Bad Boy SEALs

by Scarlett Avery

  I snap out of my lustful daze and clear my throat just before shifting my gaze away from hers. "The deck was definitely a big selling point for Brandon and I when we signed the lease." I change subject because if I don't, dinner will have to wait. In fact, it might turn into breakfast.

  “Yeah it was,” Brandon says from behind me. His detached tone indicates he didn’t just witness that loaded interaction. “It’s especially stunning in the morning," he adds. I'm not sure if the double entendre is deliberate. That said, I’d have to be a goddamn liar if I didn't fess up to the fact that now I can only picture Amelia’s naked body wrapped in my sheet—or Brandon’s—admiring the city stretching out at her feet right before we ravish her over, and over, and over. God, I want this woman with every fiber of my being.

  The last few hours since I invited Amelia over to our place have been the longest of my life. It's a good thing sir Bennington was as eager as Carter and Sullivan to get moving as quickly as possible. After a particularly productive meeting last night, he insisted on us meeting again today. In the end, Brandon and I spent most of the day at his office hashing out the details of an agreement that will greatly benefit both companies. We were only able to escape at four o'clock giving us just enough time to swing by the caterer, the wine shop and the florist. Without that, I'm pretty sure I would've spent the entire day jerking off thinking of the woman standing in front of me.

  “These flowers are magnificent,” she marvels catching sight of the bouquet set on the middle of the table.

  “You like them?” Brandon asks.

  “Yes, I do. What are they? I don't think I've ever seen anything like this before.”

  “White Lions. They’re part of the daffodil family. They’re unique because they’re all white,” Brandon responds.

  She gets a little closer and bends down. "Their aroma is as captivating as their double set of petals. I absolutely love them," she smiles brightly.

  I approach her. “Brandon and I are still new here so we went with the florist our assistant always orders from. We decided to choose an arrangement that reminded us of how exceptionally beautiful you were on Wednesday night, hence the all-white bouquet, as homage to the dress you were wearing." There she goes blushing again. "The shopkeeper mentioned that an all-white daffodil symbolizes friendship and new beginnings. I think it's quite fitting for tonight, don't you?" My eyes dart furtively to Brandon. He smiles back.

  "I agree. When you strip away that knight and damsel relationship, I guess this is the burgeoning of a new friendship," Amelia says shyly. "One I'm looking forward to."

  "Same here," Brandon and I respond in unison.

  Her grin grows a little wider. All three of us just stare at each other without saying a word. The surge of electricity running throughout us is palpable. She's the one to break the spell. "Seriously, these flowers are absolutely beautiful. Thank you."

  "We’re happy you like them," I say.

  "Well, boys and girls, everything is ready. Let's eat," Brandon announces, rubbing his hands furiously together. It's a good thing one of us has the presence of mind to change the subject.

  “Please have a seat,” I say, pulling out a chair for Amelia. She sinks into the chair in this dignified and distinguished way that’s just so alluring. It screams well-bred. When she's comfortably seated, she scoots her chair closer to the table before looking up and thanking me. From this vantage point, I catch the soft swell of her breasts. My God. I actually have to shake my head to snap out of this bewitching spell I find myself under. Brandon doesn't miss a thing. He arches an eyebrow knowingly. I simply tilt my head in a silent answer. I circle the table and rush to the other side and take a seat.

  “Amelia are you okay starting with some white wine? We bought a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc—”

  "It’s one of my favorites," she says.

  "I'm glad to see we’re on the same wavelength," Brandon concludes. Once Brandon fills our glasses, he drops the bottle in the ice bucket and comes and sits next to me.

  “Here’s to new friends,” I say, lifting my glass.

  “Hear, hear,” Brandon and Amelia clink their glasses against mine.

  We each take a long sip of wine.

  "Everything looks incredible," Amelia exclaims admiring the dishes in front of her.

  "I hope you’ll like the meal," Brandon says.

  "I'm sure I will. I'm already salivating." So am I. No doubt it's for different reasons. "If this tastes half as good as it smells, I'm in trouble. I might have to have seconds," she declares.

  "Don't worry, neither Holden or I will try to hold you back. Eat to your heart’s content." Brandon's invitation brings a huge smile to her face.

  "I might take you up on that offer, sir.”

  Brandon smiles back at her like a fool.

  I'm too mesmerized watching them interact to even talk.

  “Dessert is even more tempting,” Brandon says.

  “Oh, what's on the menu?” she asks.

  “Pecan, bourbon, and butterscotch bread pudding," Brandon announces proudly. The way he says that, you'd think he cracked some eggs and whipped butter all afternoon.

  "Mother of God. Are you talking dirty to me, sir?”

  “No, but if you insist, I'm sure I can come up with something.” Brandon's expression is devoid of any trace of humor.

  This is the part of the program where I know for sure that my best friend is as hard and horny as I am.

  “Shall we eat?” I suggest, and my own words make my dick twitch.

  "Honestly, this is exceptional," Amelia marvels with her left hand covering her mouth. She’s so dainty. "On top of everything you're already juggling, should I assume you also moonlight as professional chefs?" She laughs wholeheartedly. The sound is bright and pleasant, the kind of laugh bred to echo through ballrooms and castles.

  "There are a lot of things we do well, cooking isn't one of them. Other than barbecuing some pre-marinated meat and cooking the occasional omelet, there are few chances anyone will ever confuse us with chefs,” Brandon says. “This meal is courtesy of a team of pros," he adds.

  She laughs again.

  "Brandon is right. We wanted to impress you, not poison you.” That earns me a smile. “We leave the cooking to people who know what they're doing," I chuckle. “It doesn’t get better than Très Gourmet.”

  “We selected a rustic menu. I hope that’s okay with you. We don’t like chi-chi food. I don’t want to eat sushi, sea urchin or eel,” Brandon interjects.

  “Neither do I,” Amelia says. Really? “I much prefer a hearty meal that leaves a lasting impression,” she says with a tinge of an old-fashioned etiquette that I haven’t seen even among the very rich girls I’ve fucked. Still, with Amelia, there’s no sense of pompousness whatsoever. This blueblood girl is far more low maintenance then I expected. It’s refreshing and another reason why I’m so fucking attracted to her.

  “Amen to that,” Brandon cheers lifting his glass. Amelia and I do the same.

  We all laugh.

  “What do you think of our place?” Brandon changes subject.

  "We've already determined that the view is spectacular and I’m totally jealous of your Jacuzzi,” she laughs. “Seriously, your place is exceptional. It’s modern without lacking warmth and it’s outrageously spacious. What more can you ask for? I'd say you lucked out."

  "That's exactly how we feel," I say. Brandon nods his agreement.

  “You even have a billiard room. I saw it upstairs. That's a huge bonus.”

  I furrow my eyebrows. “You mean the pool table?” I ask. She nods. "You know how to play?"

  "Billiards goes back many generations in my family. It's the game of choice among the Cavendish men. My father says that many men have strategized wars over a game of billiards. I personally think it's chess, but he insists otherwise," she laughs. "Daddy taught me how to play when I was a kid… on my insistence. I guess I should say my childish tantrums did the trick. I was so jealous that he
was spending time with my brothers in the games room and I always felt excluded. I'm definitely not at his level or my grandfather's..." she shrugs. "I guess I'm okay. I haven't played in a while so I'm sure I'm very rusty."

  "Maybe we'll have to play sometime," I suggest.

  "Something tells me you’d beat me with your eyes closed," she says.

  "Maybe there's a way for you to convince me to let you win," I tease.

  “What did you have in mind?" she asks in the deep low voice that makes my balls tingle.

  I lift the corner of my lips. It's not a smile. It’s the realization that this gorgeous woman just one-upped me. "Let’s leave it for now," I suggest.

  "As you wish," she gives me a one-shoulder shrug. "Think about it. When you figure it out, you know where to find me," she dares.

  This girl is full of surprises. "I will."

  She drops her fork and knife before sliding her hands under the table. Her gaze bounces from Brandon's to mine. "I have a little confession to make.”

  “Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Brandon jokes.

  "What is it, Amelia?” I press.

  “I haven’t been up there since my brother and his crew were putting the final touches to the place two years ago,” she says.

  “Your brother is the property developer?” Brandon jumps in before I do.

  “He is. Well, I should say it's a joint venture. Patrick and his best friend, Royston Edwards. Royston happens to be my father’s best friend’s son. Patrick takes care of Daddy’s financial company in Asia. He oversees the office in Shanghai. My eldest brother Sebastian is posted in New York and Daniel—the youngest amongst my brothers—is in Tokyo. Patrick wanted more, so he joined forces with Royston—who’s been in the real estate world for a while. These buildings are the first of many luxury flat partnerships between them. They’re working on several more in the Hyde Park area. Now, Patrick divides his time between China and the UK.”

  "What a small world," Brandon says. No shit.

  “There's so much linking us to you," I say. Seriously, what are the odds?

  "I agree." She holds my gaze for a beat before continuing. "This," she spreads her arms, "used to be a lot of four rental buildings that were built in the mid-sixties. The former owners were very frugal, they didn't believe in forking out for upkeeps and renovations. As more and more property owners were building luxury flats—both for purchase and rental, the former owners started losing tenants. At some point, they couldn't handle it anymore. They wanted out. My brother and Royston were at the right place at the right time. My brother's the one who came up with the idea of the three separate elevators."

  "Why did he have it designed that way? I mean, it must’ve cost him a fortune," I state.

  “It did, but it's paid off big time. One elevator services the second to the ninth floor, a separate one goes straight to the tenth and then the eleventh, and you have your own private elevator that comes all the way up here. It ensures maximum privacy. When Patrick and Royston built this place, they knew they wanted to keep the top three floors of each building. I snatched the tenth—because I’m family and I was paying with my own money—but they wanted to hold onto the others for high-priced luxury rentals.”

  "Yeah, the privacy factor is sweet,” Brandon says, “but that wasn't a criteria for us. We were sold on this place because of its size and the location. It's way more space than Holden and I need, but I won’t complain. We each have our separate quarters. It’s like being neighbors, except we’re under the same roof."

  “Have you always been neighbors?” Amelia asks.

  “It’s a habit for me to bunk up with this guy." I play punch Brandon's bicep. “We were roommates while we were in university. We were also on the same platoon when we were in the Navy SEALs and before that we lived in the same neighborhood—we didn’t live next door to each other, but close enough so that we’d spend every waking hour together when we weren’t in school. When we purchased our penthouse in the Big Apple, we secured the top three floors of a new construction and we built our own little paradise in the sky. It’s so massive we have an elevator inside our place. We also own a home outside of New York City—in the Hamptons."

  “Wow. That’s quite the friendship.”

  “We’re tighter than blood brothers will ever be," Brandon beams at me.

  "Although we each have siblings—Charlie has two sisters—I’d say it's the same for my best friend and I."

  "I don't want this to come out the wrong way, but I'm sure our stories are a little different. As I mentioned when I invited you over, Brandon is all the family I have since the passing of my grandparents. It’s the same for him.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that you lost your parents. What a tragedy.”

  “It’s been like this since I was nine and Brandon was eight. One day, I’ll tell you all about it,” I deflate a potentially depressing conversation.

  “I didn’t mean to say anything wrong,” she worries.

  “You didn’t, angel. It’s our first time together. Reminiscing the past is just going to bring us all down,” I offer her a small smile.

  She returns it and changes subject, “I’m sure I’m not the first person to tell you how amazing your company is. What prompted the shift from Navy SEALs to tech gods?"

  "Good try, angel." My words seem to shock her. "If I remember correctly, I offered you food in exchange for my life. You, in return, promised to tell us about your company. You already know all there is to know about our App," I pause and move my attention away from her. “Am I wrong here or is someone trying to squirm their way out of their commitment? What do you think, Royal?" I ask, turning to my best friend.

  Brandon sits a little straighter on his chair. When I see that knowing glee flash in his eyes, I know it's game on. "Now that you mention it, Viking, I think you're right. I do recall you telling me about that part of your agreement with Miss Cavendish," he says in a snobbish tone. "So far our guest knows a lot more about us than we do about her. How is that even fair?"

  She rolls her eyes at us. "Are you telling me that you didn't do a Google search on me?" she asks.

  We shake our heads in unison.

  Once again, I have Sir Bennington to thank for that. Last night's dinner meeting ran longer than we expected and this morning, we started working on his proposal at six o'clock. We didn't have much time to cyber stalk a little princess. In the end, Brandon and I made the decision not to go down that road.

  "There’s so much shit and fake news on the Internet. Why waste our time? We’d rather hear it from your sweet lips," Brandon is a master at these things.

  "So, you actually didn't Google me?" she repeats incredulously.

  "You sound disappointed," I note.

  "No. I’m simply surprised. Shocked, actually. Most people go online and try to dig up as much dirt on me as they can," she explains. "They usually end up empty, because they’ll never find any photos of me swinging from the chandelier with a bottle of vodka in my hand in the middle of the Vegas all-night party," she laughs.

  "Thank God for small favors," Brandon jokes.

  "Lucky for you, we’re not most people," I set her straight. "Did you Google us?" I ask.

  "Maybe." She fights off a smile.

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  "You come across as two incredibly fascinating people, I wanted to know more. I know I was coming here tonight, but I couldn't resist."

  "So, spill it, cupcake," Brandon says.

  "Wait, I have a question," she pleads.

  I narrow my eyes. I’m so on to to her. "Is this another stall tactic?" It's my turn trying my best not to smile.

  "No, I swear. It's something you said, Holden."

  "Let's hear it." I even add the hand gesture for effect.

  "Why do you call Brandon, Royal?"

  "Why don't I let him answer that?" I say, tapping my best friend on the shoulder.

  "It's been my nickname since high school. My last name is Buckingham,
as in Buckingham Palace. I was late for class for the fourth time in a row, and the teacher turned around—as I was trying to sneak in without being noticed—and said, Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, sire. I know how difficult it must be for you Royals to juggle all of your important responsibilities. It must be quite challenging to fit education into the mix. The class lost it. I mean people were roaring for a solid fifteen minutes. After that my classmates started mocking me by calling me, Royal. I absolutely hated it at first, by it grew on me."

  "That’s a hilarious story.” Brandon’s smile widens. “I think it suits you. You wear it with dignity and a dash of badass brazenness that’s irresistible.” He sits up straighter in his chair and pumps out his chest like a proud silverback gorilla who’d just defeated the head of a rival clan. Fucker. “Your nickname is easy to figure out," she says turning to me, her cheeks flushed pink. "You fit the role of the mighty, fearless Viking to a T."

  I flash her a side grin and look down to hide my own blush.

  Yeah. I’m fucking blushing. This girl has got us by the balls.

  When I snap back to my senses I say, "Flattery won’t get you out of this. Come on, cupcake, we’re still waiting to hear how you spend your days."

  She smiles wide. "All right. You win. Give me a second. I'm just going to grab my phone to show you what I do."

  She jumps to her feet and sashays to the kitchen in those five-inch heels that have me salivating. My cock grows hard with the sinful swaying of her hips. Jesus.

  I turn to Brandon and mouth, Holy fuck.

  He inhales deeply, flaring his nostrils while rolling his eyes into the back of his head. She’s so fucking hot, he mouths back.

  We both chuckle silently.