He tongued her, setting the tightly packed bundle of nerves on fire.
Natalie moaned. She didn’t care if anyone outside her room heard her.
He sucked her clit into his mouth and pulled gently at the same time he slipped a finger into her channel.
Natalie came apart, her senses shattering into a million shivering pieces.
When she could remember to breathe again, she pulled him up her body by a gentle hold on his ears.
“You make me remember I’m female, alive and on fire with passion.” She’d pushed the sad memories to the back of her mind to make room for the good ones she’d create with Jack. Happier than she’d been in a very long time, she kissed him. “Make love to me, frogman.”
Jack didn’t argue. He settled his big body between her legs and slid inside her in one long, beautiful stroke, filling her completely—body and soul.
That night and the subsequent nights in that magical week, he proved he could take orders from her, when they suited him, and she was totally satisfied with his performance.
How they would continue their long-distance relationship would prove a challenge. Natalie vowed to meet the challenge willingly with a heart full of hope and a man who made her heart sing again.
The End
About the Author
ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is an award-winning author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over seventy works in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she’s published with Harlequin, Samhain, Elloras’ Cave, Kensington, Cleis Press, and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at www.ellejames.com
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | Amazon Author Page
Or visit her alter-ego Myla Jackson at mylajackson.com
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter
Other Titles by Elle James
Take No Prisoners Series
SEAL’s Honor (#1)
SEAL’s Desire (#2)
SEAL’s Embrace (#3)
SEAL’s Obsession (#4)
Lords of the Underworld
Witch’s Initiation (#1)
Witch’s Seduction (#2)
The Witch’s Desire (#3)
Demon Series
Hot Demon Nights (#1)
Demon’s Embrace (#2)
Tempting the Demon (#3)
Covert Cowboys Inc Series
Triggered (#1)
Taking Aim (#2)
Bodyguard Under Fire (#3)
Cowboy Resurrected (#4)
Thunder Horse Series
Hostage to Thunder Horse (#1)
Thunder Horse Heritage (#2)
Thunder Horse Redemption (#3)
Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch (#4)
Deadly Series
Deadly Reckoning (#1)
Deadly Engagement (#2)
Deadly Liaisons (#3)
Deadly Allure (#4)
Cajun Magic Series
Voodoo on the Bayou (#1)
Voodoo for Two (#2)
Déjà Voodoo (#3)
The SEAL
Part 1
a SEX LIES & SPIES novella
Gennita Low
SHORT VIGNETTES IN THE LIVES OF SPIES.
EACH NOVELLA OF THIS SERIES IS A SHORT STORY SHOWING
SECRET MOMENTS BRINGING TWO SPIES TOGETHER
THE SEAL
Part 1
SEX LIES & SPIES Series
by
GENNITA LOW
PUBLISHED BY:
GLow World
The SEAL (Sex Lies & Spies)
Copyright © 2014 by Gennita Low
Cover Photo, an exclusive by HOTDAMN Designs, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The SEAL (Sex Lies & Spies). Copyright © 2014 by Gennita Low. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Gennita Low or GLow World e-books.
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Foreword
Welcome to The Game.
The Game is a treasure hunt quest by those who could afford it. Through the ages, many had participated, including explorers, adventurers, philosophers, vagabonds, mystics, even monarchs. Each game is an amazing race for clues to elusive treasure.
The olden days were fraught with obstacles. Treasure maps took many to their deaths. New Worlds were discovered. Old cultures had to adapt.
The Modern World is not without its dangers. There is technology to track everything now. Governments do not hesitate to interfere. Secret societies and conspiracies are mocked by all and sundry.
The “agency” running The Game is called the Temple. Rumor has it that they are the modern descendants of the most infamous keepers of treasures, the Templar Knights. Today, their Knights deal with many other clandestine operations, but the goal…what is their goal? No one is sure. But everyone understands, if they want to be in The Game, they have to contact the Temple.
Many have taken on the quests. The most important names on the list are:
1. Kel (Temple courier, CIA spy) and John (Temple negotiator)
2. Martin (Temple negotiator, ex-spec ops) and Svenni (master thief)
3. Dimitri (ex-spec ops, currently dangerous Eastern European gang leader)
4. Miklos Riman Dante (mysterious treasure map collector)
And now, maybe Angel (navy SEAL veteran) and Mari (treasure hunter)…but we shall see about that.
Who will The Game? And on their quests, which spy will hook up with which operative?
Chapter One
‡
Fianchettoed In one variation of this chess strategy, the fianchettoed bishop begins a series of moves deep into the opponent’s position and becomes the central figure.
Mari Lords looked at the tiny, black, string-bikini top in the big biker’s hand. He had looked at her, sized her from her five-foot-two-and-a-bit height with a knowing eye, and pulled out the top from his bag.
“I’m guessing you’re a B cup, Miss…ah…Mimi,” he said, with a wink.
Mari cleared her throat. That was the name she was using. She’d gotten into the private party by showing off her “assets” to the burly guard at the property entrance. A B cup wouldn’t have gotten his interest. She shook her head.
The biker grinned. His bushy mustache matched his eyebrows. Whenever he spoke, all four patches of hair moved. “Whoops, my mistake, lovely lady. A C then? Here you go. The changing room is there. When you’re ready, come on out with the other lovely ladies and our inspector will give you the rules.”
Her eyes widened. “Inspector?” Her voice sounded squeaky to her ears.
“Of course. Our inspector gives the final okay on who gets to wrestle in our salad bowl. We’d love to have all of you but the Grand Master said ten of the finest. If you’re chosen, there are rules, you know. Don’t worry. We just want to keep it safe for everyone involved.” The man winked again. “That means you can tear off your opponent’s top but you can’t bloody them.”
Mari felt like running away. “Tear off your opponent’s top,” she repeated in her unfamiliar squeaky voice. “What if I…don’t get to be the ten finest?”
Maybe she wouldn’t be picked and then—
“Sorry, then you’ll have to leave, seeing that you don’t actually have a personal invitation from the Grand Master.”
Her heart sank. There were no party crashers for this shindig. Everyone who was anyone had an invitation and they could bring a date. She’d heard all about it from her father, who had attended before. There were only two ways to party crash if one were female. Be the date or enter the salad bowl wrestling contest, one of the “fun” things everyone talked about around here.
It was modeled after the infamous coleslaw wrestling contest at the very popular Samsula Cabbage Patch biker hangout in the neighboring town, but Cutter Washington’s private party was for the rich and privileged who happened to own shiny, expensive bikes. Not for the biker riffraff, although she’d heard that a few local bikers with “inside” friends received invitations. She tried that route, asking around town to see if anyone knew anyone who needed a date. Besides being met with amused incredulity and almost run off of several properties by jealous wives and girlfriends, she’d learned quite a bit. There was always the “Salad Bowl,” and, it had gotten close to impossible to sneak into “Cutter’s Big Smokeout,” as the local’s called it. Everyone also knew it went a lot wilder through the night, and hence, all the security around the five acre property to keep party crashers at bay.
“Okay,” she said. She had to get this inspector to pick her, that was all. She smiled and winked. “What’s the inspector’s name? I might know him.”
“It’s Angel, Marcello’s son. He just came out of the navy so I don’t think you’ll know him. Big boy, sweetheart. You’ll like him. The Grand Master is welcoming him back with a big bang.” The biker guffawed, his moustache wiggling all up and down. He winked again. “He’s fresh from the sea so a small thing like you will just be a nibble. Honestly, I think you don’t stand a chance with Angel. Unless you show some moves, I think he’s going for those two Amazons with the DD cups, babe.”
Mari had seen those two Amazons with the DD cups. They were…huge. She didn’t want to wrestle them. She didn’t want to be anywhere near a biker named Angel actually. She could see him now—all grisly and rough-looking, with a bandanna around his bald head, probably called Angel because he looked nothing like one. She turned and headed to one of the changing rooms. She knew her plan wouldn’t be easy to carry off. Too much security.
Of course, she hadn’t planned on actually doing this salad wrestling spectacle. She’d thought she could slip off, what with so many eager young babes in line, but that guard had only allowed fifteen or sixteen in and they were shepherded into this area almost immediately.
Mari forlornly looked at the flimsy bikini in her hand. Show some moves. Try to stand in front of two six foot tall Amazons with DD cups. Catch some nasty biker named Angel’s attention. Inspector. Ugh. He’d inspecting her “cups.” She shuddered at the thought.
She needed to get through this. Once it was over, she’d clean off and slip away to search the study. Dad was very certain that was where the item was. But she wasn’t getting anywhere near it until she got this Angel’s attention. She’d better start channeling her inner Mimi.
*
“After that, you choose the Queen of the Salad Bowl Toss, son, and then you have to clean her off.”
Angel lifted one eyebrow. He didn’t know whether to be amused or repelled by the instructions being given to him. “With a towel, right?”
“No, son, we’re putting on a show. With your tongue.”
“Not gonna happen.” Tonguing a woman was something he’d rather do in private. To someone he wanted to spend time with and definitely not one of the many bimbos undoubtedly trying to get into this party to hook a rich husband. “Why do I have to do that kind of stuff anyway?”
His father’s friend chuckled. “You’re a SEAL right? I heard you guys do some nasty jobs. Trust me, you’ll enjoy this one. Pick your queen and pretend you’re doing a thorough search of your captive.”
Angel shook his head. “You’ve obviously never seen any of our captives.”
Deek’s expression turned serious. “It was a joke. Your dad and I have served together, you know.”
“Sorry, Deek. I wasn’t thinking. It’s all your fault. Why the hell do I have to play this role when my buds and I are just the security team?”
Deek shrugged. “Fun? The girls are wrassling half-naked in bikinis. You go in and stop the fight. Maybe one of them is a thief and you get to search them as thoroughly as you like. Look at them standing there, waiting for you.”
Angel glanced up. He looked past the two tall blondes whose breasts looked about to burst out of their too-tiny-bikinis. The smaller woman behind them was bent over, untying her shoe laces, showcasing and wiggling a perfect ass as she pulled her shoes off. Jaysus. He could feel a light sweat break out on his face. Yeah, he would like to tongue her. Maybe—no, he wasn’t going to participate in a meat market like this “Leatherfest” was turning out to be. The host might be a biker-turned-billionaire lawyer, but he was like a hometown hero around this small cracker community of fern farmers, horse breeders and homeboys. It was a curious mixture of those who had made it rich from having sold their land to the thriving construction industry a few years back and dirt-poor farmers who had generations of living outside the grid in their DNA. Some of the latter, who had connections, had gotten invitations and this was their chance to rub shoulders with the moneyed ones. He’d already been warned some of the women had ideas about rubbing more than shoulders.
Not that he had any wealth to offer them. He’d recently become a civilian so he could help his sister pay medical bills. Life as a navy SEAL was his calling, but sometimes, one had to sacrifice for loved ones. He’d heard of how many of his friends who had retired were making big bucks starting their own ventures, doing teamwork training workshops for big companies and taking on positions in overseas security groups for weaponry delivery.
This new security gig was supposed to be the break he and his new team of brothers were waiting for. However, starting a security business took time and connections, and after a few months of inaction, he was getting bored with the lack of excitement. There had been a few jobs but they were small and definitely minimally dangerous.
This one—he looked around—was also supposed to be dangerous. There had been threats against the owner’s personal safety, as well as concern about his antiques being lifted. Why the man wouldn’t cancel a big party when his life was being threatened, he had no idea, but who was he to question when there was half a big check deposited and another half coming at the end of the week? Not he.
But dangerous? He eyed the bevy of bikinied women scattered around the room awaiting his okay. Seriously? His SEAL brothers would laugh themselves silly if they knew his new duties included picking out female contestants for some sexy wrestling in a bowl of salad. It wasn’t quite the same as dragging one’s muddy ass along a cold river bank in the dark, looking to take down enemy insurgents.
He shouldn’t complain. This was a holiday from that sort of hell. How easy could a “dangerous” job get? He’d pat these beauties down, give however many was required the thumbs-up, then go off to check with Hex about the cameras. Or rather, make sure Hex was actually watching the right video feed and not the one with the ladies swimming in the salad.
“Ladies,” Deke yelled out, his grin wide as his face. “If you want in, do your best to please Angel, our inspector.”
*
Bent over, Mari closed her eyes, trying to will the thudding of her heart to slow down. Buying some time, she pretended to put away her shoes and jewelry in the plastic bag given her. Her rolled up pants were in there too.
She heard the girls around her start to coo and chatter like the birds in her backyard. The commotion became louder. Women’s voices talked over each other, as everyone tried to get the attention of the “inspector.”
“Take me, big guy!”
“Choose me, choose me!”
“Mmmm, check these out, sweetheart! Pu
t those manly paws on me and feel them. They’re real.”
“I know what you like. Pick me and I promise—hey!”
“Your big ass was in my way!”
“I’m gonna—”
“Ladies,” Deke yelled out, his voice filled with mirth, “save the fighting for the competition please. Now, you’re supposed to catch our boy’s eye here, not scratch each other’s eyes out. Okay, you’ve got the nod. See? Easy. Just smile and…yeah, you’ve got the nod. And you, blue eyes.”
Mari opened her eyes. Oh, boy. He was doing it a lot quicker than she’d thought. How was she going to stand out among these eager women? She’d better hurry or Mr. Angel would finish picking and she’d be kicked out.
“You planning to stay like that with your ass up in the air?” A male voice asked from behind her.
Mari froze. Then, acting by instinct, she began to sway her butt. She had taken belly dancing last summer. It was tougher swishing her hips in this position but maybe it’d get Mr. Angel’s attention without her actually begging and rubbing herself against him, like these other women. Heck, from this position, she didn’t even have to look at his ugly face leering at her.
“My hips don’t lie,” she pertly announced.
There was a pause. She continued swaying, raising her hips and following the imaginary music beat in her head. Bum-bum-bada, bada-bum-bum. It was easier to do this without looking at anyone. She started to channel her alter-ego.
Mari got into it, loosening her lower back muscles and slowly undulating, she rose to her full height, feet apart, pushing her hips to outrageous swishes.
She was Mimi, part belly dancer, part twerker. Hell, part pole dancer too, what the hell.
Yeah, Mimi the sexy dancer. Mimi has moves. Mimi drives the men wild.
She snapped her hip to the left, one-two, then to the right, three-four. Then she did what her teacher had called “The Salt Shaker Rump,” shimmying her butt side-to-side hard and fast. If she had her scarf around her hips, all the coins and bells would be ringing and clanging merrily.
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