The SEAL’s Secret Lover Read online

  He turned around to find her standing right behind him. She reached for his wrist and drew him to the bed, gently urging him to sit down. Then she straddled him. His hands gripped her hips, steadying her on the mattress while she kissed him, slow and hot and deep, her tongue stroking his until he was hard, desperate. His arms wrapped around her slender back.

  She tugged his sweater over his head, then pushed him flat on his back so she could unbutton his shirt, kiss her way down his chest and abdomen to his pants. She slid to her knees on the floor and unzipped his pants, gently easing his stiff cock from his underwear. He lifted his hips to let her tug his pants to his thighs, then pulled the elastic from her ponytail, and remained braced on his elbows to watch.

  Blow jobs done wrong felt perfunctory, a trade for something she wanted later. Blow jobs done right made him feel like a god receiving his due. They hit every single one of his buttons.

  This one, with Rose, was done right, and more.

  She turned the tables on him, this time forcing him to slow down, using her hands and mouth in flowing, slick, alternating movements until he was hard enough to drive nails, and trembling with desire.

  “Come here,” he said, whiskey-voiced, brusque.

  “I’m not d—” she said.

  “You’re done,” he said, cutting her off. He gripped her upper arm and pulled her back up on the bed. A quick flurry of hands bared her to the waist. She wriggled out of her panties while he sheathed himself.

  Watching her hold her skirt out of the way, center herself over his cock, and slide down, down, down until he was as deep inside her as he could get, sent molten heat pulsing through his veins, electrifying his nerves. Her head dropped back, lifting her breasts, tipped with rosebud nipples. He sat up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and hunched over, lifting his hips to drive deeper inside, licking at the taut peaks.

  She gave a fierce laugh and started to ride him, slick, rhythmic movements that worked the head of his cock over that sweet spot inside her. He would have sworn steam was rising from his skin, scented with sex and sweat and her slick juices. He could taste it on her skin, in the air.

  Everything was exactly the same, except it was entirely different. Her hair tumbled around their faces, getting into his mouth, sticking to her cheekbone, to his beard. She watched him, eyes closing occasionally when a particular angle made her quiver, inside and out, but for the most part, she watched him. Her eyes held a tender heat he didn’t recognize but that called to him deep inside, a clarion call, that cracked him open as he came apart in her arms.

  When he returned to the bed, she was fast asleep. He set his alarm for zero four thirty hours, and lay down beside her to watch the moon cross the sky and dip out of sight. On the balcony across the alley, Edjer/Motherfucker, wide-eyed and cat-curious, peered into the room, clearly wondering what the hell he was doing.

  He wondered the same thing himself.

  * * *

  “Rose. Rose, sweetheart, wake up.”

  It was time to go. She knew before she opened her eyes that Keenan was beside her, his lips against her ear. “I’m awake,” she said groggily. “I’m going.”

  He was silent while she rose and dressed, then gathered her shoulder bag from the chair. Torn, she looked at him for a long moment, then rummaged inside and brought out the plastic bag bearing the logo of the gift shop at Troy and laid it on the table. “I never read The Iliad, but I did read The Odyssey for World Lit class. Have you read it?”

  “No.” His voice was rough with sleep, maybe with something else too. But if she’d learned anything from raising Jack and a lifetime of working with men, it was when to push and when to back off. She had nothing to gain from giving advice, offering suggestions, interfering any more than she had. Only Keenan could decide to make that final journey, the one that would bring him home.

  She patted the bag. “Give it a try. Thanks for everything, Keenan. Good-bye,” she said, and let herself out, trotting through Beyoğlu’s silent streets, empty but for street sweepers and delivery vans. She climbed the stairs to the lobby, containing only a yawning night clerk. “Oh,” Rose said when she let herself into her room to find Grannie struggling with a bulging suitcase. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

  “I forgot to stop by a florist and pick up some of those tulip bulbs we saw yesterday. Oh well. I don’t have room for them anyway,” Grannie said distractedly, tugging on the expansion zipper. “I thought it would be easier this morning, but it’s not. Did you have a nice evening?”

  “Yes,” Rose said as she crossed the room to lean on Grannie’s suitcase. Except for the end. The end hurt more than she thought it would, more than it should for a vacation fling. But she’d watched Jack struggle with his mind, his nerves, his future. Warriors had to find their own way home, she reminded herself. The best thing she could do for him was to be there, if he wanted to make that journey. “Don’t … mention this to Jack, okay?”

  “Mention what?” Grannie said, but the concern in her eyes belied her lighthearted response as she closed the zipper. “What happens in Istanbul stays in Istanbul. It’s not like he’s going to move to Lancaster. Can I put some of this in your suitcase, dear? I went a little crazy in the Spice Market yesterday.”

  A taxi took them and their bulging suitcases to the airport in plenty of time for their flight. Once on board, Rose purchased the inflight WiFi and spent the ten-hour flight cleaning out her inbox, reading through all the email, filing what the efficient Hua Li had handled, answering what needed to be answered. Then she settled in to read the resumes for next month’s hiring committee meeting, and tried not to think about Penelope, Odysseus’s wife, or what it would be like to wait for weeks, months, even years, for the man she’d fallen for to come home to her.

  * * *

  A negotiator from the State Department defused the hostage situation, leaving Keenan at loose ends in Istanbul. It took him a minute to identify how he felt when the call came through. He felt relieved. So he took Rose’s copy of The Odyssey and sat in cafés in the spring sunshine, drinking cup after cup of Turkish coffee and reading the other Homeric epic, about Odysseus’s journey home. Thoughtful, he closed the book at last and sat back in the metal chair warmed by the sun to think about the examples he’d followed as a young man. But at Troy, he’d come face-to-face with the reality that wars came and went, cities rose and fell, and everything he’d built his life on would be buried under the layers of earth and time. His father’s way was one way of living. It consumed Hector, Achilles, Patroclus, Paris, Agamemnon, and the men who fought with them. But Odysseus, the wily trickster with a strong, smart woman waiting for him, found a way home.

  If Odysseus could do it, so could he.

  He checked Field Energy’s website. The job for Director of Security was still open, interviews happening on an ongoing basis. He spent the day updating his résumé and letters of recommendation, the ones he’d drafted when he applied for the job with Grey Wolfe Security. Maybe he’d get the job. Maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, he’d show Rose he was ready to come home.

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Rose slipped into the only empty seat at the far end of the conference room table, right next to Patrick Field, the company’s founder and CEO. Anticipating a long afternoon of interviewing final candidates, she nodded to the other hiring committee members and took the lid off her coffee to add a couple of sugar packets. Kelly, the VP of HR handed her a packet of paper on her way out to collect the first candidate.

  “We got a good one for Director of Security,” Patrick said with a wink. “Last-minute thing, but the best we’ve had so far.”

  The candidates had to have either cyber security experience or law enforcement experience, and there was no way Rose could cram any pertinent details from the CV into her head, so she didn’t even bother. Coffee adequately sugared up, she set the paper aside and opened her laptop to take notes. As the newest member she functioned as the group’s secretary, recording the candidates’ speci
fics answers to compare with other members’ impressions. She had just a moment to spare to look out at the blue spring sky. She was beginning to wonder if any sky could compare to the almost royal blue of the days in Ephesus and Troy, or if that color was unique to that particular spot on earth.

  Kelly brought in the first candidate, ending her reverie. She turned her attention from the sky to the door at the far end of the room just in time to see Keenan walk through.

  Her jaw dropped at the same time her heart skipped several beats. He was dressed in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a subtle blue-and-red striped tie, his beard neatly trimmed.

  “This is Keenan Parker, formerly of the United States Navy SEALs,” Kelly said, then rattled off the names and titles of everyone at the table.

  Patrick nudged her while Keenan was exchanging firm handshakes with the other committee members. “I want this guy,” he said. “He’s smart. He’s tough. For damn sure no storage facilities will get blown up on his watch. I want this guy.”

  I know the feeling, Rose thought.

  “Ma’am,” Keenan said. His hand clasped hers.

  “Hello,” Rose heard herself saying, praying her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

  Everyone waited while Keenan seated himself. “Before we begin,” Rose said, “I must clarify that Mr. Parker and I know each other. He and my brother served on the same team in the SEALs, and he served as our guide on my grandmother’s recent trip to Turkey.”

  “I know,” Patrick said. “He said you mentioned the job to him. This is good. You already know how you work together.”

  I will not blush. I will not blush. I did not make Senior Director by thirty to blush like a schoolgirl at a hiring committee meeting.

  “Keenan and I will work very well together,” she said. Did the company’s nepotism policy allow for colleagues with no direct reporting relationship to work together? Field Energy was privately held. That helped. Keenan wouldn’t report to her, nor she to him, and their career paths followed separate arcs. Besides, maybe he didn’t want to start up with her again. Maybe he just wanted the job.

  “Don’t piss her off,” Patrick said to Keenan. “She’s the best in the business.”

  Kelly cleared her throat and picked up her pen. “Keenan, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

  * * *

  When she walked out of the building at five, Keenan was leaning against her BMW 3-series. He’d loosened his tie just enough to expose his throat, and he was staring off into the distance, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He looked just like any other bearded millennial office drone.

  He looked like the man she loved.

  “How did I do?” he asked when she stopped in front of him.

  “Your phone hasn’t rung yet?” she said, surprised. “Patrick wants you, and what Patrick wants, Patrick gets.”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “He got his start in the oil fields, and works harder than anyone else in the company. He’s a straight shooter and appreciates the same in his team. He values competency over flash, and loyalty above all. You’ll get along just fine. But,” she said, pursing her lips, “I’m guessing you did some research before you walked through the front door.”

  “I did,” he said. “I know a few guys in the industry who provide security for oil rigs. I made a couple of calls.”

  “You could have told me,” she said.

  He turned his face to hers, his eyes were unreadable behind the mirrored blade shades, the slightest hint of hesitation in the twist of his mouth. “I thought about it,” he said, “but I wanted to see your face when you saw me. In case you’d changed your mind.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “I’ve been researching jobs in Istanbul, truth be told. But something inside me said you’d get here, one way or another.”

  “So you still want me.”

  “Of course I still want you,” she said. “But I have one more interview question for you.”

  “Go.”

  “There’s no right or wrong answer, but if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

  He considered the question for a moment. “That’s a good one. I’ve lived all over the world, in all kinds of circumstances. But this is where I’d be.”

  “Not in Istanbul, or Virginia Beach. In Lancaster,” she confirmed. “The world’s most boring city.”

  He pointed at the asphalt beneath their feet. “I’ve been driving around all afternoon. Lancaster’s not all that boring, but I meant right here. In this parking lot, with you.” His face sobered. “I fell in love with you the moment you walked up to me and said you were jet-lagged as hell. I’m coming home, to you.”

  She knew she shouldn’t stand in the company parking lot and kiss the newly hired Director of Security with greedy hands and tongue. She shouldn’t luxuriate in the shift of fine wool against her bare legs, in the tensile strength of his shoulders and torso under a fine cotton shirt. Nothing about this was ordinary, average, white picket fence, and perfectly spaced kids and maybe even a golden retriever.

  Keenan was everything she didn’t know she wanted, and more.

  “I’ll tell Kelly about us tomorrow,” she said when he came up for air.

  “Okay,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips, her beard-scraped chin. “Jack’s going kill me.”

  “No, he won’t,” Rose said, completely confident. “Want to know why?”

  He grinned at her. “Why?”

  “Even Navy SEALs answer to their big sisters.”

  His grin widened, then he backed her into her car and kissed her again.

  Welcome to Eye Candy, the East Side’s hottest nightclub where the bartenders are hot, the cocktails are fancy, and danger lurks just under the surface …

  READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF UNDER THE SURFACE!

  ONE

  Sex on a stick, Lord, that’s all I need … walking, talking sex on a stick. If he can mix a decent drink, so much the better.

  Eve Webber shifted two boxes of limes to the far end of the bar and considered apologizing to the Almighty for making the risqué request. Not a single lesson in eighteen years of Sunday school covered petitioning the Lord for a good-looking man. But with a location on the edge of Lancaster’s struggling East Side and nine people depending on her for their paychecks, Eye Candy’s success depended heavily on gorgeous male bartenders who lived up to the bar’s provocative name. She’d take all the help she could get.

  “Drop dead sexy, knowledgeable, with just a smidgen of honor. That’s all I need,” she muttered.

  She picked up her iPhone and scanned for chatter on Facebook and Twitter. A couple of posts from women in her target market, young professionals, about meeting up at Eye Candy after work, which was very welcome news. She replied, tweeted her drink specials, then set the phone in the portable speaker unit for background music while she finished prepping the bar for the evening rush.

  The heavy steel door swung open. She looked up from the limes and saw a lean figure silhouetted in a rectangle of thick August sunlight that cloaked his head and shoulders, shrouding his face.

  “Chad Henderson?” she said, and if her voice was a little breathier than usual, well, he’d caught her off guard.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The two words ran together, automatic yet without a hint of deference, not a drawled opening to flirtation. “Come on in,” she called, consciously steadying her voice.

  She moved out from behind the bar to meet him. He didn’t offer any of the small talk applicants often used to connect with her, so she leaned against the end of the bar and watched him scrutinize Eye Candy’s interior as he wove his way through the tables toward her. The walls were black-painted cinderblock, and tables and stools surrounded the oak-parquet dance floor on three sides; her DJ’s booth comprised the fourth side and backed one short wall of the rectangular room. The solid oak, custom-crafted bar she’d purchased for a pittance at a bankruptcy
auction ran along the other short end of the rectangular room. The place was empty and echoing now, but in three hours couples would pack the dance floor and every table would be occupied.

  Chad stopped in front of her and slid the earpiece of his Revo sunglasses into the V of his shirt, exposing surprisingly hard ridges of pectoral muscle, given his lean frame.

  “Eve Webber. I own Eye Candy.” She offered her hand and got a firm grip in return as she took inventory. Maybe six feet tall, because her heels brought her to five ten and their eyes were just level. He wore running shoes, faded jeans too loose to draw attention to anything underneath, and a dark green button-down with the top two buttons undone. Reddish-brown hair long enough to show finger-combing ridges curled at his ears and shirt collar, and hazel eyes met Eve’s assessing look without a hint of expression.

  “Thanks for the interview.”

  Definitely not anxious, or eager, or any of the other adjectives normally used to describe a job applicant in a tough economy, but she liked the cool confidence. It made him very watchable. Some women liked to flirt openly with a sexy-yet-safe bad boy. Others wanted to watch, and wonder. He wasn’t exactly sex on a stick, but if he had any skill behind a bar at all, Chad would round out the eye candy quite nicely.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she said as she leaned against the bar and gestured to one of the bar stools.

  He braced himself against the stool and crossed his legs at the ankle, effectively trapping her between his body and the bar. After another glance at her, one that seemed to take in every detail of her face and body, he folded his arms across his chest and scanned the room again. “Nice setup.”

  “Thanks. I’ve only been open a couple of months but business is good so far.” She’d made a high-stakes bet on a building on the edge of the proposed Riverside Business Park, an urban renewal project due for a vote in the city council in the next few weeks. If it passed, Eve’s lifelong neighborhood on Lancaster’s East Side would get a much-needed influx of money, jobs, and attention.