by Ivy Jordan
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
MR. SEAL
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
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MR SERIES
Click here to read Mr. Doctor, Book #1
Chapter One
I dreaded the thought of going to a wedding alone. My dress was tight, my breasts not cooperating with the strapless bra I bought to wear, and my hair was a mess. “Do I really have to go?” I whined to my mother.
She sat on the edge of her bed, watching me as I fidgeted with the slip under my dress and adjusted my breasts once again.
I turned to look at her. She was smiling sweetly at my reflection in the tall mirror. “You look lovely,” she said.
“I’m not the one getting married. Why do I have to wear a dress?” I complained, not unlike the second-graders in my class.
She laughed, smiled wider, and shook her head. “You never were one for wearing dresses.”
I turned back to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. I did look lovely. But I still couldn’t wait for the night to be over.
“It could be worse. Brenda could’ve asked you to be a bridesmaid,” my mother chuckled.
I shrugged at the thought of standing there in front of the church while people gawked at me. “Did you see the dresses she picked out?” I scoffed, wrinkling my nose as I spoke.
“Peach is a hard color for any dress,” she said with a laugh.
It felt good to laugh. I knew Brenda hadn’t asked me to be in the wedding for exactly that reason: I hated to wear dresses. Our family was large, so finding a couple of other cousins to stand with her wasn’t a difficult task. I was relieved, actually. Her best friend Marla was her maid of honor, which came as no surprise. They’d been inseparable since first grade. What was a surprise was Billy Harris asking her to marry him. He was one of the bad boys in town, not the settling-down type, and Brenda, although not entirely innocent herself, was naïve compared to him.
The fact that he was Marla’s husband’s best friend was likely the real motive. Marla was a pushy one, and they’d planned on either marrying best friends or brothers since they were in grade school.
I never planned my wedding before it was even promised, at least not like other girls. I thought about it, but didn’t obsess, and even though my mom pushed for me to find a man, I much preferred my time with the eight-year-old kids in my classroom.
My mother managed to get me to the chapel on time, even though I kept returning to the mirror to adjust my unruly breasts. They weren’t huge, but they were large, larger than those of any of the other women in my family. They all said I was blessed, but to me, it felt like a curse.
We found a seat in the church on the bride’s side. My mother insisted on being seated toward the front. I didn’t care. I didn’t even want to be there. Not because I didn’t love Brenda, or because I wasn’t happy for her; I did, and I was. I just knew watching my uncle Jack walk her down the aisle would make me miss my dad. He’d been gone for almost ten years, but watching his twin brother Jack as he aged somehow made me feel like he wasn’t really gone. Jack’s hair had turned a salt-and-pepper color that Mom said reminded her of Sam Elliott. I wasn’t sure who that was when she told me the first time, but after a few searches on Google, I could see the resemblance.
Billy took his place at the altar, alongside a tall, muscular, tattooed man I’d never seen before. “Who’s that?” my mother whispered.
I was staring, probably drooling just a bit. “I dunno,” I replied, using the same slang I reprimanded my students for using.
“He looks like Billy. Maybe it’s his brother,” she whispered as he walked past us. His eyes caught a glimpse of mine, and for a split second, my entire body quivered.
“Maybe,” I said with a quiet quickness, hushing her before anyone overheard us talking.
We all stood when the music played. The muscular mystery man walked down the aisle with Marla, and the other groomsmen and bridesmaids followed.
The flower girl and ring-bearer were either confused or shy, because a tall, blonde woman rushed to the center aisle as they stopped and walked them to the front of the church. Note to self: never have your child participate in a wedding.
It wasn’t that the ceremony was that long, but it was just that hot. The church was sweltering, and my hair was beginning to frizz. The natural curls my mother tried to straighten earlier that day were fighting to be seen, and it didn’t matter how much hairspray she’d used, they were gonna be appearing soon.
The procession line was long, longer than the wedding itself. Sitting in the front proved to be a bad move since they started the line from the back pews. By the time I made it to the wedding party, I was ready for a few quick hugs and fresh air.
Marla grabbed me, pulling me in for a hug not solicited or wanted, shifting my breasts from my bra into a position I was certain was unflattering.
There he was. His dark eyes penetrated straight to my soul, and that smile? Oh God, that smile made me weak in the knees. I had to get past him to get to Brenda, and a part of me wanted to run away, forego the traditional ceremonial wishes of good luck, and the typical, “What a beautiful wedding, and you made such a gorgeous bride!” Hasn’t she heard that enough already? Did I really have to come face to face with this man right now? My breasts were pushing lopsided from my dress, the underwire in the strapless bra eating at my ribs—and my hair. Hell, I could almost hear the curls going ‘boing’ as they burst from their straightened fashion.
“You done great,” I said. What? What the hell did I just say to this gorgeous man? You done great? What did that even mean? Had he played some intricate part in pulling this day together? I doubted it. He stood there, looking amazing, making my panties not only sticky from the extreme heat, but from the passion he created in me.
Brenda gripped my arm, pulling me toward her as his lips curled into a smile. I was an idiot, and now he knew I was an idiot. I was never so thankful to be smashed into another woman’s breasts.
“I’m so glad you came,” she squealed.
Did I have a choice not to?
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” I said, pulling away from her sticky, sweat-covered arms. Her thick perfume lingered on me, feeling almost like a shield of amour that would certainly keep anyone away.
Billy Harris stood there with a smile as Brenda released me to grab my mother who stood in line behind me. His smirk was unnerving; even though I still found it sexy, now that he was technically my cousin, it was creepy as well.
“Look at you, all dolled up,” he said, gripping me by the waist. He pulled me in close to give me a good squeeze.
“Never thought I’d see the day that little Penelope wore a dress,” he added, still smirking as I pulled from his grip.
“I’m sure it’ll be your last,” I scoffed, and then smiled.
Aunt Barb, Uncle Jack, and Billy’s parents were all that were left, and then I was out the door. The fresh air was soothin
g, even without much wind. It was better than the stuffy inside of that church. How did women wear slips, pantyhose, and high heels all the time? Especially in the summer. “Quit fidgeting,” my mother whispered.
I was twenty-four, but my mother still had to tell me to quit fidgeting. The thought made me giggle. “What’s so funny?” she asked, staring at me like I had two heads. I had no idea. I was delirious from the heat, embarrassed from my encounter with the mysterious best man, and mortified that I was still in this dress.
“They’re coming,” she said, pulling my arm to turn me around.
Everyone threw confetti and blew bubbles instead of the traditional rice-throwing for the sake of the birds. I wondered just how many birds died violent deaths before someone noticed marriages were the culprit.
I pulled Mom from the crowd as soon as the newlyweds took off in their limo. I wanted to get to the car, turn on the air conditioning, and try to adjust my bra before we headed to the reception. “I’m not planning on staying long, dear,” my mother said as we headed toward the new, fancy hotel just outside of town.
It was like music to my ears. “If you want to stay, I’ll just take a cab,” she said.
“I doubt I’ll stay long,” I said, suddenly feeling better about the night I thought would never end.
We found our seats with the place markers, and I made my way to the bar. A swig of cherry vodka and Red Bull, when no one was watching, followed by a glass of wine to carry to the table like a lady.
The bridal party came in, and then the newlyweds. They looked happy, and even though I was not a fan of weddings, I was happy for them. “One of these days, that’ll be you,” my mom whispered. And the good feeling was gone.
“I have to meet a man first,” I laughed.
“You will,” she insisted.
“The only men I meet are seven, or the fathers of those kids,” I chuckled, and then sipped my wine. It was true. I tried to make it funny, but it was so true, it was sad.
I made it through the ceremonial traditions, even hiding out in the bathroom during the throwing of the bouquet. I figured my mom would be ready to go, but instead, she was on the dance floor acting like she was twenty again while I sat at the table alone.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I turned to see the mysterious man standing behind me.
I knew my cheeks were turning red as I stared into his deep, seductive eyes. “The drinks are free,” I said softly. No shit, Sherlock. He knows that. Sometimes I just don’t even know why I step out into public. I’m like a babbling buffoon around this man.
“Well, that’s why I offered. I was gonna let you pay for dinner,” he said with a smirk that made my heart skip a beat.
I laughed. Probably a little too loudly.
“All right. I would love a drink,” I said.
“White wine?” he asked.
“And a cherry bomb,” I whispered.
His eyes lit up. He winked and walked toward the bar. He had a strut about him that exuded confidence. His posture was perfect, his stride tall and strong. My eyes remained with him as he made it to the bar, and even as he turned to come back to the table.
“I’m Ethan,” he said, placing the drinks on the table, and sliding into the empty seat next to me.
“I’m Penelope,” I said. “Thank you for the drink,” I added quickly, sucking down the shot before my mom had a chance to turn around and catch me.
“You’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?” he asked with a laugh.
“Yes. I just don’t want my mom on my ass when I have to drive her home,” I explained.
She was a stickler about driving with alcohol in your system. I knew that was going to be my last drink, so there was no reason to fight.
“You should stay,” he said, scooting his chair in close to mine.
“The hotel’s booked. We just live a couple miles away,” I said.
“I have a room. You’re welcome to stay with me,” he said with a smile.
He gripped the beer bottle in his strong hand, exposing a portion of a tattoo under his sleeve. “What’s that?” I asked, deciding to ignore his advances, no matter how enticing they may have been.
“Nautical star,” he said, sliding his shirt sleeve up to fully display his tattoo.
“It’s cool,” I said, feeling stupid as soon as I spoke. I had no idea what to say to this man, or even how to say it.
“It represents a compass rose. It’s a symbol that I’ll always be able to find my way home,” he said, his tone filled with a strange compassion.
“Are you a sailor?” I asked, recognizing the tattoo from my grandfather’s time in the Navy.
“A Navy SEAL,” he said proudly, sliding his sleeve back down. “Would you like to dance?” he asked, extending his hand to me.
“I can’t dance,” I admitted.
“Then you need another drink,” he laughed.
“I can’t. I have to drive my mother home.” I said.
“Sweetie,” I turned to see my mother holding her purse. Shit. I didn’t want to leave yet. Not yet.
“I’m riding home with Martha,” she said, patting me on the back as she walked away.
Ethan’s smile widened, and his eyes danced as they stared into me. “Now, how about that drink?”
Chapter Two
My head was pounding as I peeled my eyes open to the bright light that illuminated the room. Long, heavy drapes with orange circles on them partially covered a large window where the sun was blasting through. Where was I?
As my brain came alive, memories of the night started flying through my mind. Ethan. He was Billy’s brother, here for a month, and we danced. Oh God, we did more than dance.
The weight of his arm was pressing into my side. I could feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck, and my entire body grew numb with panic. What did I do? I’d just met him!
I’d drunk a lot. That much was obvious from the pounding circus in my head. I’d remembered him lining up shots. Billy and Brenda were there too. We were all laughing, his arm had been around me, and he’d pulled me to the dance floor.
The ballroom was mostly empty, the largest portion of guests already gone home or retired to their rooms when Ethan kissed me under the glittering disco ball on the dance floor.
My body had warmed with the memory of his sweet kiss, the tender way his tongue parted my lips, and the way his hands slid to my hips, swaying me in sync with him.
Brenda had hugged me goodnight, and whispered, “I think he likes you,” in my ear, and… then what? I couldn’t remember!
I slowly slid out from under his arm and felt relief to see only my shoes were tossed on the floor. My dress was intact, my panties where they belonged, but my bra? Who knew where I’d thrown that horrid thing. I lifted the sheets, checking to see if he was undressed beneath them. His dress pants were still on, but his belt opened, and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned.
All I wanted to do was get out of there. I needed to make it to my car, get home before anyone saw me, and forget all about the night.
“Where are you going?” Ethan’s voice was sleepy and sexy as he rose up from the bed.
He pushed his arms behind his head, crossed and leaning on the headboard as he smiled in my direction.
“I was just looking for my bag,” I said softly.
“So you could sneak out?” he asked, grinning even wider.
I gripped my bag, trying to avoid eye contact as he continued to smirk at me, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My makeup was smeared across my face, my hair was no longer obeying the hairspray that had been used to keep it straight. My breasts were falling out of my dress thanks to my lost bra, and this beautiful man wouldn’t take his eyes off of me.
The ripples in his chest where the large eagle tattoo was etched made my bottom lip quiver as I saw them peeking out. I vaguely remembered my fingers rolling across those muscles, those amazing washboard muscles.
“What happened last night?” I asked.
I shook my head, raising my eyes to his. “Did we?” I asked.
“Well, if we did, we’re the only drunks I know who would get dressed after,” he chuckled, pushing the sheets away from his lower region. “You passed out,” he explained softly.
“And nothing happened?” I asked, my voice half-stern and half-bewildered.
That grin of his grew again, sliding up both sides of his face while I stood there, tortured.
“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing happened.”
“Where’s my bra?” I asked.
“The same place you left your slip,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, no longer interested in him teasing me. “Where’s that, exactly?”
“The women’s bathroom trash can.”
Panic filled my veins, but then humor rushed through them just as quickly. I started laughing. He laughed. I sat down on the edge of the bed, no longer worried about sneaking away. “So, we made out?” I asked, still laughing.
“Yeah, and I’m a little hurt you don’t remember any of it. I used some of my best moves on you,” he said.
“You did, huh?”
“You bet I did. I wanted a girl like you to remember me the next day. But I guess that’s just not in the cards for me,” he said in a teasing tone.
“Maybe, you shouldn’t get the girl so drunk before you use your best moves. That way, they’re not wasted,” I swanked.
“Oh, a wise ass, eh?” he gripped my wrist and pulled me playfully toward him onto the bed.
He mounted me, his arms on either side, his chest pressing against mine, and his eyes penetrating me like steel knives. “Maybe you should let me try again,” he whispered, slowly lowering his mouth onto mine.
The kiss under the disco ball flashed back through my mind as his soft lips pressed gently against mine. My lips parted, allowing his tongue to glide into my mouth as mine entangled around it. He tasted like lemon, but sweet, not sour. My arms wrapped around him as my body melted into the mattress. Yes, I’d be willing to give him a do-over.
