthodox relationship was proof of that. Jen knew her friend had taken a big risk when she’d gotten involved with two men. Her family had nearly disowned her, she’d lost her cushy high-paying job, she’d dealt with whispers and nasty comments from people who didn’t understand her choices. But Claire had loved Dylan and Aidan enough to face the unwelcome consequences.
With a sigh of her own, Claire picked up her cup and took a hasty sip. “Fine, I’ll give you that. But shacking up with two men is not exactly on the same danger level as putting yourself in the line of fire. And by the way, quit selling yourself short. You’re smart, too, Jen. And just as levelheaded.”
“Tell that to my brother,” she grumbled. “He still treats me like a child.”
“Carson is overprotective because he loves you. But he knows you can take care of yourself.” Claire paused. “Look, if you honestly think this assignment is worth the risks, then my advice is to go with your gut.”
Jen went quiet as she went over the details Rick had given her. It was a two-day job, one village per day, and she’d be riding along with a relief foundation that was making supply runs to local medical clinics and food banks. Yes, both areas were overrun with gangs—maras, as the locals called them. And yes, the entire country was in a battle with the drug cartels that were running rampant in Central America. But the villages she’d been assigned weren’t heavily involved in the violence, or the recent abductions Claire had mentioned. The people there were poor and starving—which was the main focus of the magazine piece.
“I want to do this
,” she admitted. “I think it’s important to show the rest of the world what’s happening down there. The lack of food and water, awful sanitary conditions, extreme poverty. There’s malnutrition and poor housing infrastructure, and there’s no money coming in. A lot of the aid foundations are staying away because of the escalating violence. This article will raise awareness. Maybe it’ll even convince some of the relief organizations to offer their help.”
“It’s an important issue, I totally agree about that. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Claire scowled. “If you go, you need to make sure those jarheads don’t take their eyes off you.”
Jen grinned. “Jarheads, huh? I see Dylan has succeeded in brainwashing you.”
“Ha, like Cash doesn’t try to do the same thing.”
“Trust me, I was brainwashed a long time ago.” Jen’s father was a retired navy admiral and her brother was a SEAL lieutenant, which meant she’d witnessed their good-natured rivalry with the “jarheads” long before Cash had entered her life.
Claire laughed. “Yeah, well, my frogman went on a rant last night. A couple of marines caused some trouble when we were at the bar with Jackson and Mia. One of them hit on Mia, really getting in her face, and you know how possessive Jackson is about her—he almost started a bar fight, for Pete’s sake. Dylan stepped in and talked him down, but then the marines started talking trash, so we left, and Dylan spent the rest of the night ranting and raving about how terrible those evil jarheads are. And Mia called me this morning and said Jackson was complaining all night that she wouldn’t let him ‘defend her honor’.”
Jen had to snicker. Claire was right—Jackson Ramsey was insanely protective of his girlfriend. It must have taken some serious willpower on his part not to slug the soldier who’d been bothering Mia.
