Hot SEAL, Heartbreaker (SEALs in Paradise)

by Cat Johnson

“No, I did not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I could have handled him myself. I took a class.”

  “You took a class?” He snorted. “You’re what? Five-foot nothing?”

  “Five-two. And what’s the point?” she asked.

  “The point is, he had almost a foot on you. And a good hundred pounds.”

  “I wasn’t planning on wrestling him.”

  He let out a short laugh. “Well, I think he had hopes of wrestling with you.”

  She scowled. “That’s crude.”

  “It’s the truth. Some guys don’t know how to take no for an answer. Especially when it comes to attractive women.”

  He thought she was attractive—

  No. Focus.

  It didn’t matter if this stranger was a walking, talking wet dream. She was annoyed with him and his interference, even though he had come up with the same assessment as she had regarding Andrew’s ability to hear and accept the word no.

  “Do you know how to take no for an answer?” she asked him.

  He smiled, and damn it took him from just plain hot to panty-melting. “Well, to be honest, I don’t hear no all that often.”

  The sheer self-centered narcissistic quality of that statement had her laughing. Which was strange because the same traits in Andrew had completely turned her off.

  “Modest much?” she joked.

  He lifted a shoulder, still smiling.

  She blew out a breath, frustrated he wouldn’t even argue with her. “And it doesn’t matter if he was bigger. I still could have kicked him in the balls.”

  “You could have. And that is always a good option. But this time I was here to help so you didn’t have to.” He shrugged again.

  “Even though I didn’t ask for your help,” she reminded him.

  “Point taken. Again.” He nodded.

  When her cell phone rang, interrupting their mostly one-sided debate, she glanced at the readout . . . and groaned.

  “Problem?” he asked, apparently not going away.

  “Yes. That’s my sister. She set up that little blind meet-up with Mister Won’t-Take-No-For-An-Answer.” Alicia silenced the ringing and flipped the cell face down, unanswered.

  Had Andrew called Jason to complain about her behavior? Good. Let Jen stew for a bit. She deserved that and more.

  He watched her action. “So that’s why he was saying something about your sister.”

  She raised her gaze to meet his and was struck again by his eyes—green and copper woven with the darkest brown, like a kaleidoscope.

  Intense. Gorgeous.

  She batted those thoughts aside and focused on what she’d been about to say. “Mm, hm. Right before he called us both batshit crazy.”

  “I think he might have a screw or two loose himself, so I wouldn’t take what he said to heart.”

  It was nice of him to defend her—that seemed to be his MO, defending women—but this time he was wrong.

  “Oh, he was half right. My sister is crazy. I made the mistake of telling her I was here. Not even fifteen-minutes later, this guy shows up. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  She didn’t know this guy. She hadn’t asked for him to be here. But she had to admit, it felt good to rant to someone about what Jen had done.

  He cocked one dark brow high. “I don’t like to judge, but your sister needs to be a little more discerning when it comes to picking men for you.”

  Her eyes flew wide. “No. She needs to stop picking men for me at all. I can pick my own damn man if and when I want one.”

  “I agree.”

  She evaluated him. “Do you agree or are you just humoring me?”

  He let out a laugh. “I don’t know you well enough to bother humoring you so yes, I actually do agree.”

  “I find your honesty as refreshing as it is borderline insulting.”

  “Funny. That’s pretty much how I feel about you.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I can accept that.”

  He lifted his beer mug to her in a toast. She reciprocated with the last swallow of her own beer, which she hadn’t finished before, given all the excitement.

  “Can I buy you another?” He eyed her empty glass as she set it down on the bar.

  She considered the offer.

  When she hadn’t answered him yet, he smiled, putting his dimple on display, front and center, right where she couldn’t ignore it. “It’s not that hard of a question. A yes or no will do.”

  She still couldn’t decide. She had given up men. Accepting a beer from this man was completely against her self-imposed hiatus.

  He let out a laugh and turned toward the bar. “Ray! When you get a chance. Another Salty Crew for me. And . . .” He glanced at her, the question in his expression.

  She noticed his buddies had left. Maybe he just didn’t want to drink alone. That was an innocent enough reason. It could mean nothing more than that. She gave in. What could one beer hurt?

  “An Orange Avenue Wit, please. Thank you.”

  His brows rose. He ordered the beer and turned back to her. “Coronado Brewing Company. I’m impressed.”

  “Are you?” She sniffed out a laugh. “Why?”

  “I figured you’d be more of a Corona Lite type girl.”

  “And I took you for a Budweiser man rather than a So-Cal local brewery type guy, so we were both wrong.”

  “I guess so.” He nodded. “I’m Brian, by the way.”

  “Alicia,” she replied as this felt more and more like a date, or at least a pick-up. Just when she didn’t want it to be either.

  She contemplated that, and him, as she watched Brian pay the bartender for the beer before he turned to hand one to her.

  “You’re staring,” he said.

  “No. I was thinking,” she clarified.

  “Ah. And what were you thinking about?” he asked, looking genuinely interested.

  She had been thinking how she’d jumped from the pan into the fire with this guy. She’d gotten rid of Andrew but then fell right into having a drink with Brian, who was just as much of a controlling alpha male as Andrew.

  Granted, Brian was far better-looking but that didn’t matter. At least it shouldn’t . . .

  She blamed her sister for her confusion.

  Jen had blindsided her with Andrew. It had completely thrown her. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

  She realized Brian was still watching her, waiting for an answer to the question, what had she been thinking about as she stared at him.

  “I was thinking how much you and Andrew are alike.”

  Brian drew back. “Damn. That’s pretty insulting.”

  “Really? I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “How can it not be?” he asked with a laugh.

  “I just meant that you’re both uber alpha males. Both overtly aggressive. But there’s subtle differences that make your male dominance more socially acceptable than his.”

  He mumbled an obscenity before saying, “What are you, some kind of psychiatrist or something?”

  “Psychologist,” she corrected.

  He rolled his eyes. “Great.”

  “What have you got against those in the psychology profession?” she asked.

  “Nothing. As long as they stay out of my life.” He shook his head. “And there’s one huge difference between me and him.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, interested.

  “He uses his size to intimidate. I use mine to defend.”

  She considered that. “I don’t like to encourage any kind of he-man behavior, but I do have to admit I agree with what you said about his motivation. And, I suppose, yours too.”

  “Do you?” He looked surprised.

  “Yes . . . and I’m not humoring you either.”

  He smirked, making the dimple in his chin look deep enough for her to fall into.

  “Even though I didn’t need defending,” she added.

  “Perhaps not. But some do. And I help them, if I can.”

&nbs
p; “So, it’s not the brute force itself, but the intent, that matters.”

  “Did you just call me a brute?” he asked.

  “Not at all.” She narrowed her eyes and mulled over her newest theory. “It would make an interesting study. Take two groups of men. Both equally. . .” she twirled her finger to encompass all six foot whatever of him. “Large.”

  He raised his brows.

  She continued, “Give them personality tests to separate the groups into those who are most likely to use their strengths offensively versus defensively—”

  Her cell rang again. She flipped it over, saw it was Jen again and flipped it back around.

  “Not gonna answer that?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she said.

  “All right.” He sipped at his beer.

  She couldn’t ignore her sister forever but she could for now. Unfortunately, she’d have to see Jen live and in person in just a few days at her sister’s Valentine’s Day Party.

  Although after what she’d done tonight it would serve Jen right if Alicia did bail on the party.

  Sadly, she couldn’t do that to her sister. Jenny took her parties very seriously.

  Alicia sighed and mumbled, “Fucking Valentine’s Day.”

  The comment had him glancing up and locking eyes with her. “What did you say?”

  “That I hate Valentine’s Day,” she clarified.

  “Really? I do too.”

  Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “What do you have to hate about it? Jeez. Valentine’s Day is easy for men. You can just ignore it.”

  His eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Valentine’s Day is a nightmare for men.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I believe that, but trust me, it’s no cake walk for women. I have to go to my sister’s party. And no doubt she’ll have a whole bunch of single losers there to fix me up with.”

  “Your sister does sound a bit obsessed.” He sighed. “But my teammates are no better. They stick their noses in my business way too often for a bunch of men who should be more concerned with other things.”

  She nodded. “We’ll agree then. Valentine’s Day sucks.”

  “Agreed. But what can you do? We’ll both have to suffer through it on the fourteenth.”

  “Sadly, that’s true,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed. “What if we didn’t have to suffer?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing at him over the top of her beer glass.

  “What if we could get both your sister and my teammates off our backs?”

  “How?” She frowned.

  “We pretend to date.”

  No doubt she looked as shocked as she felt because he held up one hand, preemptively halting her protest.

  “Just hear me out. They’re already bugging me about what I’ll be doing on Valentine’s Day and who I’ll be seeing while we’re stateside. Your sister is obviously throwing idiots at you and you say she’ll keep doing it at this party of hers. But what if you arrived with a date? Me.”

  “You want to go to my sister’s house? I don’t even want to go. How can you want to?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “It might be kind of fun. It’s either go with you or I’ll be sitting here drinking alone.”

  “So you’d rather go to a party at the house of a complete stranger than drink alone?” She had to wonder if he had all his faculties.

  “Hey, if it gets my teammates to leave me alone, hell, yeah, I’d rather go to your party. And it’ll help you too, with your sister. But you gotta know that if I get spun-up, then all plans are off.”

  Stateside. Teammates. Spun-up.

  It was becoming very obvious this guy was from the Navy base. But more than that, with his unshaven face and longer than regulation hair, she’d have to assume he wasn’t just a sailor.

  “Jesus. You’re a SEAL,” she guessed, shaking her head.

  His brows rose. “Why do you say that?”

  “You talk like one. You look like one.”

  He frowned. “And if I were, what do you have against SEALs?”

  “Too much to discuss here.” She left her answer at that as she considered his proposal . . . and he continued to frown.

  Never in a million years would she actually date a SEAL. She’d lived near the base her whole life and knew too much about the breed in general.

  They were woman-magnets. And they were gone all the time. Her track record with relationships was bad enough without those added challenges.

  Nope. He was not for her. But maybe that was what would make this work.

  This wouldn’t be real. As he’d suggested, they’d just be pretending.

  And, oh my God, seeing the expression on her sister’s face when she walked into the party with this big hunk of SEAL would be worth a million dollars. The sham would at least keep Jenny’s matchmaking at bay.

  “So it would all be fake?” she asked to clarify.

  “Yup. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Good.” He nodded.

  She raised one finger in warning. “No sex.”

  He let out a snort. “Definitely no sex.”

  Alicia frowned. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

  He laughed at her scowl. “Sorry. No offense meant.”

  Offense taken. In fact, she was quite offended.

  She didn’t want to get involved with this man for real on an emotional level. Nor on a physical level. But he didn’t have to act like being with her for real would be the worst idea in the world.

  What if she had wanted to scratch an itch with him? Would he say no?

  “Am I not good enough for you?” she accused.

  His brows rose. “You have nothing to do with it.”

  Seriously? He was using the, it’s not you, it’s me defense?

  “I’ve taken a vow of celibacy until after Valentine’s Day is over,” he continued. “No dates. No sex. No women . . . except for this party with you. But that’s fake. Although that brings up another point. Do we have fake sex?”

  “What do you mean, fake sex?” she asked, torn between being shocked and intrigued.

  What did he mean? Cyber-sex? Video sex? Sexting? There were lots of options—and that she was even thinking about cyber, or any kind of sex at all with this man, was dangerous.

  She was on a man hiatus.

  “I meant do we talk about our sex life, fictional though it is, with our friends and family?” he asked.

  Alicia shook her head. “No. No fake sex either.”

  “Don’t you think the story that we’re dating might go over better if the people we’re lying to think we’re having sex?”

  She considered the validity of what he’d suggested. “No. Because even if I were . . . you know . . . having sex . . . with you.” She cleared her throat before she continued, “The chances I’d tell my sister about it are slim to none.”

  He tipped his head. “That’s where men and women are different, I guess.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Are you telling me you men discuss the women you have sex with, with your teammates? Specific details?”

  “Not specific details, no, but, it comes up sometimes. And even if we did talk, what would be wrong with that?” he asked, looking like he honestly didn’t know.

  She frowned deeper. Obviously she couldn’t trust this man’s silence, even with regard to fake sex.

  “Nope.” She shook her head vigorously. “No discussion of sex, even fake sex, with anyone. Okay?”

  Brian the hot SEAL lifted a shoulder. “Okay. Fine with me. We’ll just let them wonder. That might be better. Our keeping quiet will drive them all nuts.”

  He was probably right. Her sister would imagine what she liked, no matter what they did or didn’t say.

  “What about kissing?” he asked.

  “Kissing?” She drew back as the sudden image of his lips covering hers hit her hard. Swallowing, she shook her head. “No. No kissin
g either.”

  “All right. But what about other things?”

  “What other things?” Her mind went to all the other places his mouth could be on her before she shook those images away.

  “You know. PDA. Holding hands. Hugging. Normal couples would have some sort of public displays of affection.”

  “We’ll see,” she conceded, even as the thought of his big strong hand wrapped around hers made her feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t held hands with anyone since . . .

  Nope. Not going to think about him.

  And she was definitely not going to compare her ex to Brian. Mostly because Brian was not her boyfriend.

  “You are full of questions, aren’t you?” she commented.

  He shrugged again. “I like knowing the ground rules before going in. Makes things easier if everyone knows the ROE.”

  “ROE?” she asked, already frustrated with this plan and having no patience for his speaking in riddles.

  “Rules of engagement.”

  Military men and their acronyms.

  She could only hope he didn’t speak in military time. She didn’t need to be doing math conversions in her head just to make sure they arrived at the party at the right time.

  Fake dating a SEAL was going to be challenging.

  Fake dating a man who looked as good as this guy was going to be even harder.

  “Okay. No kissing. Just good old fashioned fake dating.” He extended his hand. “Shake on it?”

  He grinned at her and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, or his lips, or that dimple. Then there were those muscles . . .

  She eyed his hand like it was a poisonous snake before deciding that in lieu of a written contract they should at least have a handshake deal to bind this verbal agreement.

  She clasped his hand with hers . . . and was hit with the many sensations of their first physical contact. How strong and warm his hand was. How his palm was rough.

  His touch was soft but not wimpy. His grip was firm but not painful. Like he had nothing to prove by crushing her hand, but also as if he wasn’t about to let her hand slip from his until he was ready.

  She raised her gaze and was struck with the intensity of his gaze.

  His eyes were warm but at the same time there was almost a laughing amusement broadcast from them. As if dating him, for real, would provide both orgasms and belly laughs.

  She imagined one more time what his hands, his mouth, and other parts could do to her if they were dating.