SEAL'd Perfection Book 2

by KB Winters

  SEAL’d Perfection

  Book 2

  By

  KB Winters

  Copyright © 2015 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and 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 © 2015 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  SEAL'd Perfection Book 2

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One — Kat

  Chapter Two — Jace

  Chapter Three — Jace

  Chapter Four — Kat

  Chapter Five — Jace

  Chapter Six — Kat

  Chapter Seven — Kat

  Chapter Eight — Jace

  Chapter Nine — Kat

  Chapter Ten — Jace

  Chapter Eleven — Kat

  Chapter Twelve — Kat

  Free Book!

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One — Kat

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but when Jace Winslow walked through the front doors of the diner Monday afternoon, my heart shot straight up to my throat. I flashed a frantic glance over to Patrice, my co-worker and the only other waitress on duty, but she was sitting at the counter, texting on her phone, completely oblivious to my problem. Then again, even if she was paying attention, how would she know I didn’t want Jace seated in my section? Every day of the weeks before, he’d sat in my section, and I’d waited on him without complaint.

  But that was before all hell had broken loose.

  Just the day before, I’d gone to pick up my son, Jax, from his father’s house, and received a second round of ass-chewing for not having my phone on me Saturday night when Jax had come down with a vicious bout of the flu and been rushed to the ER. His words were still ringing in my ears…“For someone who fought so hard for custody, it seems like Jax isn’t your top priority,” “—you show up with some thug, smelling like alcohol and cigarette smoke!” and “—maybe Jax would be better with Hannah and me full time. She stays home and has the time and focus needed to take care of him!”

  I’d vehemently shot down all of his claims, getting particularly enraged when he kept poking around for information about my boyfriend, Jace—regardless of how many times I insisted Jace was just a friend. I’d escaped further ridicule when Jax appeared, holding his little overnight backpack, and racing out to my car with his dog, Mickey in tow. But all the way home, I’d fumed, struggling to keep up with Jax’s cheery chattering about the new fire truck his dad had bought him for being such a trooper at the hospital—a fire truck that’s siren had given me a migraine on the ride home.

  I looked over at Jace and sighed. The memory of his touch was still fresh enough in my mind, that just the sight of him riled me up, but for all the wrong reasons. After Jax’s scare in the hospital, I’d decided there could be no more dates and definitely no more make out sessions with Jace. It was too risky. Mitch had me in a vice grip, holding the custody agreement over my head, and I had to play his game or else risk losing it all.

  “How’s the little guy?” Jace asked, as I reluctantly directed him to his usual table.

  “He seems to have bounced back just fine, when I left him with Hilda this morning, he was running around in circles, chasing Mickey, while Mickey chased his own tail.” I laughed and shook my head softly, remembering his tiny little giggles. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jace said, smiling up at me.

  “Do you want a menu?” I asked, fidgeting my hands in the pocket of my apron to get a grip on one of the laminated sheets.

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll just do the turkey club and lemon water.” I nodded and turned, ready to go put in his order, but he stopped me with a gently touch on my arm. “Kat, wait, I actually have something for you.”

  I tried to shove aside the flicker of heat sliding up my arm, radiating from where his fingertips were still resting on my skin. I looked down as he fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone…my cell phone. “Oh my God! Where did you—? How did you—?” On Saturday night, on my dinner turned dinner date with Jace, I had thought my phone had fallen out of my pocket on the motorcycle ride to the bar we went to.

  “I called the bar. You left it on the table, so I went and picked it up yesterday.”

  I flicked the screen on—surprised it had any battery left, and looked at the half a dozen missed calls from Mitch, remembering how frantic I’d been when I’d arrived home in time to hear his message about Jax on the land line answering machine. “Thank you, Jace. That was very sweet of you.”

  He smiled and shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”

  As I stared down into his deep blue eyes, I wanted to lean over and kiss him. Even in the midst of all the drama and chaos over the past twenty-four hours, my mind had managed to find plenty of instances to replay our smoldering hot make-out session in his loft apartment. My body temperature seemed to raise a few degrees just thinking about it. “Thanks, again. I’ll go put in your order.” I slipped the phone in my apron and hurried away, back to the safety of the kitchen, where I didn’t have those striking eyes bearing into me, uncovering all my secrets. He’d already seen too much. I knew I’d have to find a way to tell him that whatever we’d started—now needed to stop—but I hadn’t figured out how to explain it just yet.

  I put in the ticket and then went to tend the other three tables, refilling water glasses, fetching napkins, and bringing out coffee and desserts when the meal was over, all the while avoiding Jace’s eyes that I knew were locked onto every move I made. When his lunch was ready, I took it to him, loading my tray with extra napkins and ketchup, just to avoid a second trip, knowing my resolve wouldn’t hold out forever.

  “Kat,” he started, as I set down his meal, and arranged his silverware on the edge of the table. “Is something wrong?”

  I looked away, the pit in my stomach opening into a bottomless hole that was about to swallow me up.

  “What is it? Did I do something?” Jace pressed, reaching for my hand.

  I pulled my hand back, knowing I couldn’t handle it if he touched me again. I wouldn’t be able to get out the words that needed to be said. I sighed, steeling myself, before saying, “Jace, listen, you didn’t do anything. You know that whole “it’s not you, it’s me” line that’s usually total bullshit?” I paused for a reply, but he continued to stare at me calmly. “Well, in this case, it actually is me. I thought I could do this—” I pointed between us, unsure of the exact label for what had happened, “—but I can’t. With work, school, and Jax…I don’t have any room left.” I stopped short of telling him what was really driving the conversation, that I was scared to death that my ex-husband would find some way to twist my happiness against me and use it as a chip to take full custody of our son.

  Jace sighed. “All right, I guess I can’t really argue with that, no matter how m
uch I want to.”

  My heart twisted at the look on his face, like he was trying to bury the hurt I’d just inflicted. “I’m sorry, Jace.”

  His expression shifted and he shrugged. “No biggie. Thanks for this,” he said, gesturing to the sandwich. I took it as my dismissal and wandered away slowly.

  When I looked back, he was biting into the sandwich and staring out the window, across the street towards his tattoo shop.

  * * * *

  Thanks to a sleepless weekend, and a long Monday, I was bone tired by the time I dragged myself up the front steps of my next door neighbor, Hilda’s house, at five o’clock to pick up Jax. Luckily, there was some in service day, and I didn’t have to worry about going to class.

  “Mama!” Jax screeched, launching himself at me as soon as I stepped inside. My fatigue faded away as I swung my little boy up into the air and twirled him around, the sound of his giggling a balm to my bruised heart.

  “Someone has been waiting very patiently for you,” Hilda said, throwing me a wink as she joined us from the kitchen. She held two cups of tea in her hands, and once I’d set Jax back down, she handed one to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, breathing in the soothing aroma. “I needed this.”

  “I thought you might, dear. You looked a little beat up when you dropped him off this morning,” she said. “Come on, let’s sit. I have a casserole in the oven.”

  I followed her to the couch and we watched as Jax proudly showed off his newest block creation—a tower of colorful blocks that he insisted was actually a fierce dinosaur. He was too adorable for either of us to argue with. While he busied himself with a new pile of blocks, Hilda turned towards me on the couch. “So, what’s going on?”

  I sipped at my tea, letting the mint melt into all my senses. “Well, I told you about the hospital thing,” I started. I’d recounted the nutshell version to her when I’d dropped off Jax that morning. “Mitch is being…difficult,” I said, eying Jax. Regardless of how awful Mitch could be, when we’d divorced, I’d made a promise to myself not to bad mouth him in front of Jax—a promise that had turned out to be a lot harder than it had sounded when I’d made it.

  Hilda lifted her brows. “He’s not talking about court again, is he?”

  I nodded slowly. “I don’t know if he’s serious or not, but I don’t want to find out. I need to let this whole Jace thing go and just focus on being a mom and getting through school and move on.”

  “Jace thing?” She repeated, her eyebrows shooting higher still.

  Shit. I hadn’t meant to let that slip…

  “He took me out Saturday…he was with me when I got the call about Jax, actually. He took me out to the hospital.”

  “Ooooh! This is even better than my soap operas!” Hilda laughed. “Tell me more—don’t hold out the good parts! There were good parts, right?”

  “Well…” my eyes shifted to Jax as my cheeks warmed.

  Hilda was bouncing in her seat, her eyes lit with a sparkle like I hadn’t seen before.

  “I mean, Hilda, it was…” I cut off again, looking over at Jax. “It was insane.”

  “Say no more, dear,” Hilda said, throwing me a wink. “I told you he’d be a good match for you. Just the kind of man you need around to make you smile and curl your toes.” She winked.

  I laughed. “No, no. It was a mistake—granted, a fun mistake—but I can’t go there. Not with everything else going on. Besides, he’s like twenty-five! I know I’m not old, but to me, that feels a little too young. Although…you should have seen the way Mitch looked at him,” I giggled, remembering the mix of horror and shock on his face. “Thank God he didn’t have his jacket off. If Mitch had gotten a look at all that ink…oh my God. I can’t even imagine!”

  Hilda frowned at me. “So, what? That’s it? Just like that you’re gonna give up?”

  My smile faded from my lips. “I don’t see what choice I really have. I can’t do anything that will make Mitch question whether or not I’m a good mother. You know what happened last time, with the court. His lawyer steamrolled everyone who came to speak on my behalf.” I shook my head. “No, it’s better this way. I need things to be simple right now.”

  A timer went off in the kitchen, and Hilda went to go see about dinner. I knew the conversation wasn’t over, but for the moment, the pressure was off.

  Chapter Two — Jace

  Overnight, my life had turned into a circus. The camera crew for my reality show, Inked by Jace, arrived Tuesday morning to begin filming, and by Thursday afternoon, I was ready to lock every member of the production team in a closet. It had been at least six months since the first season had wrapped, and in that space of time, I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the ass it was to constantly be followed by cameramen, sound people, and that one guy with the stick that always managed to be in the way whenever I stood up.

  My only escape was going across the street to the diner. At the beginning of filming, I’d let the crew know that space was off limits, and luckily, the diner owner had held out on signing the release papers to allow filming inside anyways. Before filming began, going to the diner had already been the bright spot in my day, but with filming, it had become an outright oasis.

  The only problem was that Kat was getting farther and farther away with each passing day. After our conversation on Monday, I’d reluctantly agreed to back off from pursuing her—no matter how much it killed me to see her and not be able to touch her. It was like getting to lick the frosting from a cake, but not being able to experience the whole thing. Torture. I’d consoled myself with the fact that she hadn’t declared a friendship off limits, and had decided that if I couldn’t have her the way I wanted, I could at least be her friend, and wait for her to reconsider. However, she apparently was working from a completely different playbook and had all but ignored me in the days following her declaration that we weren’t able to be together.

  “I’m going to get lunch!” I shouted at the director, not pausing for an acknowledgment before storming out of the shop, nearly tearing the front door from the hinges.

  The director, John, turned out to be a real dick. I hadn’t worked with him on the first season, and if I had, there would’ve been no way I would’ve agreed to a second. He critiqued everything from the lighting of the shop and the speed of my work, down to the color of my shirt. It appeared that no one was immune to his irritation. As I headed across the street, I was fairly confident that by the time I got back from lunch, there’d be a crime scene in my shop.

  Not that I gave a shit—that would take one massive pain in the ass off my plate.

  My eyes found Kat immediately, she had her back to me, taking an order, but turned as though she sensed my arrival, and my heart twisted into a tight knot in my chest at the small smile, that quickly fell from her full lips as she registered my arrival. I stalked to my normal booth and threw myself down on the seat. After staring at the menu for a few minutes, she finally came over to take my order, which I gave with no embellishments.

  When she came back with the food, she set it down, and turned to walk away. I grabbed a hold of her arm. “Kat, wait.” She paused and looked at me expectantly, as though I were taking her away from her duties, even though only three of the other tables had customers. “What’s going on?”

  She shrugged free of my grip. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” Her tone was clipped and my mind hit an internal rewind button, wondering what I’d done to offend her. I was about to ask, but she slipped away before I got the chance.

  By the time I paid my bill and trudged back across the street, I was wondering what the hell I was doing—moving to this town, Kat, the show. At one point, for a very brief moment, it had all looked like it was going to make sense, but then something changed, and nothing fit together anymore.

  It was beginning to feel like a waste of time—and the itch to cut and run was starting to nag at me somewhere in the back on my mind.

  * * * *

  “We need better cli
ents, Jace. The audience isn’t going to connect with this shit!” John railed. He had just finished showing me some clips of raw footage from the first week of filming.

  “And you think I have control over who comes into the shop?” I fired back, a hollow laugh slipping from my lips. John had cornered me on my way out of the shop, Saturday afternoon, and insisted we have a private meeting while the crew got lunch. Getting across the street to the diner was becoming harder and harder. John always managed to come up with some reason why I needed to stay back, and I knew it was because he wasn’t allowed to film in the diner. Every time I crossed the threshold, I felt like raising my arms and calling out, “Sanctuary,” as the doorbell chimed in the background.

  “You might not hand select the clients, but you’re the one who moved to this town in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere!” He continued, undeterred by the sarcastic expression on my face. “Your first season had so much flavor. People from all walks of life, more stories—better stories! Not to mention your staff. You had a whole show just in that group of screwballs! But what do you have here? Nothing! Not one fucking thing! You have a mousy receptionist who doesn’t bother showing up most days, and when she is here, she runs outside for a smoke every ten minutes, so if she’s secretly interesting, we’ll never get her on camera long enough to find out!”

  I shook my head, waiting for him to run out of steam. “Is this funny to you, Jace?” He asked, his fingers knit together on the desk, as though he had to keep them that way to avoid ripping off my face.

  I leaned forward, matching his dark sneer. “Tell ya what, John. I wish I had a handful of fucking glitter to throw for you in celebration of that little shit-fit you just threw there,” I snarled. “At the end of the day, this isn’t my circus. My contract states that I’m here to do my job and let you follow me around with your crew. That’s it. The rest is your deal.”

  John’s face turned a shade of purple that I didn’t even realize was physically possible. I was about to get up and walk away, when his face rearranged, and the color drained away. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, almost pleasant. “You’re right, Jace. I’ll try to keep that in mind. Why don’t you go get some lunch, I’ll come up with a game plan on my own.”