I steadied my nerves, desperate not to screw this chance up. “Let me put it in your phone.”
He didn’t hesitate to hand it to me. He scanned the room for Grant, and I knew I had to be quick. I stroked my long hair while his eyes were averted and I popped the tracking chip, which Roma had given me, from my hair clip. As I typed my contact info into Mitch’s phone, I pressed the chip into the back under the leather case, praying it would work.
I handed him back the phone, and he winked at me. What a creeper. I wanted to shove my fist up his coke-filled nose, but before I could do anything Grant appeared, holding my drink, a jealous scowl on his face. I fought the desire to dump vodka and cranberry juice over Mitch’s head. For all I knew, that chip could lead to texts, phone numbers, some type of clue about what had happened that night. Maybe he’d come on to Tiffany after Joaquín had slept with her, and she had rejected him. He could’ve become pissed off and choked her.
“Everything okay here?” Grant studied my lips, then glared at the lipstick stain on Mitch’s face.
“Never better. Hey, man”—Mitch sniffled—“I’m pretty fucked up. You guys gonna fuck upstairs? Can I watch?”
I expected Grant to just laugh it off. But he shoved Mitch against the wall using a chokehold.
“You have ten seconds to unfuck yourself, Mitch. If you ever talk to her like that again, I’ll slit your throat. Got it?”
The rancor alerted some of the other guys, but none of them approached. “Relax, man. She’s a fucking stripper.”
Grant removed his hand from Mitch’s neck. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Mitch let out a laugh and walked away.
“Sorry about that, babe. He’s a jerk. You okay?”
I blinked back fake tears. “Yes. Thank you. Is there a bathroom?”
He pointed upstairs. “First door on the left.”
“I come right back.”
Away from Grant, I let out a deep, gratifying sigh. This was actually working. No one knew who I was.
I pushed back the door to the bathroom and saw the girl Grant was looking at earlier. She seemed younger than me, maybe not even twenty. A crisp blond bob framed her round cheeks as she reapplied pink lipstick.
“Oh sorry, I can come back.” I turned away.
“Hey, hon. It’s okay. So you’re Grant’s new girl? I’m Autumn. I used to work at Panthers. Grant’s a good guy.”
My eyes widened. “I’m Ksenya. You know Grant?”
“Yeah.” She paused, glanced toward the window. “We hung out once at another party. But things got crazy. There was this murder. I’m sure you read about it in the papers.”
My breath stopped. She was there. “I’m new to area.”
“A SEAL killed one of the girls there. I was so scared. Grant and I were in the next room when this guy Joaquín found the girl dead. So tragic. Grant hasn’t told you about it?”
“No. We do not know each other so well.”
“I get it. Well, good luck with him.”
“Thank you.” My mind raced. I needed to grill this girl, find out every detail about that night. But I had to get her away from this party—away from Grant. “What do you do now for work?”
Her mouth twisted. “I work at this new club downtown, Diamond. It’s very high-end, very classy. We don’t even go topless. Guys respect you way more. I’m sure the owner would love to have you. You’re a knockout.”
I couldn’t tell if she was just super friendly or she was hitting on me. Either way, I didn’t care. I couldn’t let her go. “So are you. Can I get it your number and I can go to see it the place?” I reached inside my purse.
She snatched my phone from, didn’t say a word, and tapped in her number. “Call me anytime. Nice to meet you, Ksenya.”
She shut the door. Holy shit. This was huge. I bet some of the other strippers who were at the party that night worked at Diamond. Maybe even Emma? I was getting closer to the truth, to Tiffany’s real killer.
I scrubbed Mitch’s touch off of me and met Grant back downstairs.
“Babe, come to the rooftop deck with me. I want to show you something.”
I kissed Grant on the cheek, grateful to him for inviting me to this party. His sharp stubble burned my lips. A warm flush ran through my body, imagining that stubble grazing my thighs.
I followed him upstairs—a light giggle, a deep moan, and a passionate scream pierced my ears. Was he taking me up to one of these hidden rooms? My palms were sweaty, my hands trembled.
We passed the bedrooms, and he led me out to a small deck.
My heart stopped. I knew what he wanted to show me.
“Sit, babe. Make a wish.”
A wish. Grant had brought me up here to watch the sunset. To see the Green Flash.
The Green Flash wasn’t a myth, or even an optical illusion. If you ever sat on a San Diego beach at sunset and noticed a group of people staring silently in the same direction, they were looking for the Green Flash. That moment when the sun set and emitted that last glimpse of light, a flash the color of the Emerald City in Oz.
Grant pulled me to him, and I sat in his lap. His arms wrapped around me. “Babe, study the sky. Legend has it if you see a flash of green light, your wish will come true.”
Was he feeling a real connection with me or did he share this with all of his dates? It took every ounce of training I had not to question him. I wanted to know how many other women he’d taken to see the flash. He’d taken me to a restaurant on this same beach on our first date, but I’d been unable to spot the flash. My eyes had been clouded by my love for him, the sadness for my parents’ death still fresh in my heart. We’d planned to go back and see it together for our second anniversary, but we broke up a week before. Tonight I vowed I would finally see it.
I made my unspoken wish. My throat felt thick, my pulse quickened. I wished for Joaquín to be free, as a good sister should. But another brief wish passed through my head for Grant to forgive me and for us to fall in love again.
His arms tightened around me and I studied the fogless sky, determined to experience this phenomena with my true love. The hues from the sunset hung over the horizon; the sun dipped toward the water. Every nerve ending tingled and stirred inside me. My eyes focused; the final ray of light beamed right at me. My heart beat strongly in my chest. This glorious green spark filled my soul.
Grant whispered into my ear. “That was it, babe. This writer Jules Verne described it as ‘the true green of hope.’”
Oh my God. He was quoting Jules Verne now? “You are so romantic to me.”
His shoulders fell. “You just seem to have so much on your mind. I’ve gone through some rough shit too. When I’m really down, I look at the sunset and the flash pulls me through.”
A chill pulsed through my body. Grant had told me that during BUD/S looking for the flash had kept his determination not to quit strong. I remembered nursing him back to health afterward, so proud of him and my brother for finishing. Surviving five and a half days of extreme training on less than four hours of sleep was still unfathomable to me, though I had gone through my own version of Hell Week to get here.
After taking care of him then, I’m sure he was baffled why I left him when he had been injured. But I could never tell him the truth.
My resistance to Grant was weakening, despite my disgust for this new version of him. I loved the real Grant, knew now I always would. He was the only man I ever wanted to be with—if I couldn’t find my way back to him, I’d rather be alone.
I relaxed into his embrace. Having his warm mouth claim mine would be even better than finally seeing the flash. We’d kissed at the hotel, but I’d pulled away, worried, a deep longing kiss would be too intimate, too risky. But now…
He held my hand. “You want to get out of here?”
“Yes. I want to go together with you.”
I texted the girls I had brought, and they all told me they could find rides home. Grant and I would be alone tonight.
; 15
Ksenya
THE ENTIRE DRIVE BACK TO his apartment, I bit my nails and fidgeted in my seat. There was no going back now. The natural progression of our relationship beckoned for us to become intimate. I wanted him to act out all the fantasies I’d ever had about him. Only the thought of him discovering my identity held me back.
Images rushed my head of our tame sex life. Warm, gentle, loving, definitely not hot. He’d been my first, my only. I’d never allowed myself to relax, exhale, let pleasure guide me.
Tonight would be different. I was no longer a shy eighteen-year-old virgin—I was now a twenty-two-year-old woman who feared nothing but failing her brother.
He parked, and I hopped out of his truck, chasing after him in the moonlight. He went ahead, opened the door to his apartment, let Hero out in the small yard, and then invited me in. I remembered the first time he took me back to his place. He’d been so nervous, shy even. We’d sat on the sofa, just talking all night until he finally worked up the courage to kiss me.
He wasn’t shy anymore. His strong hand grabbed the back of my head, pulling me toward his mouth. I offered my neck, refusing my lips. I had something else planned for them.
My hand reached to unbutton his jeans, making its way down his chest. I knelt before him, and a deep breath escaped me. I’d never done what I was about to do. Grant had never asked, though I could recall many times that he placed his hand on the back of my neck, gently urging me to go south. Not that I hadn’t loved him, not that I didn’t think he was beautiful, not that I wasn’t curious. I couldn’t even explain my resistance. It had been just as much about fear as it had been about shyness. Despite his desire, I was afraid I’d disappoint him. I was frightened that the fantasy of me taking him in my mouth would be better than the real thing.
I popped his jeans open, his huge cock freed, standing at full attention. He still never wore underwear, it seemed. That at least hadn’t changed. My hand grasped his beautiful cock, harder, thicker, and longer than I remembered, but then again, I’d never seen it from this viewpoint.
“Suck me.”
I obeyed, responding to his orders. But despite his words, his dominance, I was in control. I wrapped my palm around his base, and swirled my tongue along his length. He groaned, his eyes hooded.
“Harder, babe.”
My mouth clamped down on his cock, sucking as strongly as I could. He tasted spicy and a tad sweet—like chili and chocolate. I wanted to drink him up, please him, make him need me again.
A groan left his lips, his back arched. “Deeper, Ksenya. Fuck.”
He didn’t know I was Mia. I was Ksenya to him. It almost made me cry, knowing he wasn’t in any way thinking of me. He was simply using yet another woman to give him pleasure. My heart ached.
Despite that, I also felt a measure of pride. He liked what I was doing. My confidence rose. The power over him caused a flutter in my stomach. My panties were soaked, wanting more, wanting to feel this same strong cock inside me, filling up any space between us.
He was pulsing inside my mouth. I gripped his thighs, pulling him deeper into my throat.
His hand pressed on the back of my head. “Ksenya, stop, I…”
I had no intention of stopping. He was mine. My man. Forever. I wanted to be the only woman to make him feel this way.
He exploded into my mouth, and I lapped his salty cum up, wanting to taste every last drop of him. A lazy grin spread across his face.
“You’re incredible.” He pulled me up from the floor, placed his arms around the swell of my back. “Your turn.”
No. No way. I needed to remain in control. I’d won the first round, no reason to give in now. I fought the desire to feel his tongue devour me like I was his last meal. “Tonight it was for you.”
He didn’t fight me, gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Stay with me?”
I nodded, wrapped myself in his arms. This was the only way I could spend time with him, so I would treasure it and lock it away.
16
Grant
I GAZED AT THE GIRL in my arms, purring beside me. She’d just given me an amazing blowjob, though I could tell she wasn’t that experienced. She seemed nervous at first, almost shy. And she asked for nothing in return.
I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, restless but afraid to move and wake her. What was her deal? She wasn’t a typical stripper. She wasn’t asking for anything—money, a commitment, not even love. I didn’t have a fucking clue what she wanted from me. There had to be a catch.
Her body flipped over, and I escaped from the bed. I glanced around my bedroom, typical bachelor pad; any trace of a woman had been erased. My eyes focused on a picture of Joaquín. We’d survived Hell Week together, vowed to hold each other up, never let each other quit. Then he’d slept with a stripper and she’d wound up dead. How could I be dumb enough to tempt fate and allow a stripper in my bed too?
A pain grew in the back of my throat. I hated myself for not being there for him in his hour of need.
Just a few years ago, my life had been filled with such purpose. My inner circle was tight, and I’d been secure in my path.
Now I knew that nobody was who he or she appeared to be. Not my fellow SEALs or this stripper slumbering in my bed. I trusted no one. Not even myself.
I opened the sliding glass door, prepared to prevent Hero from barking at Ksenya and jumping all over the bed—the way he always greeted a stranger.
Hero bounced in the door, his nose sniffing Ksenya’s scent. But he didn’t jump. A friendly bark, and he lay at the end of the bed, Ksenya curled in a ball on the mattress above him. He’d never done that with any girl I’d brought home.
Except for Mia.
I studied the chick in front of me. She and Mia were the same height, but any resemblance ended there. Mia was soft and round, with tiny breasts and a perky butt; Ksenya was lean and sculpted, with tig ol’ bitties and a plump ass. Mia had hazel eyes with flecks of gold, and Ksenya had chocolate brown eyes.
But I’d noticed the outline of her contacts in the moonlight earlier. Ksenya bit her lips when she was nervous. When she smiled, her mouth curled at the edge. On the left side. Like Mia.
A crazy thought flashed through my head—what if Mia hadn’t been fucking kidding about transforming herself to exonerate Joaquín? Could she possibly be that insane to get plastic surgery to fool me? Mia had been in school for acting. I’d never seen her onstage since I’d always been too busy training. It was impossible for her to be that great of an actress, wasn’t it?
She had vanished—I’d even called her roommates, and they said they didn’t have a clue where she went. But I knew she would never abandon her brother, ever. Even though she had turned her back on me.
No way. No fucking way.
But it was hard to ignore Hero’s reaction to her. He almost seemed to…know her. Surely it couldn’t be? Was this a game?
From the outset, Ksenya had targeted me. But why? Did she suspect me of killing Tiffany? Did she want to use me to find out who did? She wasn’t in it to fuck me. Otherwise the deed would have been done already.
You’re crazy, Grant. Not everything is a conspiracy. After BUD/S, it took me months to walk down the street and not look at everyone as a potential threat. I was clearly paranoid.
There was only one way to know for sure.
I had to fuck her.
Chronic:
Episode Two in the Se7en Deadly SEALs Series
I DON’T TRUST THE NAKED woman asleep in my bed, the one with the bombshell body and eerily symmetrical face. The edge of her mouth curls when she smiles, she smells like citrus, she bites her lips when she lies.
This imposter is lying to me—she claims she’s a Ukrainian stripper named Ksenya, but I’d bet my Trident that she’s my ex-girlfriend Mia, her face and body masked with plastic surgery. Her brother is in jail for murdering a stripper, and she must have kept her promise that she’d stop at nothing to exonerate him.
But I’m not going to
call her bluff. Hell, no. I’m going to play her game, test her strength, see how far she’s willing to go to keep up this ruse.
My beloved girl who shuddered at the thought of lowering her inhibitions is playing my game now. She wants to get wild? I will fulfill her every fantasy.
But I control the game now, not her. It will end when I say it ends.
I’m a Navy SEAL, and I will be the last one standing.
Available Now Chronic
Acknowledgments
I WOULD LIKE TO THANK the love of my life, my husband, Roger, a real Marine hero. Thank you for being such a wonderful husband to me and the best daddy to our sons. For watching the boys while I write. For keeping me caffeinated during late night writing sessions. I love you.
To Linda Barlow: for your keen editing insights, late night pep talks, and hilarious commentary. This book would’ve been a mess without you.
To Mia Searles: For your amazing work on the blog tour.
To Nicole Blanchard: For listening to my endless rants and encouraging (forcing) me to finish it.
To Regina Wamba: For the creating the most amazing cover.
I would like to thank my editors for turning this book into what it was meant to be:
Deb Nemeth—your endless patience reading the many different versions of this book.
Lisa Christman—for your insight into Grady’s characterization.
To my betas: Jenny Negron, Melissa Fisher, & Brittney Crabtree: thank you all for your honest critiques and making this the best story it could be.
To my two beautiful sons, Connor and Caleb for your smiles, your laughter, your hugs and kisses.
To Indie Sage Promotions for handling all the promotion for the book.
To all the fans who have written me wonderful emails. I write for you.
BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance Page 41
