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

by Kennedy, Elle

  Ginny’s distrust instantly transformed into delight. “A SEAL? Oh, hell yes, Miranda. That’s so hot and I’m so jealous.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s a SEAL doesn’t mean I should marry the man. Actually, I have a feeling if I even brought up the word marriage he’d run screaming in the other direction.”

  “Commitment-phobe,” Andre said knowingly.

  “Kid-phobe,” she reminded them. “Seth doesn’t want to be a dad. He didn’t explicitly say it, but it’s fairly obvious he has no intention of ever having children.”

  “Maybe that’s because he hasn’t spent a lot of time with them,” Ginny pointed out. “It’s easy for people like us to shake our heads and say ‘what the hell is wrong with that guy?’ but we hang out with children of all ages every day. Not everyone has the same opportunity. Is he an only child?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “Okay, so he didn’t have any younger siblings running underfoot. And he’s in the military, surrounded by men and women his own age or older.” Ginny shrugged. “He probably has no idea how to talk to kids. They make him uncomfortable because he can’t relate to them.”

  Andre joined in, his tone grudging. “She has a point, boss. A lot of people can’t interact with children. If you don’t have any of your own, or aren’t in a kid-friendly environment, then chances are you don’t know how to handle being around them.”

  They raised a good point, and Miranda grew quiet for a moment as she let it all sink in. Heck, maybe Ginny and Andre were right. Maybe it wasn’t that Seth didn’t like children. Maybe he simply didn’t know how to relate to them. She remembered a time when she hadn’t known the first thing about kids—but she’d had to learn pretty damn fast once motherhood had been prematurely forced upon her.

  “So, what, you think I shouldn’t write him off just yet?” she asked uneasily.

  Ginny’s head tilted pensively. “I don’t know. I’m just saying that if it’s the kid thing that’s holding you back, maybe you should get him to spend some more time with Soph and Jase and see if he starts feeling more at ease with them.”

  She supposed that wasn’t a bad suggestion. If she wanted something more serious with Seth. But did she? She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a reliable partner who was willing to give their relationship 100 percent. She needed someone who would always be there, someone who wouldn’t let her down, who wouldn’t let her children down. Because she wouldn’t be the only one getting attached to the man she brought into their lives. Sophie and Jason would get attached too.

  But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be more open about this thing with Seth. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past two weeks, in and out of bed, and she truly did enjoy his company. She loved arguing with him, loved curling up against his broad chest, loved how when she talked about people or places in Vegas, he knew exactly what she meant because he’d grown up there too.

  Would it really be so terrible to lower the shield around her heart? Just a little bit?

  Battling a mix of uncertainty and trepidation, she finally put an end to her troubling inner debate by making a decision. From now on when it came to Seth, she was officially keeping an open mind.

  * * *

  Loud laughter and lewd catcalls were the two most common side effects of poker night, and Friday was absolutely no exception. The men had only been gathered at Carson Scott’s place for twenty minutes and the good-natured heckling was already occurring in full force.

  Carson, who’d just been taunted about the hickey on his neck, remained impervious in the face of it all. “What can I say? My wife can’t keep her mouth off me. I’m a walking turn-on and I ain’t gonna apologize for it. In fact, I embrace it.”

  Dylan groaned right along with everyone else in the living room. He was suddenly happy he hadn’t bailed tonight the way he’d been tempted to do. Normally he loved hanging out with the boys, and poker night was always a blast, but for the last couple of weeks he’d avoided connecting with any of his teammates outside of the base. Matt, in particular, which made him feel pretty shitty because he loved chilling with O’Connor.

  Unfortunately, Matt was BFFs with the one person Dylan didn’t want to see at the moment, which was why he’d been making himself scarce.

  His insides had been tied in rigid knots the entire drive over here. He’d barely said a word to Seth in the car, too busy envisioning all sorts of awkward scenarios. But all that worrying had been futile because when he’d walked into Carson’s living room, Aidan Rhodes was nowhere to be found.

  Relief had soared through him. And at the same time? Disappointment. A hefty dose of it. Rather than focus on the latter, he’d clung to that rush of relief, finding solace in Aidan’s absence. He’d only seen Aidan once since he’d moved back home, and the encounter had left him feeling even edgier than before.

  “And you know what? I’m perfectly happy to give you boys lovemaking lessons if you need to brush up on your skills. Call it a training demo.”

  Carson’s voice snapped Dylan back to the present. Or maybe he’d been zapped into the twilight zone—because had the lieutenant seriously just uttered the word lovemaking?

  “Lovemaking?” Matt echoed before breaking out in gales of laugher.

  Seth shook his head in amazement. “Fuck, he’s gone off the deep end.”

  “I’m serious. I bet you’re all lacking when it comes to pleasing your women, so I’m happy to share my knowledge.”

  From his chair across the table, Ryan Evans rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night, LT.”

  Carson feigned puzzlement. “Sleep? What’s that?” He broke out in a grin. “I’m too busy rocking my wife’s world.”

  And Holly Scott’s world must have been rocked really fucking nicely last night, because you could always tell how many orgasms the lieutenant’s wife had experienced by the amount of food she served. Tonight, Holly had laid out an entire feast. Six different kinds of salad, homemade bread, a cheese tray, mini-sandwiches, pigs in a blanket. And who could overlook the drool-inducing chocolate cake sitting in the glass dish on the kitchen counter. The woman was a damn saint. Of course, she had to be for putting up with Mr. Cocky over there.

  That last thought gave Dylan pause when he remembered Cash mentioning that Carson and Holly had been having problems a while back, around the time Cash had gotten together with Carson’s sister, Jen. But as far as he knew, the couple had worked everything out, and judging by the happy vibes Carson was radiating, their reconciliation had stuck.

  Dylan sipped his beer, then snuck a peek at the two cards Ryan had just dealt him. A six and a queen, off-suit. Man, Lady Luck was not on his side tonight. He’d received nothing but shitty hands so far. When the flop revealed three completely unhelpful cards, he folded instantly and leaned back in his chair, watching the game develop. They were missing a few of the usual players, namely former SEAL John Garrett and the team’s CO, Thomas Becker, who were both at home dealing with sick kids.

  As always, Cash’s crappy poker face divulged the awesomeness of his hand, which resulted in Carson, Matt, Ryan and Seth folding. Jackson, who was possibly the worst card player on the planet, stayed in for much longer than he should have and ended up losing his entire buy-in.

  Cue: another round of heckling.

  Hearing Jackson explain away his terrible poker decisions in his southern drawl was highly entertaining. For a man who hailed from Texas, Jackson sucked ass at Texas Hold ’Em, and Dylan was doubled over in laughter as he listened to the other man’s reasoning for sucking.

  He was so absorbed, in fact, that he was caught completely off-guard when Aidan Rhodes strode into the living room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Aidan said in that deep, easygoing voice of his. “I had a dinner date and it ran late.”

  Uh-huh. Of course he’d had a date. There was no shortage of women in Aidan’s life, or at least that’s what Dylan had witnessed the week he’d stayed at
the guy’s condo. Aidan seemed to have a date every damn night. And every damn night, he’d take the chick into his bedroom and fuck her. Hard. So hard that all Dylan could hear was the goddamn thump-thump-thump of the headboard banging into the wall.

  Not that he was jealous or anything.

  “Beer’s in the fridge,” Carson said as he tossed a few green chips into the growing pile. “Help yourself, Rhodes.”

  Dylan noticed that Aidan didn’t even spare him a look as he headed for the kitchen. Just as well. God knew they’d exchanged enough looks during the week they’d roomed together. They’d completely exceeded their look quota, actually.

  All the tension that had slowly been draining away seeped right back into Dylan’s body, congealing into an uneasy pretzel in his gut. For the next hour, he put on a good act, trash-talking, joking, laughing, but the entire time, he was wholly aware of Aidan on the other side of the table.

  At one point, their eyes met and he could swear Aidan’s mouth took on a hint of a smirk.

  After losing his second buy-in, he threw down his cards with a groan. “I’m sitting out the next round. I need to regroup.”

  Cash grinned at him. “Why don’t you regroup your way to the kitchen and get me a beer?”

  He flipped his buddy the bird, but headed to the kitchen anyway because he could use a refill himself. Sticking his head inside the fridge, he welcomed the rush of cold air, hoping it would douse the flames licking his lower body. He didn’t have a hard-on, but his dick was aching. A dull, continuous ache, his cock’s way of expressing its unhappiness over Dylan’s refusal to give it what it wanted.

  “So how long are you going to keep avoiding me?” Aidan’s amused voice sounded from the doorway.

  He closed his eyes briefly, steeling his resolve, then ducked out of the fridge with two Coors bottles. He kept his tone light. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  A chuckle. “Bull. You’ve been blowing me off for weeks.”

  Damned if his dick didn’t throb at the word blowing.

  Shrugging, Dylan leaned against the granite counter. “Things have been hectic. I saw you texted a few times after the night we played pool, but I’ve been hanging out with that blonde from the club so I didn’t have a chance to message you back.”

  Total lie. He’d seen Rachel Carver a whopping one time. They’d had sex at her place, it had been vaguely satisfying, and they hadn’t spoken since.

  But Aidan didn’t need to know that.

  “Speaking of the night we played pool…” Aidan cocked a brow.

  “What about it?”

  “You barely said two words to me, man. After you left, O’Connor asked me what I’d done to piss you off so bad.”

  Shit. Matt had noticed that he’d gone out of his way not to be overly chummy with Aidan?

  Of course he did, you moron. You weren’t exactly in stealth mode about it.

  “So I’m thinking we cut the bullshit and address the real issue here.” Aidan crossed the room with purposeful strides, stopping when they were two feet apart.

  Dylan gulped. The dude looked good tonight. Black trousers, snug gray V-neck, dark hair artfully rumpled. And he smelled good too. Lemon-scented aftershave and a hint of soap.

  “You wanna know what that real issue is?” Aidan prompted.

  Their gazes met and held. Dylan’s pulse sped up.

  With a tiny smirk, Aidan leaned closer, his lips inches from Dylan’s ear. “You want to fuck me.”

  The crude observation drove a spike of lust straight into his cock.

  Jerking his gaze away, he grabbed the beers from the counter and sidestepped the other man. “Cash is waiting for his beer.”

  An annoyed breath sounded from behind him.

  “So yeah, I’ve been busy. Training, hanging out with Rachel, that kind of stuff.” Christ, why was he still talking? Just get out of the kitchen, man.

  “Dylan.”

  He took another step to the door.

  “Dylan.” A commanding note entered Aidan’s voice.

  Drawing a deep breath, he slowly turned around. “What?”

  “I want the same damn thing.”

  Shock slammed into him like an eighteen-wheeler. For a moment he thought he’d misheard the guy, but the heat glimmering in those dark brown eyes said otherwise.

  They watched each other for a moment. The tension in the air intensified, hot and thick, liable to choke him.

  “Where the hell is my beer?” Cash yelled from the living room.

  Dylan was so grateful for the interruption he nearly wept with joy. “Uh…can’t keep the man waiting,” he mumbled.

  He hurried out of the kitchen before Aidan could say another word.

  14

  Miranda had just picked up her son from his baseball coach’s house when her cell phone rang. The words Private Caller flashed on the screen. Since her car was an older model that didn’t have a Bluetooth system, she had to settle for clicking the speakerphone button.

  “Hush, guys,” she told the twins, who were giggling in the backseat. Then she raised her voice and said, “Hello?”

  “Miranda? It’s Eric Porter, Catherine’s dad.”

  Fucking hell.

  She stifled a sigh, wishing she’d let the call go to voice mail. She and Porter had been playing phone tag for the past few weeks. The man was determined to arrange a meeting with her—and only her—but their schedules never seemed to line up.

  “Mr. Porter, hi,” she answered. “How was Miami?”

  “Please call me Eric. And as for Miami, I’m still here, and it’s wonderful.” He chuckled. “The conference I’m attending, not so much.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Actually, she wasn’t. She didn’t care about this man’s business dealings in any way, shape or form, but he was the father of a student, so she was forced to feign interest.

  “I tried to call you last night,” he said. “I couldn’t get through.”

  She stopped at a red light and checked the rearview mirror to make sure the twins weren’t causing trouble, but Sophie was quietly playing with her doll and Jason was flipping through a stack of baseball cards.

  She returned her attention to the aggravating phone call. “I was bartending last night. As I mentioned before, I have another job, so I’m usually out of touch four nights a week.”

  “I understand.”

  His voice was so warm and genuine she felt bad about all those times she’d cursed the man. “I assume you’re calling so we can figure out another time to meet.” She injected some warmth into her own voice.

  He chuckled again. “I’m hoping we can actually make it happen this time. I’d like to discuss Cat’s future with the school and hear your thoughts about whether she has what it takes to pursue dance as a career.”

  If you overlooked the borderline-annoying persistence, Miranda had to admit that his eagerness to be involved in his kid’s life was admirable.

  “What’s your schedule like next week?” he asked. “Next Sunday maybe?”

  She thought about it. “I teach two morning classes on Sunday, and then I have plans with my children for the afternoon. I’m back at the school at five to teach another class, and that usually runs until about seven.”

  “Can I interest you in dinner then?”

  Dinner? She’d been hoping for a quick chat in the studio after the lesson wrapped up.

  “Um…”

  “There’s a little bistro right down the street from the school. I imagine you’ll be hungry after class, so we can grab a quick bite.”

  She hesitated again. The twins would be at home with Kim, so she supposed she could ask the babysitter to stay for an extra hour, hour and a half. She didn’t particularly want to have dinner with the man, but it could potentially be good for business. According to Elsa, Porter was incredibly wealthy, and that meant he had wealthy friends who could afford to pay for dance lessons for their kids.

  “Sure, that sounds great,” she relented. “But just a quick bite
. I’m not sure what my babysitter’s schedule is.”

  “No problem. I won’t keep you too long,” he promised.

  After they arranged to meet at the school the following Sunday, Miranda hung up and glanced over at the twins.

  “You guys okay back there?”

  “Yup,” Jason said.

  “We’re counting how many times the car thumps,” Sophie chimed in.

  She frowned. “What are you talking abo—”

  Thump. Thump.

  Her words died as she heard it loud and clear. Oh shit.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbled.

  “Mo-om, that’s a bad word!” Jason said accusingly.

  She ignored the reprimand and focused on gradually reducing her speed. The phone call had distracted her from the fact that the steering wheel was pulling to the right, and that her front tire was so flat it was a miracle the car didn’t tip right over.

  Miranda winced when the wheel began making a loud noise, metal scraping over concrete. Shit. She hoped the rim hadn’t been damaged.

  Damn Eric Porter.

  “Why are we stopping?” Sophie demanded as Miranda turned onto a side street and pulled over at the first available opportunity.

  “We have a flat tire, guys.” With a sigh, she unbuckled her seatbelt and flicked on the emergency blinkers. “Stay in the car. Mommy’s going to investigate.”

  She hopped out of the sedan and walked around it to inspect the front passenger-side wheel. Her spirits instantly sank. Crap. What on earth had she run over? The tire was completely punctured, and it didn’t take long to find the culprit—a two-inch nail wedged in the jagged flap of rubber that had come loose. On the bright side, the rim seemed to be in good shape.

  Opening the passenger door, she leaned in to shut off the engine and yank the keys out of the ignition. “Guess what,” she told the twins.