Out of Uniform Box Set: Books 4-6 plus 2 Bonus Novellas

by Kennedy, Elle

  “Kid stuff, Mom. You wouldn’t understand.”

  She bit back another laugh. “Okay, let’s go through the list. Will this stuff make me mad?”

  “No,” both twins said immediately.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “No.”

  “Illegal?”

  “No.”

  “Will it require me to clean up a huge mess?”

  Hesitation.

  Miranda sighed. “Come on, guys, you know how much I hate cleaning.”

  Sophie giggled. “Cleaning sucks.”

  “Sucks,” Jason agreed, reaching for the glass of orange juice by his plate. He chugged the entire thing, then said, “Juice me.”

  A laugh flew out of her mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  As she poured him another cup of juice, she watched her daughter from the corner of her eye, making sure Sophie was actually eating her food instead of pushing it around on her plate the way she was sometimes prone to do.

  “So this mysterious project of yours will only cost me a couple hours of cleaning?”

  “We can try ’n clean first,” Sophie offered, oh so gracious. “But if we do a pooey job, you can help.”

  “Sounds fair.” She gave her son a pointed look. “If you pour any more syrup on that, you’ll be eating pancake soup. Not to mention guaranteeing a visit to the dentist.”

  He hastily put down the syrup bottle. It was the D-word. Worked every time.

  “…making its way northward. Hurricane Nora is not expected to hit the West Coast, but there is a chance it will reach California in the form of a tropical storm.”

  Miranda turned her attention to the small TV on the far end of the kitchen. The screen revealed a complicated-looking weather map with a bunch of squiggly lines that made no sense to her. But the weatherman standing to the side of the map seemed pretty damn excited, animatedly pointing to it as he continued to dole out information.

  “Now, most Eastern Pacific hurricanes lose steam as they travel north and their winds are weakened, but this one is expected to have a larger impact than we’re used to, folks. Starting tomorrow afternoon, we can expect powerful winds, torrential rain and extensive coastal, as well as inland, flooding…”

  Sophie’s head swiveled to the screen, her fork poised halfway to her mouth. “Oh no! What if we get washed away?”

  “We won’t get washed away,” she assured her daughter.

  Jason gasped. “What if there’s a big tide wave—”

  “Tidal wave,” she corrected.

  “—tidal wave, and it whooshes over here and then everything is underwater? How cool would that be?”

  “That would not be cool at all,” Miranda replied.

  “But we would live under the sea!”

  “Like The Little Mermaid,” Sophie piped up. “So cool.”

  She decided not to point out that if a tidal wave hit the coast and wiped out Imperial Beach, they’d all be dead, but it was too early in the morning to get all morbid around six-year-olds. Instead, she quickly finished her pancakes, then tidied up the kitchen while the twins ate.

  She wasn’t too worried about this impending storm. Everyone kept making such a big deal about this hurricane, but Ms. Nora had been spinning her wheels for days now without dishing out any of the destruction she was supposed to. Miranda had stocked up on supplies the day after the weather network announced the storm was moving north, but she doubted San Diego or its surrounding areas would be affected. You always had to take what the weatherman said with a hundred grains of salt.

  After breakfast, she helped the twins get ready, then left them to their own devices while she darted into her room to shower and change. She slipped into a pair of leggings, a sports bra and a tank top, tied her hair in a ponytail and shoved her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops. She hadn’t put any effort into her appearance, but it wasn’t like she needed to impress the wannabe ballerinas she’d be spending the day with.

  Five minutes later, she and the kids reconvened in the hall—Jason wearing his blue-and-white Little League uniform, Sophie in a cute yellow sundress with her ballet bag slung over her shoulder.

  “You guys ready?” Miranda asked with a smile.

  “Yeah,” they said in unison.

  She cocked her head. “You both used the bathroom like I asked?”

  Hesitation.

  She sighed and pointed at Jason. “You. Pee. Now.”

  The kids broke out into laughter. Jason darted into the washroom, then Sophie took her turn.

  As they left their small ground-floor apartment, Miranda fixed Jason’s blue baseball cap, then tweaked one of Sophie’s long brown braids. Outside, she ushered them into the older-model, secondhand sedan that had miraculously gotten them here from Vegas without once overheating.

  She started the engine while they buckled up. Jason’s baseball practices coincided perfectly with Miranda’s Saturday schedule, and since he was best friends with the coach’s son, he usually went over to their house after practice while Miranda kept Sophie with her at the dance studio. In the evenings, she picked Jason up from his friend’s, and the three of them went to the twins’ favorite pizza place for dinner.

  She loved the routine, loved spending time with her kids. She might not have planned to have a baby at eighteen, certainly hadn’t expected to end up with two, but she didn’t regret her decision to keep her babies and raise them alone. Sophie and Jason were her entire life, and they were such good kids.

  Come on, baby, I’ve been such a good boy…

  Out of nowhere, Seth Masterson’s raspy voice floated into her mind, bringing a shiver to her body.

  No. No, no, no.

  She had to quit thinking about the man. He had no place in her life, for Pete’s sake.

  Her gaze strayed to the rearview mirror, and she spent a few seconds watching the twins chatter to each other in the backseat. For a moment, she tried to imagine Seth sitting next to her. His big, muscular body crammed in the passenger seat, his arm hanging out the open window as he held a cigarette between his fingers.

  A sigh got stuck in her throat. No, he didn’t belong in her life. As sexy as he was, and as tempted as she was to remove her Mommy hat for a few hours and enjoy what would undoubtedly be some amazing sex, she couldn’t.

  Men like Seth were nothing but trouble. They blew into your life like a hurricane. Lured you in with their bad-boy charm and got you out of your panties. Then they disappeared, leaving a big mess in their wake.

  Well, she didn’t need the headache, thank you very much. There was already one storm barreling its way into her life, and it went by the name Nora.

  Though she got the feeling that Hurricane Nora didn’t have half the destruction potential that Hurricane Seth was capable of.

  * * *

  Seth and Dylan hopped out of Seth’s Jeep at eight thirty on Sunday morning, striding toward the beach. They were bare-chested, wearing shorts, sneakers, and sunglasses that were proving to be unnecessary. The sun had already risen, but the sky was overcast, making Seth wonder if that tropical storm the weather reports kept stressing about would actually make an appearance. He hoped not. He’d been looking forward to a long workout, the more strenuous the better.

  When he and Dylan had moved in together three years ago, they’d started working out on the beach every morning, usually with fellow SEALs Cash McCoy and Jackson Ramsey, who rounded out Seth’s circle of friends. Not that he wasn’t buddies with the other men on the team—he was. But letting down his guard and sharing his feelings and all that shit? He only did that around Dylan, Cash and Jackson, which was pretty fucking weird because he’d never really done the whole friendship thing before.

  Truth was, he hadn’t had a single male friend growing up. He’d been the loner bad boy who smoked weed and cigarettes and wandered the Strip looking for a fuck or a fight. Raised in a dressing room filled with half-naked women, constantly surrounded by females who, once he got older and grew into his looks, were dying to jump his bone
s. Needless to say, it had been seriously jarring when he’d enlisted in the navy—suddenly he’d gone from a room inhabited by gorgeous showgirls to a dormitory full of tired, cranky and hungry males forever being screamed at by their commanding officers.

  But somehow, he’d grown close to not one, not two, but three of his fellow recruits. And for some messed-up reason, those three put up with his bullshit and actually gave a damn about him.

  “They’re late,” Dylan remarked, glancing up and down the deserted stretch of sand.

  Seth shrugged. “McCoy probably couldn’t bear to drag himself out of Jen’s bed. Dude’s whipped, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, but he’s whipped by the sexiest woman on the planet. That’s not really much of a hardship.”

  He couldn’t deny that Jen, Cash’s girlfriend, was stunning, but Seth wasn’t into those perfect California-girl good looks. He was drawn to women with interesting faces rather than classically beautiful ones. Like Miranda, with her big hazel eyes, tilted at the corners to give her an exotic feel. The slightly crooked mouth, a bit too wide for her angular jaw. The unusual combination of olive skin and a sprinkle of freckles. To him, Miranda was more appealing than any cover model.

  “Whipped is whipped,” he answered with a shrug.

  Dylan grinned. “Cut McCoy a break. And you know what? I’m happy for him. He’s in love.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “You know, one of these days you’ll fall just as hard, and I’ll be right there, laughing and pointing.”

  Seth swallowed a laugh. Yeah, whatever. He didn’t do pansy-ass shit like love. He wasn’t a believer in love at first sight or the idea of “falling” in love, which implied not having a say in the matter. As far as he was concerned, love was a choice. You chose to open yourself up to it, chose to feel something for the other person, chose to let those emotions develop and grow.

  Well, he was choosing not to do any of that crap.

  A loud whistle captured their attention, and they turned around to see Cash and Jackson stalking across the sand.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Cash apologized as he bumped fists with Seth, then Dylan. “I, uh, got delayed.”

  Seth rolled his eyes. “I bet you did.”

  Jackson spoke up in his Texan drawl. “With all the sexercise McCoy’s been gettin’, there’s really no reason for him to even be here.”

  “I don’t know, he’s looking kinda flabby,” Dylan countered, his green eyes focusing on Cash’s bare chest. “Someone should send the CO an anonymous letter informing him that McCoy is slacking on his training.”

  “Flabby? Uh-uh, I’m in peak physical condition.” Cash smirked. “And it’s okay to be jealous of my intensive sexercise regimen. I won’t think less of you for it.”

  That earned him incredulous looks from both Dylan and Jackson, who gave him the finger and proceeded to defend their sexual prowess by listing all the chicks they’d hooked up with over the past month. Seth tuned the boys out. He couldn’t contribute much to the convo, anyway. He hadn’t gotten laid in eons, thanks to one very stubborn former showgirl.

  It drove him fucking nuts that she refused to give in to the attraction sizzling between them. So what if she had a pair of rugrats at home? It wasn’t like parenthood equaled mandatory celibacy. Surely she could set aside some time for a few rounds of hot, sweaty fucking.

  And bad idea, thinking about hot, sweaty fucking while surrounded by three other men. As his cock stiffened to half-mast, he pushed all thoughts of Miranda from his head and focused on the tail end of his friends’ dispute.

  “After a certain amount of times, sex with the same person becomes that ratty shirt you’ve washed a hundred times,” Dylan was arguing. “Suddenly it’s not so colorful and it doesn’t fit the way it used to and you’re not sure you even like it anymore.”

  “Whoa, that’s deep,” Cash said dryly.

  “All I’m saying is, quantity eventually kills the quality. So be warned, a few more months and this super-duper sex you’re bragging about? It’ll be nothing but the old Metallica shirt you don’t wear anymore.”

  “Jen will never become an old shirt.” Cash’s voice oozed with confidence. “I guarantee it.”

  Seth kept his mouth shut, but he was totally with Dylan on this one. Regular sex with the same chick was bound to get dull. At least in his experience.

  “Anyway, let’s do this thing.” Cash glanced up at the sky, wary. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

  They’d trained on this beach for years, so the workout was one Seth could do in his sleep. The sky remained overcast during the four-mile run, but once they hit the water, a light rain began to fall and the water grew choppier. Although the waves were nothing to freak out about, when Cash called out and suggested they head back, nobody protested.

  They were a mile out, making their way to shore when all hell broke loose. A crack of thunder exploded in the air. The sky grew darker and darker in a matter of seconds, an onslaught of rain blasting out of the black clouds like water from a broken dam.

  Gritting his teeth, Seth concentrated on swimming in a straight line, a damn-near impossible feat when the wind was determined to blow his body right back into the middle of the ocean. He was gasping for air by the time he reached the shore, thoroughly exhausted as he staggered out of the water, Cash hot on his heels.

  He heaved himself onto the sand, rain and seawater dripping down his bare chest. Squinting, he studied the angry waves, experiencing a spark of relief when he spotted Dylan’s blond head bobbing in the water, powerful arms slicing through the current.

  After Dylan and Jackson made it to shore, the foursome stared at each other for a long moment, then tipped their gazes upward while the rain soaked them to the bone.

  “Holy shit balls,” Dylan exclaimed. “It’s the fucking Apocalypse.”

  “Let’s get outta here,” Cash shouted over the wind.

  Getting back to their cars proved to be a whole other workout. The rain fell harder and the wind blew faster, providing a wall of resistance each time Seth took a step. The thunder was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, and each time a bolt of lightning sizzled over the furious ocean, it was easy to see that the waves were gathering in size and speed.

  When he finally stumbled up to his Jeep, he let out a breath heavy with relief.

  Cash and Jackson raced to the SUV in the neighboring space. Cash unlocked the driver’s door and glanced over at Seth. “Text when you get home so I know you made it there alive,” he called.

  “Same goes for you two,” Seth called back.

  He and Dylan practically dove into the Jeep. Fortunately, the top was up, so they were spared having to drive home in a torrential downpour. Still, they were both soaking wet and cursing up a blue streak as Seth started the engine.

  “That came out of nowhere,” he said, shaking his head in amazement.

  “Looks like that annoying weatherman was actually right for the first time in his life.” Dylan paused. “He’s probably at the studio, gloating up a storm…ha. Get it? Gloating up a storm…”

  Seth stared at his friend. “Yeah, I got it the first time you said it, and it wasn’t funny then either.”

  He reversed out of the parking space and turned onto the main road, the windshield wipers working so furiously he was surprised they didn’t fly away. Raindrops battered the roof of the car, so loud it was like the Jeep was being hit with an unending stream of golf balls. Luckily, he and Dylan only lived five minutes away. Visibility was totally shot, and the vehicle must have hydroplaned half a dozen times on the short trip home, but Seth got them there in one piece.

  He parked in the driveway and killed the engine, then gazed at the scary black chaos beyond the windshield before shooting Dylan a sidelong look. “Ready?”

  Dylan sighed. “Yup.”

  He reached for the door handle. “See you on the other side, brother.”

  The second he was out in the open, Seth was hit by a gust of w
ind that almost knocked him right off his feet—and for a man who stood at six-three and boasted two hundred pounds of solid muscle, that spoke volumes about the intensity of the wind.

  By the time he and Dylan made it through the front door of the house, he was exhausted again. When he took a step, water spilled out of his sneakers and formed a huge puddle on the hardwood floor.

  “You think we should board up the windows?” Dylan winced as the wall behind him rattled from the storm’s assault.

  “Nah, I think we’ll be fine.” He kicked off his wet shoes. “I’m hopping in the shower.”

  He headed for the bathroom, where he stripped off his trunks and turned on the faucet. His shower was quick, just a few minutes under the spray to warm up and wash the saltwater off, and then he toweled off and headed to his bedroom. He threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black wifebeater, listening to the whine of the wind and the pounding of the rain. Outside his window, the sky had grown even darker, nearly black now. And it was only ten thirty in the morning.

  As he stared at the rain streaking the windowpane, a pang of worry tugged on his gut. Shit. It was Sunday. That meant Miranda was teaching at the dance school today. Hopefully she’d looked out the window when she’d woken up this morning and had the sense to cancel the day’s classes.

  Maybe he ought to check in, though. Just in case.

  Without allowing himself to question his actions, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Miranda’s number.

  He immediately got bumped over to voice mail.

  “Miranda, it’s Seth,” he said gruffly. “The weather’s shitty. Call me back.”

  Not the most articulate message, but it got the job done. Too bad it didn’t guarantee a speedy response—it took three hours for her to get back to him, and when her voice came over the line, she sounded harried and annoyed.

  “I saw your number on my phone,” she snapped. “What do you want, Seth?”

  “Wow, remind me never to be concerned about you,” he said sarcastically. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”