Hemingway (SEAL Team Alpha Book 11)

by Zoe Dawson

  The club was upscale, open and airy inside, with a long silver bar. Several people milled around, talking and drinking, and some were at the small tables and sofas scattered around the room. A DJ was playing music. Hemingway sat down at one of the available stools and ordered a beer.

  The night moved on, and he texted his sister and dad that he had arrived safely. There were several women in the bar, but he didn’t give them a second glance. He was here for one purpose—get through training.

  He’d been truthful back in Brazil when he’d told Dodger that he had never been in love. He’d had plenty of sex with girls in his high school, in college where he’d ducked relationships, realizing they would only get in his way. Staying unattached was just part of the mission to become a SEAL.

  Something…a sixth sense, a gust of air over his skin that caused goosebumps…washed over him, and he looked toward the door just as Luke Evan’s rendition of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” sounded over the speakers. He turned his head and his brain stopped, his chest suspended, and everything went unfocused.

  He knew this was crazy.

  He tilted his head to the side, looking through the crowd at the woman moving through the door and into the club.

  The sheer jacket she wore did nothing to hide the mesh cutouts of the little black dress that hugged her curves, the see-through panels just below her breasts and along the racy hem revealed her toned skin, giving her a badass vibe like she was surveying the bar for danger lurking amongst the laughing patrons. Her cool, collected, smoky black eyes were almond-shaped, but instead of softening her features, they were more fixed than a hawk’s. Determination gleamed in those midnight eyes, and his body warmed with lust he couldn’t fight, an unwanted attraction that made everything complicated—unless there was nothing between them except heat and flesh and pleasure. That was all he could afford tonight. Her skin was as tanned as a surfer’s, her hair, just as inky dark as her eyes, pulled back into a severe ponytail that hung over her shoulder, falling just over her firm breasts.

  On her feet were a pair of knee-high, black stiletto boots, making him smile. Badass but girly. She turned sideways to let someone pass and the black material covered the most incredible ass he’d ever seen, her legs heartbreaking. The racerback style curled around her neck, her back not only exposed by the mesh, but also by a deep cutout plunging down to her lower back. He loved the way she wore each article of clothing. Definitely not delicate, but fit, compact and solid.

  He downed the rest of his beer and without taking his eyes off her, he motioned to the bartender for another.

  As Luke went into the chorus, Hemingway’s heart contracted. He hadn’t seen anyone like her in his twenty-two years, not anywhere, and he’d seen a lot of women. He finally understood the meaning of bombshell.

  With several long-legged strides done with an enormous sense of grace and efficiency, she made it to the only open stool at the bar. Next to him.

  She slid onto the leather with that spectacular ass and motioned the bartender, who delivered his second beer to him.

  God help him, he steeled his heart against the sound of her voice. If her voice in any way matched the smoky fire in her eyes, he was doomed.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Whiskey, neat.”

  He felt bowled over with those two words.

  She turned her head and looked at him, her brows raised. He had been unabashedly staring at her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. She hadn’t missed a moment of his attention with those hawk eyes of hers.

  “I’d correct you on your manners if your eyes weren’t so damn blue. Didn’t your mom tell you that staring was rude?”

  “Or a compliment,” he said, his voice coming out raspy.

  She gave him a small, very aware smile. “Nice and simple answer. You a master at picking up women in clubs?”

  “I’m just a guy having a drink.”

  “From my experience, boys are always trouble,” she said, nothing but confidence in her voice. She leaned over so that her delicious scent bound him to her without touch. “You look like you were made of trouble.” The instantaneous sparks between them sizzled with awareness as tangible as the world around him. Luke’s voice crooned out the lyrics to the song, filling the bar with the wonder in his besotted voice, with the same feverish heat and undeniable hunger this woman had generated. Hemingway took a long drink of the cold brew, which did nothing to extinguish the fire that had started in his chest and was gradually spiraling its way lower.

  “Not frogs, snails and puppy dog tails?”

  That made her laugh softly, wrecking him even more.

  “Well, since you’re just having a drink…” She rose and found someone willing to dance with her, a jock who looked like he’d just gone to heaven. He watched them, noticed how the guy started to get handsy with her, and before he could stop the emotion, his temper flared. He rose from the stool and was over there in a heartbeat, taking the guy’s shoulder and spinning him away.

  “The lady’s with me,” Hemingway said, low and menacing. The guy turned and started to puff up, then he took a good look at Hemingway’s face. He immediately backed up, threw up his hands and mumbled a quick sorry.

  Before he could head back to his bar stool, the woman slipped her arms around his neck, ensnaring him with her sultry, disarming gaze.

  “Definitely not frogs, snails and puppy dog tails,” she whispered, swaying closer and aligning their bodies even more intimately than she’d been with the other chump. His body responded to the warmth and softness of her supple curves, hardening him in a scalding rush of need. “More like thick muscle, grim determination, and lots of heart.”

  He snorted. Right now, his blood was hot, and he was hard as fuck. Heart had nothing to do with saving her for himself. It was pure selfish greed.

  He tried to take a breath, tried to get back his calm, but the lust overruled his common sense. He was about to embark on his training…that meant he would be away from women for a long time. Maybe tonight was his lucky night. He could slake his desire and get this out of his system.

  He wanted to ask for her name and number but resisted. He didn’t want to have anything weighing on his mind when he went to training except training.

  But wanting her now was undeniable.

  “I need some air,” he growled and separated from her, heading for the door and into the street.

  The fall air felt good on his face, a fresh breeze off the ocean.

  Suddenly, she was there, grabbing his jacket and dragging him into the alley. “I didn’t come here looking for this, but…” she said, her voice annoyed as if he was as unexpected to her as she was to him.

  Before he could respond, she captured his mouth with hers. Her lips parted, and she sucked in a quick, startled breath, as he shoved his fingers into her hair and held her head immobile in his hands, returning her searing, tongue-tangling kiss.

  He poured everything into the hot, ruthless kiss—aggression, dominance, and the desperate need to purge her from his mind, his entire system.

  Fire pooled in his belly and lower, his sudden anger mingling with an undeniable need to possess her in every way imaginable. She didn’t resist him as he continued to consume her mouth the same way he wanted to ravish her body, with his lips, teeth, and tongue, and the craving for her grew stronger, a ravenous heat and hunger that slipped his restraint.

  Her voice was hushed. “Do you have a room?”

  That was all she had to say. He was already moving, taking her at a fast pace to his hotel. Once inside, he slammed the door, turning to her, but she was already on him.

  She pushed him to the bed, clothes flying in every direction, the feverish intensity between them was sizzling hot.

  This was going into the danger zone too fast, and he fumbled for his wallet, getting out the condoms inside, spilling from his fingers. He managed to clasp one as she pulled down his briefs and covered his dick with her hand in a stroking grip that almost ma
de him come.

  “Let go,” he said, grabbing her wrist, and when she pulled free, he sheathed himself, the frenzy in his chest not letting go for one moment.

  Then he found her mouth, covering her lips in a hot, deep kiss, and she opened to him, her mouth moving against his with an urgent hunger. It was too much, and not nearly enough.

  Hemingway lifted her higher and caught her behind the knee, dragging her leg around his hip. With one twisting motion, his hard dick was flush against her. Grasping that amazing bare ass, dragging her legs around him, backing her against the wall, he clenched his eyes shut and thrust into her, unable to hold back one second longer. The feel of her, tight and wet, closing around him drove the air right out of him, the sensation so intense he couldn’t move.

  The beauty sobbed out incoherently and locked her legs around him, her movements urging him on, and Hemingway crushed her against him, white hot desire rolling over him. Angling his arm across her back, he drove into her again and again, pressure building and building. A low guttural sound ripped from him, and his release came in a blinding rush that went on and on, so powerful he felt as if he were being turned inside out. He wanted to let it roll over him, to take him under, but he forced himself to keep moving in her, feeling she was on the very edge. He moved his hand, found her core with his thumb and stroked her with a coaxing pressure. She cried out and clutched at his back, then went rigid in his arms, and she finally convulsed around him, the gripping spasms wringing him dry.

  Together they fell on the bed, breaths harsh and fast.

  He knew this beautiful battle maiden was more than sugar and spice and everything nice. If he gave her half a chance, she would rock his world—hard.

  He already had a tough mental and physical road ahead of him. He didn’t need to add anything to this volatile mix.

  But because of her, he understood the word…irresistible.

  2

  EverAfter Boutique, San Diego, California

  “Damn, Gina! Stop sticking me,” Maximillian “Mad Max” Keegan growled.

  “Stand still,” she groused, but Max hadn’t moved a muscle. How could he, draped in so much tulle, lace—material—wearing a plus size wedding gown while his sister altered it for her client? She was in a major hurry as this was a rush job. He’d never been able to say no to any of his five sisters. Even in very embarrassing circumstances, like having two of his teammates with him when he’d gotten the 9-1-1 call.

  He looked down at her with annoyance and followed her gaze right to his teammate, Neo “2-Stroke” Teller. He was sitting in one of her flimsy chairs, looking all James Dean, dressed head to toe in black leather, the buckles of his knee-high boots glinting in the light.

  “If you watched what you were doing instead of ogling, you wouldn’t be using me as a pin cushion.”

  2-Stroke leaned back and stretched, giving her a lopsided boyish smile.

  She stuck Max again.

  “Gina!”

  Her head snapped up, her face flushing, her guilty look more belligerent than apologetic. Gina was the oldest of them and married with two children. She loved her husband, but he worked in an office and 2-Stroke was a muscled, motorcycle momma’s wet dream.

  Oliver “Dodger” Graham came into the room. He’d been gone for about fifteen minutes and none of them had a clue where he’d disappeared to.

  “Whoa, mate. I would go with the veil there. Complete face coverage.” He pantomimed his hand over his face as 2-Stroke laughed softly, and Gina stuck Max again. Dodger handed her a box.

  Max sighed heavily.

  “I don’t know, Dodge. I think he looks pretty. Fills out that dress in all the right places,” 2-Stroke said with an eyebrow wag.

  “Shows what you knuckleheads know. This is a gown.”

  His sister laughed, then gasped. “Oh, my God.”

  Max turned to his sister who was looking inside the box, an awestruck expression on her face.

  “W-w-where did you get this, Oliver?”

  “Better not to ask,” 2-Stroke said, rolling his eyes.

  Dodger just grinned. “It’s what you needed, right?”

  “I’ve looked everywhere for this particular Irish lace to repair my mom’s gown for my sister Rhonda to wear at her wedding.” She set the box down. “I’ve got to call her.” She stopped and hugged Dodger hard. “Thank you!”

  “Gina…” Max called after her with a little desperation. But she disappeared into the shop, and he was still stuck in miles of wedding gown. He looked at Dodger with narrowed eyes.

  “That could take a long time, mate. She probably has to call your mum, too.” Looking smug, he leaned on 2-Stroke, giving Max a thorough inspection, he frowned. “But I think 2-Stroke is right. You have never looked lovelier.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  2-Stroke tilted his head. “Especially in this soft light. I think flowers in the hair would be…captivating.”

  “You shut the fuck up, too. This is your fault.”

  “How is it my fault? Dodger was the one who gave her the lace. I haven’t done a thing.”

  “No? You’re sitting there looking all rebel without a cause. She’s been distracted.”

  “Hey, don’t hate on the beautiful people,” Dodger said, giving 2-Stroke a sidelong glance.

  Their phones went off, and Max growled. “Get me out of this.”

  Dodger snapped a picture before running over and unzipping him. They piled into the car and headed to base with a quick stop to pick up Max’s working military dog, Juggernaut or Jugs for short. Jughead when he was being a butt.

  Once in the ready room, they said a quick hello to the other members of their team who had already arrived. Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon, their LT, was in a heated discussion with their CO, and as he and his teammates took their seats, it ended.

  Their CO, Lieutenant Sanborn, came to the front of the room and said, “It’s come to our attention that there is another contingent of New World Order somewhere in the Pine Creek Wilderness that was concealed by the members of the NWO we nabbed a month ago. This time there is a rumor that BUD/S candidates are being targeted during training. There is no substantiation to these rumors yet, but there has been a response to the threat to our recruits. Due to this threat and your track record with these terrorists, the president has authorized you to handle this mission.”

  Mad Max sat up straighter. They had a kid in that training group. Hemingway.

  “We have intel that a second, more secret base has been found by NCIS agent Makayla Ballentine and her team after some major digging. She has requested you be brought in for backup to finish the job we all started with Moonbeam Horizon. We’ll helicopter into the area and rendezvous with NCIS, who are already on the ground. Get tacked up. We’re in the air in twenty.”

  Inside the cages, their phones all beeped again, but this time there was nothing but laughter.

  “You make a beautiful blushing bride, Max,” Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine said with a grin.

  “Whoa,” Zach “Saint” Bartholomew said, “This gives a whole new meaning to the word, Bridezilla.”

  “Who is the groom? King Kong?” Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon asked with a chuckling huff.

  Everyone joined in with the amusement, and Max narrowed his eyes at Dodger. “Laugh it up, ladies, but you’re all going to be bridesmaids.”

  That made everyone snicker harder, and as Max tied up his boots, he thought about how this team had at least halted the fracture between them all—the new guys versus the current guys, the walking on eggshells, the sharing of personal information. He had seriously thought about asking for a transfer out of the team, not because he wasn’t willing to dig in and work with these guys, but because there was a big rift hanging over them. It was hard to get back to trust when one member had died, and the others had bailed instead of dealing with the fallout. Tactically they were solid, but there was still that undercurrent of uneasiness.

  Max wasn’t a quitter, and that more than anyt
hing had kept him hanging on. He was pretty much a no-limits man, thinking that the teammates he worked with now, including Jugs, were all no-limit guys. The Malinois sat next to him, panting. He knew they were spinning up for a mission and that always got their adrenaline pumping. He reached out and swiped his hand over the dog’s head. “Ready, boy?”

  Jugs barked.

  He was always ready and neither of them was ever out of the fight.

  They filed out of the cage area and headed toward the chopper at a jog. The bird took off as soon as the last SEAL entered.

  “So, Max. What’s up with the wedding gown? Something we should know.”

  Several guys grinned. He and Pitbull had pretty much put away their differences, but the ribbing would never end. That was just part of being on a team.

  Max chuckled and said into the headset, “I was a mannequin for my oldest sister, Gina. She had a rush job and needed to get the gown altered quickly.”

  “Sisters…” Saint drawled.

  “There’s a story there,” Dodger said.

  “My Little Pony.” Saint shuddered. “I had to watch them often and all they wanted to play with were those ponies. There were epic stories—saving princesses, heroic battles, and many hours of fun…for them anyway.”

  “Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash…” Dragon said. Then gave Saint a sly look. “You loved it too. Come on, epic battles, man.”

  Saint held up his hands and said, “I’m taking the fifth.”

  All the guys looked at Dragon. “Hey, Ceri might be smart, but she’s still a little girl, and there are no boundaries when it comes to ponies and make believe. I’ve been to Canterlot and Ponyville.” He chuckled softly. “Many times.”

  “I dig that. She’s like us—limitless,” Max said, envious that Dragon had a little girl. He loved his sisters, nieces and women of all kinds.

  Dragon chuckled. “You have no idea.”