Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Well that was better than grocery shopping,” she finally said once they’d recovered and rinsed off, standing up and using the shower this time.

  He laughed. “I grabbed dinner stuff this morning. When I ran into town to drop off the building permit applications.”

  “You meanie!” she gasped. “And here I was feeling all conflicted and guilty, being a terrible housewife.”

  He kissed her soundly. “Never.”

  She climbed out of the tub and grabbed two towels—if she wasn’t contributing anything else to the care and order of their little home, at least she could do that small kindness for the man she loved. “I did cook for you once last week…” she said, squinting as she tried to remember if that was in fact true, or maybe just something she’d meant to do.

  She’d been so busy the last few weeks, diving headfirst into her new role, which was a bit of a work-in-progress, since her crazy boyfriend had offered her a job that didn’t exist, on a payroll funded by a guy who had no clue what was going on.

  And it had all worked out, somehow, miraculously, just fine.

  Except for the part where she remembered to buy groceries and make dinner.

  “You’re perfect,” Mick said with a satisfied grin as he wrapped his towel low around his hips. Her gaze tangled up on the deep vee carved between his lower abs and his hips. “And… eyes up here.” He winked. “I’m not a piece of meat, kitten.”

  “Maybe not, but you are very pretty.”

  He snorted. “Covered in scars?”

  “Every last inch a beautiful, wonderful man.” She tightened her own towel over her breasts and headed for the bedroom. There was something so lovely and intimate about getting dressed together.

  She tugged on shorts and a new tank top, then dropped a quick kiss on his shoulder as she cruised by to fix her hair before it got out of control. “What are we having for dinner, anyway?”

  He swung through the bathroom to collect their beer bottles. “Rice with peas and mango, chicken drumsticks.”

  “Yum.”

  He held up the beers. “You want to take a walk down to the beach with these while the chicken cooks?”

  “Sure.” She flashed him a smile from under her arms as she worked on twisting her hair back into decent looking spirals. Daphne’s hair cream was good, but it didn’t work magic if the frizz got out of control.

  He disappeared, and she heard some kitchen noises, but by the time she made it out to the living room, he was waiting for her with a little smile on his lips. “Ready?”

  “Yep.”

  He handed her beer over and they headed down the path to the beach, hand in hand.

  She kicked off her sandals as soon as they hit the white sand and he followed suit. They walked a little ways down the shoreline, but the jungle encroached on a headland not too far along, so they turned back, taking their time.

  When they got back to what she thought of as their beach, she sat down on a piece of driftwood and dug her toes into the sand. There was something soothing, healing about just sitting and listening to the waves. A sound as old as the ages, it whispered right into her heart that everything would work out.

  Mick watched her for a minute, then joined her on the log.

  “I went to see your mother yesterday,” he said quietly.

  “Oh?” Her mom had met Mick twice already—the first time right after Cara had told Mellie she was quitting her job. Her mother had stood up and insisted she be introduced to this man that made her daughter crazy in the head.

  But Mick had won Mellie over. Not enough to explain a spontaneous visit, but…Mick was that kind of guy. Sweet—deep down inside, anyway.

  “I was in town, and I thought…” He shrugged and mimicked what she was doing with her toes, burying his own in the sand beside her. “She said that when you were a kid, you used to talk turning Villa Sucre into a Bed & Breakfast.”

  She turned pink. “Yeah. It was a pipe dream.”

  “Any room for a B&B in the living history proposal?”

  Her heart rate picked up. “I don’t know.”

  “You should think about it. Might be a nice idea. We’re going to have to use one of the resorts on the other side of town. Could be good to have closer accommodation options as well.”

  She was already picturing the proposal. It would mean only doing re-enactments on the main floor, and they’d need to do something about the kitchen… She licked her lips. “What did my mother say?”

  He laughed. “You don’t want to ask her yourself?”

  God, her cheeks were warm now. “I don’t want to get her hopes up. If I did something like that, part of it would be for her, you know?”

  He nodded. “I know. One of the many things I love about you.”

  “My guilt over the fact that my mother still works as a maid?”

  “That you’re kind and giving and a good daughter.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “She doesn’t stop talking about you, you know.”

  “Really?” Cara knew her mom was proud, but hearing it from Mick was something else. “Thank you.”

  He stood up and walked down toward the water. The sun was dropping fast behind them, and cast the entire sky pink and purple.

  He turned around. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice carrying a bit.

  “What?”

  “That this was what I was looking for.” He came closer again. He was smiling, and it reached his eyes, softening his entire face. Still strong and capable, but he was also truly relaxed. It made her heart nearly explode from the joy of it.

  “Me too,” she said.

  He slowly sank to one knee, and her chest got even tighter as she watched him duck his head for a second, then look back up at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I talked to your mom about something else,” he said slowly. She stood and walked toward him, her legs shaking. “I told her how much I love you. How I never want to let you go and I always want to be there for you.”

  “Oh, Mick…” She blinked back the tears. “You’re a crazy, wonderful man.”

  “So I don’t have a job,” he said with a laugh.

  “That’s okay, neither do I,” she whispered.

  “And I live in a shack.”

  “It’s got a beach.”

  “Filled with rocks.”

  “Keeps the tourists away.”

  “Good point.” He took a deep breath and pulled a thin gold ring from his pocket. She recognized it immediately. “That’s my mother’s engagement ring,” she said through the tears she couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “She thought that since I was a broke-ass American vet, she might do me a solid and let me use it to propose to you.”

  Cara hiccuped as she laughed. “She did not say that.”

  He shook her head. “No. She said that she didn’t regret a single day of her marriage to your father and that it would be foolish to wait until the right time. Life is short and love is precious. So Cara Levasseur, would you make me the happiest man on the planet and be my wife?”

  She nodded, over and over again, as she sank to her knees and threw her arms around his neck. “for richer and for poorer. I’ll marry you tomorrow, Mick Frasier.”

  * * *

  Thank you for reading RUINED BY THE SEAL!

  Keep reading in the Hot Caribbean Nights series… One-click BOUND BY THE SEAL, Arielle and Brayden’s book, next!

  Sometimes enemies make really fun bedmates…

  Navy SEAL Brayden Lucas assumes that when he detains a burglar at the Caribbean plantation he’s house-sitting, it’ll be a straightforward matter of figuring out who the would-be thief is and turning her in to the authorities if need be.

  That was before he tied her up, and they started talking.

  But the truth is there’s nothing straightforward about Arielle Day. Not the way she lights him up inside, or the secrets she’s obviously keeping.

  And nothing is going to stop Brayden from exploring the e
xplosive chemistry between them…

  ONE CLICK BOUND BY THE SEAL NOW

  Turn the page for the the passionate story between a strong American architect and beautiful Giselle from Paris in HUSBAND MATERIAL.

  Husband Material

  Raine Miller

  She left me the week before our wedding.

  Said I wasn't "husband material."

  Actually, I'd have to agree with my ex on that matter...because I'm just better off alone.

  But everything changed for me the day I met a mysterious beauty sketching on the beach.

  Giselle…

  We had one magical night together...and then she was gone—a French beach fairy who danced away with the dawn.

  I searched until I found her again.

  And now I can't let her go...because maybe I am husband material after all.

  Prologue

  This is me breaking up with you. Enclosed is the ring that you made me pick out—alone. The same ring-choosing at Tiffany's you were an hour and ten-minutes late for.

  Yes, that's right, Gage, my dear uncaring asshat fiancé. I've left you, and this godforsaken beach shithole.

  We've reached the natural progression of all our fights, all your pointed silences, all your lame excuses. By now, it has to be fifty going on a hundred times you've sworn to change, sworn you're trying to open up to me. But I think we both know the indifferent mask you wear has become so ingrained it's a part of you now.

  Not to mention your zero consideration for me. You should know what I'm going to say here—because in the last two years, how many millions of occasions have I asked you to put your dirty socks in the hamper? But you haven't even been able to do that simple little thing. Asshole.

  And yes, what I found this morning–determined the end of this shitshow of a relationship. The sock that broke the loveless relationship's back. Fitting, in a sad way. Dirty weed-green socks flung in actual sneezing distance of the wicker hamper–the very one I bought with an easy-open lid just for you. I stared at those disgusting dirty socks and decided that I didn't want to do this anymore. Not with you.

  Because let's face it, this isn't just about socks. This is about respect. The respect you do not have for me, or my feelings in any way, shape, or form. But that's understandable considering your cold heart barely beats even on a good day. So, I've decided it's much better to do this now instead of later.

  Gage Danielson, I will not go through with a farce of a marriage like the one you proposed only from a dull sense of duty. Paul and Isa's wedding breaking down at the altar last month was like a last-minute-rescue-mission-wake-up call for me. I've realized I don't have to do this with you anymore. I don't have to marry a man who won't ever love me the way I deserve to be loved. You aren't husband material any more than your neurotic friend Paul is.

  Unlike you, work isn't my life. My life is my life, and I intend to keep it that way. And I intend to spend it with a man who loves me.

  Get ready for this next part.

  You know your friend Parker? Well, you successfully managed to ignore me so much that I ended up making him my friend too. The kind of friend you have naked sleepovers with.

  I would say I'm sorry and wish you the best, but let's not lie to each other.

  Not every man has what's necessary to be husband material. And since you're definitely not one of them, I guess you'd better get used to being alone...forever.

  -Cassidy

  1

  “The worst part is that she's right."

  I shook my head slowly.

  Before Gray could respond, I continued. "Near the end, it did get pretty bad. But still, I didn't see this train wreck coming."

  Gray ran a hand through his light brown hair, his eyes set obliquely to the left. "Must've been crazy rough, having to cancel that five-hundred-guest wedding she'd arranged down to the last pink peony and everything…"

  "Don't remind me."

  Gray had been one of the intended guests—my best man, in fact. He, along with Paul, and Reid, my other friends, and of course, good old Parker—trusted friend/fiancée stealer/MIA asshole of the year.

  My hands clasped into tensed fists on the table. How long? Cassidy said she'd finally given up on us that morning, so exactly how long had they been having their naked sleepovers? I shouldn't really give a fuck, but what—? Had the idiot planned to accept Cassidy as my wife and still fuck her on the side? He's more of a moron than I thought possible. A look around the restaurant provided nothing in the way of interesting distraction for me. Everything was too dully recognizable, from the cheery streams of sunlight filtering in through the wide-open windows to the faces of the patrons it illuminated. Vaguely familiar faces looking just as delighted to be here as I wasn't.

  Sure, it was good to see Gray, but the past weeks had been nothing short of hell on earth. Concerned calls from those I considered "close" alternating with judgmental and fucking obnoxious inquiries from far-off relations, and barely friends of my ex-fiancée streaming in on the regular.

  My parents and I weren't on speaking terms over it, and Cassidy had been true to her word. After her spiteful letter, I hadn't heard a single bitchy peep from her. Which I guess was good, all things considered. She'd actually disappeared from Charleston entirely. Was apparently sunning it up in Barbados with her asshole beau, which explained fuckhead Parker's absence.

  I tossed some water down my throat, careful not to slam the glass on the table with the anger I felt. "A fucking letter?" I swigged the ice around in my glass listlessly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised I got the most overdramatic letter from a failed actress."

  Gray poured me some more water. "Please take comfort she did this before the ceremony, and you weren't in a tux in front of five hundred watchful wedding guests like Paul. You dodged that mess, at least.

  I smiled bitterly. "It's the little things, true. Just wish it wasn't my so-called friend who took my girl, you know?"

  "But did you really think of Cassidy as your girl, Gage? Not to be an asshole, but from where I was standing, she didn't make you happy. She was never…easygoing or…friendly."

  I got that Gray was trying his best to be diplomatic in saying that my ex was a fucking bitch most of the time. Honestly, I haven't mourned her departure. Have enjoyed the silence. He should, because diplomatic skills were burned into his DNA. Grayson T. Lash III was the grandson of a former POTUS and the current Attorney General of the great state of South Carolina. To me, he was just my friend since as long as I could remember. I shook my head, my eyes going to the corner of this place. Jazz Street, it was called. There was no actual jazz here and, to my knowledge, there never had been in its long and illustrious history, dating back a good hundred years. But Jazz Street did have good food, windows that looked toward the beach, and a decent wine list.

  Gray and I had come here more times than I could remember, right to this vaulted-ceiling corner with the slightly tippy table. Our usual spot for catching up on the latest news in our lives. He'd heard all about the perpetual Cassidy issues that had plagued my life over the last two years, so I figured it was past fucking time to find a new topic of conversation with one of my best friends, who also happened to be married to my cousin, Reese.

  "She's definitely right about one thing," I said suddenly. "I'm not husband material, and I think I'm meant to be single. For good."

  Chin in his hand, Gray tilted his head toward me, raising a brow.

  "I mean it." I chomped on an ice cube, annoyed. Already, I could guess what Gray's reaction would be. "I know how things ended up working out for you and Reese, but that's not in the cards for me. I thrive on working hard and, to be honest, I probably haven't viewed any of my relationships as more than a convenience for getting laid." And I can't even remember the last time Cassidy and I fucked.

  Over the rim of his crystal glass, Gray regarded me. "Has it ever occurred to you that you haven't met the right person yet?"

  I shrugged. "With the number of women I've been with? N
o."

  The other part I didn't mention to him. That last line of Cassidy's hatefully penned rant, the one telling me to enjoy being alone forever. Reading that part had sent a shiver through me like the unmistakable precision of a very sharp fucking blade. An omen of sorts.

  My gaze absently left our table and spanned the familiar faces arranged within the white-walled, white-floored room. There was my old gym teacher, Mr. Cho Mi, with the perfectly spherical bald spot on his hair and too-bright, darting eyes. There was Laney, one of the many girls I'd dated, doing her best to keep her pointy chin turned well away from me. There was even a third cousin of mine, Paulina, who also wasn't looking at me, since she'd taken Cassidy's side in our breakup—for reasons that still escaped me, since they'd spoken to each other all of maybe two times.

  As I sucked on an ice cube, my gaze snagged on one of the last people I wanted to see.

  Mrs. Bardot–-aka—Cassidy's mom, whose stick up her ass was roughly the same size as her daughter's. Her chlorine-colored eyes locked on me with nothing short of absolute hatred. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to her, given that the apple certainly hadn't fallen far from the tree. And why the fuck is she angry with me? Cassidy fucked off and stopped the wedding.

  I emptied the rest of my water glass. "Think it's time to hit the waves."

  Gray shifted uneasily in his seat. "You okay?"

  I felt my brows knit in irritation. I'd always liked Gray's no-bullshit attitude. But ever since he and Reese had gone all BMCF—my business partner, Reid's cheeky invention, Best Married Couple Forever—he'd reached obnoxious heights of openness and transparency.

  Which meant that right now, he was annoying the shit out of me by asking a question I didn't want to answer.

  "You know, it's been four weeks since the letter." I picked up a napkin, tossed it up a few inches, then let it fall. "It still feels like yesterday."