Hot SEAL, Confirmed Bachelor
SEALs in Paradise
Cynthia D'Alba
To my fellow SEALs of Paradise Authors
Contents
Also by Cynthia D'Alba
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Hot SEAL, Black Coffee
Hot SEAL, Alaskan Nights
SEALs in Paradise Editions
Hot SEAL, Confirmed Bachelor
By Cynthia D’Alba
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Copyright © 2020 Cynthia D’Alba and Riante, Inc.
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Digital ISBN: 978-1-946899-26-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-946899-27-9
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For additional information or to obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author via email at [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
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Cover Artist: Elle James
Editor: Delilah Devlin
Beta Readers: Eileen McCall, Millie Swank, Ruth Smithson and Jody Holt
Also by Cynthia D'Alba
Whispering Springs, Texas
Texas Two Step: The Prequel (Free)
Texas Two Step
Texas Tango
Texas Fandango
Texas Twist
Texas Bossa Nova
Texas Hustle
Texas Lullaby
Saddles and Soot
Texas Daze
Diamond Lakes, Texas
Texas Justice
Cadillac Cowboy
Hot SEAL, Cold Beer
A Cowboy’s Seduction
Dallas Debutantes/McCool Family Trilogy
Dallas, Texas
Hot SEAL, Black Coffee
Christmas in His Arms
Snowy Montana Nights
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Single Title
Hot SEAL, Alaskan Nights
Hot SEAL, Confirmed Bachelor
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Brotherhood Protectors
(Part of Elle James Brotherhood Series)
Texas Ranger Rescue
Texas Marine Mayhem
Chapter One
“Hurry up, C-Note. Ensign Davis will kill us if we’re late to the wedding.”
“Relax, Cowboy. I’ve got this. Besides,” Benjamin Blackwell checked the clock on the dash of his truck, “we’ve got eight minutes before it starts.”
“You just had to help that clerk at the gas station?” Jacob Fowler, aka Rooster, said.
Benjamin chucked. “Hey, don’t blame me. That gas station clerk was hungry. What was I supposed to do? Let her starve?”
Evan Lancaster, aka Cowboy, groaned. “Your cock gives us more trouble than the Taliban.”
“And yet, it’s so much more popular,” Benjamin quipped.
“Turn here,” Rooster demanded, slapping the back of Benjamin’s headrest.
Benjamin slammed on the brakes and whipped the two-ton truck onto an unpaved drive. The heavy truck’s suspension took a beating as the truck shot down the rough road, the rear tires spitting dirt and rocks behind them.
“Christ, Blackwell. I swear, if we’re late, Davis will suggest that every INFIL is a HALO.” Cowboy had the palm of his hand pressed to the truck’s roof to keep from falling over.
Benjamin snorted and start to call him a pussy, but he caught Rooster’s glare in his rearview mirror.
“The threat’s no good if we’re dead,” Rooster said through gritted teeth.
“I’ve got this,” Benjamin said as he wheeled the truck between two fence posts and into a pasture that’d been converted to event parking.
“I can’t believe Davis is having some frilly, white wedding,” Rooster murmured as the guys climbed from the truck. “She’s more guns and camo than sterling silver and lace.”
“You’re just pissed because she nailed your ass at paintball,” Cowboy said.
Rooster socked Cowboy’s shoulder. “She got you, too, asshole.”
“I hate to interrupt this stimulating conversation, but….” Benjamin looked around the area. “Anyone know where we’re going?”
“There.” Cowboy pointed toward a white tent.
The three men set off at a jog toward the distance tent.
“Time?” Rooster asked.
“Four minutes,” Benjamin said. “We’ve got this.”
“Where’s the wedding?” Rooster asked as they walked under the tent.
The kid setting the table pointed down a hill. “Down there. It’s in the rose garden.”
“Shit,” Benjamin said. “Double time, men.”
They took off down the hill, skidding on lose rocks and dirt. As they turned a bend in the road, white streamers and flower-filled vases came into view. They were still a good minute from the wedding venue.
“Kick it,” Cowboy demanded. “I hate HALOs.”
“Who doesn’t?” Rooster replied as they upped their speed to an all-out run.
“Back row,” Benjamin said. “I see three chairs.”
The men skirted around the side of open pavilion to the rear. On the last row, three chairs sat vacant with signs tapped to the backs.
Chair one’s sign read, “Bravo One.”
Chairs two and three had signs that read, “Short straw losers.”
The guys exchanged grins and dropped into chairs that had been saved for them. Benjamin’s chair, i.e. Bravo One, was on the aisle. Rooster took the second chair and Cowboy, the third.
Their butts had barely touched the seats when the music started and the wedding officiant, groom, and groomsmen took their places in front.
“See?” Benjamin whispered. “I told you we had plenty of time.”
His men laughed quietly.
The bridesmaids started down the aisle. After the first woman began walking, the second bridesmaid stopped beside Benjamin and waited to begin her walk. When the third bridesmaid stopped, she handed Benjamin a slip of paper, and then walked on.
He unfolded the paper and read.
Tiffany Nobles. Room 110. See you at the reception. I’m saving you a ‘dance.’
“What the hell, man?” Rooster asked, leaning over and reading it. He snorted and shook his head. He grabbed the note and passed it to Cowboy, who rolled his eyes.
“I like women who know what they want,” Benjamin said.
“You like all women, regardless,” Cowboy said.
“We know you,” Rooster said. “The more, the merrier for you.”
Benjamin looked at his two best friends. “And that’s why I’m a confirmed bachelor, unlike you losers.” He shook his head with a sad expression. “Same woman for the rest of your lives. Mistake, guys.”
Rooster and Cowboy exchanged glances and grinned at each other.
“You’ll find out,” Rooster said with an elbow nudge to Benjamin’s side. “Your day will come.”
“Nope. Never,” Benjamin said with confidence as the bride stopped at their aisle.<
br />
“Damn,” she said. “I had all my arguments ready to present for HALOs as punishment for missing my wedding.” She winked and walked to the front.
The wedding went off without a problem. The happy bride and groom danced down the aisle, followed by their seven groomsmen and bridesmaids. The wedding officiant invited the audience to join the bridal party at the top of the hill under the white tent to continue with the celebration.
“Well, that was fun,” Benjamin said. “Aren’t you glad you got the short straws to come?”
“I’m pretty sure that whole ‘pick a straw for who has to go with you to the wedding’ was rigged,” Rooster said.
“Wait. You drew straws? I got blackmailed. How is that fair?” Cowboy said with a glare.
Benjamin slapped Cowboy’s back. “Don’t look at it as blackmail. Think of it as I wash your back, you wash mine.”
Cowboy shoved him. “Consider this mutual bathing experience at its end, then. We’re even.”
They started the walk back up the hill toward the reception tent. They hadn’t made much progress before coming across an older woman standing with a college-age couple. Her face was red and her breathing labored.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” Benjamin asked.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” the girl exclaimed. She looked toward the men. “She’s having trouble walking back up. I told her to wait here, and we’d get someone to drive a car down, but she’s a stubborn as a mule and insists she can do this.”
“I can,” the older woman said. “I just need to catch my breath.”
Benjamin exchanged glances with his guys. If she was breathless at this point in the walk, she’d never make it up. The big climb up the hill was still ahead and, in Benjamin’s option, was more than this sweet woman could do.
He leaned toward her. “Put your arms around my neck, beautiful.”
She frowned, but did so. He lifted her up into his arms and started walking.
“Put me down,” she ordered.
“No, ma’am.”
“I can walk,” she protested even as she settled against his chest. “I’m too heavy for you to carry.”
He chuckled. “My gear bag weighs more than you. Hang on and enjoy the ride.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled, and she laughed. “Why do I think you’ve said that once or twice to women before?”
He threw back his head in a hearty laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Benjamin. Benjamin Blackwell.”
“You must work with my great-niece, Alisha.”
“You mean, Ensign Davis? The bride?”
“That’s right. Wasn’t she lovely?” Her voice was wistful and her smile bright.
“Very much so, ma’am.”
“Are you part of ‘her boys’, as she calls them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Blackwell. I know it meant a lot to Alisha to have someone from the teams here to support her. My husband was in the Navy, you know.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, he was an admiral when he died.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Now, put me down and let me walk in.”
Heads turned toward the door as he walked through the entrance and set Ensign Davis’s great-aunt on her feet.
“Have a nice evening,” he said.
“I suspect you will also, Mr. Blackwell. I believe one of the bridesmaids is eyeing you even as we speak.”
Benjamin looked in the direct the woman had indicated. The bridesmaid who’d slipped him her name and room number smiled and lifted a champagne flute in a salute.
“Maybe so.” He gave the older woman a nod. “Good evening.”
He met Rooster and Cowboy at the door and passed off his keys. “Here ya go, guys. I’ll find a way home.” He glanced toward the waiting woman and back to his guys. “One way or the other.”
Their chuckles rang in his ears as he made his way across the room toward Tiffany, who was staying in room 110.
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Benjamin’s internal alarm woke him at five a.m. Sunday or not, he refused to let himself sleep in. He’d survived on less than two hours sleep before. and he’d survive today, too. His back popped as he rose from his bed and twisted side-to-side.
Last night’s bridesmaid, Tiffany, had been insatiable to the point he’d wondered if she’d been trying to fuck him to death. If he had to die, fucked to death would definitely beat being shot to death. But he’d drawn the line at bringing in another bridesmaid or two to spice things up. He’d been there, done that, and frankly, after a couple of rounds with her, he’d been ready to call it a night.
He shook his head at the memory. Damn. Had he really turned down a three-way? Was he getting old?
Hell, no. He was only thirty-five. There were decades and lots of women ahead of him. Tiffany simply hadn’t held his attention after the second round.
He stretched his arms over his head, then down to the floor. Beach runs were best in the mornings before the rest of the world woke up and got moving. Sometimes, the looky-loos trying to spot a real, live Navy SEAL near Camp Pendleton could impede his speed and distance. His job required peak conditioning and peak performance. Lack of either could mean death…to him or his team.
A couple of years ago, he’d lucked into a small house in a community where the POAs covered the yardwork, which gave him one less thing to worry about when he was out of country for longer than a month. The community was less than an hour away from base. A short drive, and he was in Coronado. A ten-minute jog from his house and he was on the beach. Perfect location.
And a million miles from where he’d grown up. Thank goodness.
The sun was still an hour from rising when he hit the sandy beach, exactly as he liked it. Empty and deserted. Soundless, except for the pound of his boots on the hard sand and the waves rolling onto shore. No headphones. No music, but what nature supplied. BUD/s had taught him to always stay alert to his surroundings, although, other than a few seagulls, he had no company.
As he ran, he kept his mouth closed and focused on drawing his breaths solely through his nose. Mouth breathing could be noisy, so this was quieter, and in some deployment situations, safer.
This morning would be a short seven-mile jog down to his favorite breakfast haunt. One of the positives about his lifestyle was he could indulge in his favorite foods when the mood hit him. After last night’s workout, he was in the mood for a heavy, calorie-laden food feast. His favorite breakfast place opened at six, and he had every intention of being there right after the doors were unlocked.
At a little after six, he jogged into the parking lot of the Breakfast Club Diner. There were three cars in the lot. He’d been beaten to the diner, but he bet no one else had jogged seven miles to eat there.
After wiping his sweaty face on his shirt, he pulled open the door and entered. His gaze swept the room. It was a habit he suspected he’d have the rest of his life.
An older man sat in booth one, sipping coffee and flipping through the morning paper.
The second booth had a couple crammed in on one side, snuggled tightly, their attentions focused more on each other than the pancakes in front of them. His money was on a date that had started last night and hadn’t yet ended.
There was an empty booth between the loving couple and the last patrons. A woman and a girl sat in booth four. He couldn’t see the woman other than her long, shiny brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The girl was cute and somewhere between nine and sixteen. He wasn’t good with ages of girls. He had limited—no, make that no experience with young girls.
“Morning, Master Chief.”
Benjamin turned toward the counter and smiled at Marcy, the owner/sometimes cook/ sometimes waitress.
In her mid-fifties, Marcy was a bleach-blonde, thin as a rail, and smoked like a chimney on fire. He adored her. She slid a
glass of tap water over the counter toward him. “No ice, straight from the tap, just like you like it.”
“Good morning, Marcy. Thank you very much.” He downed the water and passed the glass back to her for a refill. “I’d ask what’s good this morning, but we both know exactly what I’ll order no matter your answer.”
She handed him the second glass. “Three OJs, a pancake stack, two orders of bacon, hash browns covered and smothered, and four eggs sunny-side up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
She nodded toward the last booth. “Saved your favorite booth fer ya.”
He nodded his thanks and made his way to the last booth. He slid in, his booth back sharing a common back with the mother-daughter duo. Or maybe they were aunt and niece. He had no idea.
Polly, the second waitress, dropped off three glasses of orange juice, a cup of black coffee, and a pitcher of tap water. “Here ya go, Master Chief. Marcy said food will be up in a few minutes.”
He took a long drink of orange juice. “Thanks, Polly. No hurry.”
He unzipped a pocket on his shorts and laid his cell on the table. Officially, the team had the day off, but a SEAL was never really off, just away from the base. And even then, he had to be able to get back if called.
As he lifted his coffee mug, the back of his booth jostled as the girl in the adjacent booth fell heavily against their shared booth back. The wooden separator between the booths was thin, so conversations could be easily overheard. In fact, it was almost impossible not to hear the conversation from booth four.
“It’s not fair,” the girl said. “And don’t say ‘life’s not fair.’ That’s stupid.”
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