Hot SEAL, Runaway Bride

by Cat Johnson

  Joanne accepted the non-answer and turned to Maria. "Walk with me. I want to discuss the timeline for the rest of the shoot."

  When they were gone, Dani moved to where Nick stood and leaned close. "You’re a regular sleuth, aren’t you?"

  He turned at her question and grinned wide, then treated her to a chuckle. “Miss Garcia, don’t tell me I’ve actually impressed you.”

  The last thing she wanted was to be impressed by Nick Nelson. Unfortunately, the man was impressive. And not just to look at.

  And she’d rather die than admit it.

  “Actually,” she began. “I figured you’d have this mystery solved by now. So you’d better step it up.”

  She turned on one heel and heard his long low whistle behind her.

  “Harsh,” he said at her back.

  “Truth,” she said over one shoulder and smiled to herself.

  She couldn’t let him get a swelled head. He wouldn’t be able to fit through the doorways on set with the way Katia had been fawning all over him as it was.

  FIFTEEN

  "Nick?"

  He braced himself for one more inane request from the now recovered bride and smiled sweetly. "Yes, Katia?"

  It had been one thing after another since that day she came wandering down the drive and he’d caught her as she fell.

  From that night he’d spent with her at the hospital until now, she seemed to seek him out for anything and everything. Not her fiancé Carl. Just him.

  This girl was awfully flirty for a woman who was engaged. Not just engaged, but supposedly to be married on the final episode of the show.

  He wasn't going to hold his breath for that I do.

  Maybe her flirting with him, and all the other guys there, wasn't such a surprise after all. He was pretty sure Katia and Carl were both there more for the publicity than each other. And a flirty bride would be good for ratings.

  God, he couldn't wait for the day when that phrase—good for ratings—wasn't in his head.

  Two days into this gig and he was starting to forget what it was like to work his normal job. And the fact he considered being in the teams normal in comparison proved how crazy this reality show shit all was.

  "Nick? Can you help me with this?" Katia’s voice drew his attention again.

  She stood in front of the sink, the water running full force over a pickle jar as she glanced over her shoulder to talk to him where he stood.

  He’d been staying out of camera range. Trying to be invisible. Unobtrusive.

  So much for that.

  He glanced at the cameraman, who was zoomed in on Katia. Fred lifted his brows and tipped his head as if to say get over there.

  With nothing else to do since she’d already called him out by name, he said, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  Nick crossed the kitchen and reached past her to shut off the water.

  After grabbing a cloth dishtowel, he took the jar from her and dried it. All while not looking at the girl who stood there in what had to be the smallest tank top and shortest shorts he'd ever seen.

  He didn't miss, however, how she'd paired the casual outfit with super high heels. Crazy. But all the girls in the house dressed like that, so she fit right in.

  "Thanks," she cooed, even though he was still drying the jar and hadn't actually tried to get it open yet.

  She must have confidence in his strength. But he had no intention of muscling the jar open. There were gadgets for that. He opened one of the drawers and reached inside for the rubber jar opener.

  He knew it was in there because he'd checked everything out on day one. He was wired to do proper recon, even if the locale was just a beach house in California and not an op in some foreign country.

  One thing he'd learned in training was that you never knew when you'd need something. An impromptu weapon. An on-the-fly incendiary device. A pickle jar opened for a damsel in distress.

  Or more accurately a damsel in a state of undress . . .

  A single twist of the rubber circle, whose printing touted an ad for a local carwash, and he'd freed the lid from the jar, liberating the pickles inside.

  Katia looked suitably impressed. Meanwhile, he was impressed she’d even be interested in food since he only saw the female cast drinking. Rarely eating.

  He put the jar on the counter and tossed the jar opener into the drawer. "That’s right in there for next time you need it."

  Not that he had any confidence she'd actually try to use it, but at least he'd made the effort.

  She smiled sweetly, her ever present phone in her hand. "Thank you. I knew you'd be able to do it."

  Her fiancé could have done the same, if she'd only asked him. Which she hadn’t.

  The more time Nick spent on set, the more he could see the whole thing was a big sham. The relationship. The wedding. This whole bullshit show.

  But he also knew the editors would cut the hours upon agonizingly long hours of boring, inane footage into a ratings-grabbing drama-filled reality show. And he feared he was going to be a part of it. On air. Like it or not.

  Thank God, after he’d been hurt he’d gotten his hair cut short and shaved his beard. His reality show persona looked about as different from his SEAL self as he could get.

  Hopefully, by the time this shit show aired, he'd be deployed and none of the guys on the team would notice his temporary stint on TV. They'd never let him hear the end of it if they saw it.

  Nick caught a glimpse of Dani, hanging around off to the side, watching him and Katia.

  Maybe he wasn't so eager to get deployed after all. Dani and this new dynamic between them was definitely something he wouldn't mind sticking around to explore.

  In fact, he’d like to explore her for a good long time before he got yanked out of the country again.

  Although the idea of video chat sex with Dani while he was out of the country was intriguing . . . Mmm. Nice thought.

  Yelling from the living room caught his attention.

  Frowning, he said, "Excuse me," and left Katia and her pickles behind.

  "What's happening?" she called at his back.

  "That's what I'm going to find out." He'd answered the ridiculous question without turning around.

  In the living room, he found a bunch of the girls in a tussle, all in bikini tops and bottoms with the barest of cover-ups. Apparently, no one was getting dressed in more than the barest of clothing today. It was like walking onto the set of a porno.

  Ratings. The word echoed in his head. The show's mantra. What everyone—except for him—strove for.

  He didn't know what they were fighting over, but he arrived just in time to see Brittany B lunge and grab onto a fist full of Brittany L's hair. All while Tiffany, Albany and Korina stood by, looking as if they were about to jump into the fray any second.

  What the hell? He saw fewer fights at McP's Pub between drunken sailors than he did here among the women at this house.

  In fact, Nick hadn’t seen rage like this since senior year in high school when a few of the guys started taking steroids to improve their performance on the football field.

  He’d broken up those locker room fights then, and it looked like he was the one who’d have to break up the living room fight now.

  Nick leapt forward, putting himself between the women, while trying to grab Brittany B's arms before Brittany L's hair ended up torn out by the roots.

  Meanwhile, why was no one helping him?

  He had a feeling he knew—fights made for good television.

  Finally, Matt and Carl appeared next to him. Each guy grabbed one of the women around the waist and pulled them physically apart.

  Being separated didn't prevent both Brittanys from reaching for each other, claws—or manicured nails—out. They continued to screech, so agitated he couldn't even understand the words.

  He hated to sound sexist in this age of male enlightenment—the whole Naval base had had to sit through hours of sensitivity training last year—but between the scratching an
d yowling, the whole thing looked and sounded like a literal cat fight.

  Putting himself between them, he raised both palms, arms extended to each girl.

  "Stop!" He used the tone and volume the instructors used on the candidates during BUD/S training.

  It worked just as well on the cast members of the house. The room went silent.

  After taking a beat to recover from the shock that he actually had their attention, he had to think on his feet.

  Yeah, he wanted to know what the fuck they were fighting about, but at this point, it was safer not to give either one of them a chance to speak. In his gut he knew they'd just talk over one another and the whole fight would start over again.

  Time to take control.

  "This stops now. Understand?"

  He leveled his glare on Brittany B first, making sure she met his eyes and nodded her understanding before he moved on. He swiveled his head in the other direction and pinned Brittany L with his gaze.

  After an ill-mannered eye roll, she finally scowled but nodded as well.

  "Good. Now, Brittany B, I want you to go to confessional one, close the door and get all of your issues out of your system before you step foot out here again." He turned and looked to the other Brittany. "Brittany L, you go and do the same thing in confessional two. You both leave all your shit behind those closed doors for the cameras, because I don't want to see any of this shit out here in the common areas again. You got me?"

  The whole speech had been worthy of his first master chief when he'd just gotten out of boot camp and had yet to start training for the teams. Without blinking an eye, the master chief, barely over five feet tall and light enough a strong wind could knock him over, had dressed down a unit of men. Some of whom had outweighed him by double.

  Master Chief Sanchez had used the same booming voice then that Nick had just used on the girls. And just like it had over a decade ago, it worked. The man was a genius. When Nick saw him again, he'd have to buy him a beer.

  In the meantime, he wished he could figure out how to keep these girls from fighting with each other. He was ready to try anything.

  "You're so in charge. That was amazing, Nick." Katia, suddenly beside him, ran her long painted fingernail down his arm from shoulder to elbow.

  "It was nothing,” he dismissed her compliment and took one step back to put him out of her reach.

  "Don't be modest. I don't know what we would have done if you weren't here," she cooed.

  He hoped one of the crew or the cast members would have intervened if he hadn’t, but sometimes he wasn't so sure. It seemed anything goes when the cameras were rolling.

  Katia took a step closer, encroaching again on Nick's personal space. Past her he caught a glimpse of Dani scowling.

  On one hand, maybe a little jealousy was a good thing. On the other, Dani had nothing to worry about. There was only one woman here he wanted and she wasn’t in the cast.

  If he had his way, he'd take Dani out on a real date. Tonight . . . if Maria ever let them both leave at a decent hour.

  Lately they’d been shooting until midnight and starting up again by seven or eight the next morning.

  There was barely time to sleep, never mind to woo Dani.

  Cock blocked by a reality show. That was a first for Nick.

  He didn't like it.

  SIXTEEN

  It had been one hell of a week so far and they weren’t even halfway through this production yet.

  Worse, all signs pointed to things not getting better anytime soon. Not as long as Katia kept throwing herself at Nick.

  "Nick, will you walk with me to the beach?"

  "Nick, are you working late again tonight? I feel so much safer with you here."

  "Nick, will you walk me to my bedroom and make sure it's all safe before I go to bed?"

  It was infuriating. Even more so was Nick never saying no to any of her requests. Dani was shocked he hadn’t moved into the beach house already.

  What happened to his bad knee? It certainly didn't look like he was hurt while he'd been strolling along the sand with Katia.

  And why the fuck wasn't Carl doing anything about this? It was his fiancé who was all over another man.

  Dani's hand tightened around her glass. She made a conscious effort to relax her grip before she broke the damn thing and had to go to the hospital herself. Though Nick probably wouldn't go with her like he had with Katia.

  He’d even rode in the back of the ambulance. Grrr!

  She downed the remainder of her Vodka Thyme Lemonade her sister had poured her.

  Why Jessica had decided this whacky concoction was going to be her drink of the summer, Dani had no idea.

  Thyme? In a glass? Her ER nurse sister suddenly thought she was Martha Stewart. But there was vodka in it, and it was easy enough to toss the annoying sprig of thyme getting in the way of her drinking over the railing when Jessica wasn't looking.

  "Is there anymore?" Dani asked, holding up her glass and rattling the remaining ice cubes.

  Jessica beamed with a wide smile as her eyes brightened. "You like it? I found the recipe on Pinterest."

  "Yeah, sure. Love it." And she'd love to know if there was more, because she could really use another drink.

  Nick was still at the beach house doing God only knew what, even though Dani had been dismissed for the day.

  Her imagination ran wild. Nick was too accommodating. Too nice. And way too good looking to be left alone in the clutches of the female cast members. Especially Katia.

  The jealousy was eating a hole through her gut. Or maybe that was the lemon juice in her drink. Either way, her stomach was not happy, and neither was she.

  Jessica returned with a fresh drink for her, ridiculous thyme sprig garnish and all.

  Dani reached for the icy glass. "Thanks."

  "Sure. I'm glad you like it." Jessica paused to light a citronella candle on the table, then sat in the deck chair opposite Dani. "So, tell me what's going on at the set. What's happening with the runaway bride?"

  The last thing Dani wanted to do was talk about work. "We're really not supposed to talk about what's happening."

  Dani took a sip and got a nostril full of thyme. She rubbed her nose to rid herself of the annoying tickle.

  If her brother-in-law wasn't out playing in a softball league there would have been beer here for her to drink. There was no more wine, so she’d have to make do with Jessica's handcrafted concoction.

  "I'm your sister, not a reporter. Who am I going to tell?" Jessica frowned.

  "Fine. Just don't tell anybody." When Jessica rolled her eyes, Dani continued, "The toxicology screen on Katia came back showing that somebody roofied her."

  Jessica's eyes widened. "Holy shit. That's crazy. Who would do that?"

  "That's the question of the week." And the reason Nick was on call at all hours.

  The producers still refused to tell the police, probably out of fear the show would be shut down. Since Katia agreed to no authorities, Nick was the only one investigating the incident.

  Stupid man stayed late even when he wasn't asked to, because he’d taken it upon himself to solve this mystery. At least Dani hoped that was what kept Nick there late nightly, and not a certain selfie-snapping, Instagram queen.

  Ugh.

  Dani took another swallow of her drink and felt it hit her stomach like battery acid. Rubbing her belly, she glanced up at her sister. "You have any antacids?"

  “No. I don’t keep them in the house. I hope you’re not still popping them like candy the way you used to. Those aren’t good for you.”

  This job wasn’t good for her. This drink probably wasn’t good for her either. And Nick . . . Nick definitely was not good for her.

  Picturing what Nick might be doing with Katia in the beach house at that very moment, Dani downed another swallow of her drink.

  She stood and set down the glass. “I think I have some Tums in my car.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Nick could
get along with pretty much anyone.

  Well, except Dani, but that was a special case.

  The point was being a guys' guy, he could sit down with the groom and his eight groomsmen and shoot the shit and not a one of them thought anything about it. And that was his plan to try to get some sort of clue—anything—that might lead him to figure out how that drug had gotten in Katia’s system.

  The night's scheduled events were over. The girls had gone to pass out in their bedrooms. The three cameramen had left for the day. And the men of the house were sitting on the beach passing around a bottle of whisky.

  If ever there was a time to try to get some information out of them, this was it.

  After a quick stop to grab some of the overflowing stash of beer in the fridge, Nick was outside, a six-pack of cold beer in each hand.

  "Hey! If it isn't our bodyguard," one of the guys called into the darkness. "How you doing, Nick?"

  Nick smiled in greeting but waited until he was closer to the group to answer over the sound of the crashing waves.

  "I'm good. And I believe security guard is my official title. Not bodyguard." He grinned and held up his offering. "Who wants a cold one?"

  He made his way around the circle, distributing nine bottles before he grabbed one and lowered himself onto the sand.

  "What's up with the knee brace?" Carl asked.

  To lie, or not to lie? That was the question.

  Which would get him further in with this group? Make them trust him?

  Unsure, Nick figured it was worth a try to answer as vaguely as possible. "Strained ACL," he said. Short and simple.

  "Oh, man." John hissed in a breath. "I tore mine once. Had to have surgery and everything. Ended my pro football career. It sucked."

  "That does suck. Sorry, man. Doc says mine's not bad enough for surgery. I'm just supposed to rest it for a few weeks."

  "Walking in the sand can't be good for it," Pete pointed out.

  "Eh, I try to take it slow." Nick shrugged, wondering if the groomsman was making a commentary about how Nick had accompanied the bride on her morning walk on the beach.