SEAL's Touch: A Dirty Bad Boy Romance (Small Town SEALs Book 3)

by Vivian Wood

  “Yes, but they were foolish enough to marry into this stupidity,” Smith said, coming up behind them.

  Everyone started moving toward a poorly-marked trail leading from the clearing.

  “You’re killing me!” she protested. “Tell me what we’re doing.”

  “Well… we’re going for a hike,” Smith said. “Here, put this on.”

  He held a black backpack, motioning to her to put it on. It was surprisingly heavy. He helped her in it, cinching the straps once she put it on. She realized everyone else was wearing the same backpack. Not similar, the same.

  What the hell was up with that?

  “Good?” Smith asked. He was wearing the same backpack, too.

  “I guess.”

  “Let’s go!” James said, hurrying to the trail.

  Cam moved quickly, not wanting to slow the whole hike down. The ground beneath her feet was rocky, so if she wasn’t careful, she could easily twist an ankle. Smith was right behind her, the last member of the hiking party, but his presence was comforting.

  Charlie and Thomas had already disappeared up the trail before them, so Cam, Smith, and James moved quickly to catch up. At first, Cam enjoyed the laughter of those people in front of her, but then the trail incline steepened and everyone concentrated on their footing.

  They hiked for nearly an hour. Cam started sweating ten minutes in; thirty minutes into the hike she was angry that Smith knew people who hiked in their free time, and worse, liked it. The last twenty minutes were a really hard climb, though she could see the tree line fall away around them.

  They finally came to the ridgeline of the mountain, where it was nice and flat for several thousand yards before dropping off into nothingness. Everyone spread out to rest, taking their packs off and passing around bottles of water.

  Cam put her hands on her knees and spent a full minute trying to catch her breath. Smith patted her on the back, moving around her and going over to talk to Charlie.

  She realized that she hadn’t really looked down the other side. There was literally no point to being here if she didn’t at least admire the scenery. She went over to the side and found it to be a sheer drop, falling away to a bright blue lake below.

  She gasped and took several steps back. No one else really seemed too concerned with the fact that a strong breeze could carry them over the edge.

  She hurried over to Smith, who passed her an unopened bottle of water.

  “Thanks,” she said, frowning as she drank from it.

  “Thanks for coming with me. Well, with us, I suppose.”

  He smiled at her, several strands of his dark hair falling in his eyes. He looked like he was about say more, but one of the women in the group distracted him instead. Cam’s eyes narrowed as the svelte brunette walked over to Smith.

  “I’m so nervous!” she giggled, smiling up at Smith. “Have you done this before?”

  “Done what?” Cam asked, more to Smith than the woman, who, she noted, was wearing a pair of yoga pants tight enough to have been painted on.

  “BASE jumping,” Smith replied.

  “WHAT?!” Cam exclaimed.

  The brunette giggled again. “You didn’t know this was a jumping group?” Cam and Smith both glared at her.

  “Could you give us a moment?” Smith asked. Yoga Pants sidled off.

  “BASE jumping was one of the bonding activities we did in the SAS,” he continued, “and it’s an incredible thrill, just about the best you can get outside of...” he trailed off.

  Cam felt the familiar electric jolt as Smith traced a delicate circle on her palm.

  “A bonding activity?” she asked.

  James had wandered over in pursuit of Yoga Pants.

  “Oh, I love a good bonding activity, don’t you, mate? Very professional!” he called out to Smith and Cam with a wink.

  “Go. Away. James,” Smith growled.

  Cam laughed, then remembered the purpose of her backpack.

  “Base jumping? Hell no. I am not doing that! Hiking is one thing, but jumping off a cliff with nothing but this?” She gestured at her backpack. “No way!”

  One of the group leaders had begun calling out instructions. Smith grabbed her hand.

  “Trust me, please?”

  Cam’s reluctance melted as she looked into his blue eyes. Besides, she thought, maybe after she could probe a little more about the company’s finances.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Smith grinned boyishly. An instructor walked over and began checking their equipment.

  “Spot on,” the instructor nodded approvingly at Smith. “You’ve done this before, eh?”

  “Yeah, loads,” he replied, not looking away from Cam, “but this time is different.”

  13

  A few minutes later, Cam was rethinking her trust in Smith. She tried to open her mouth to scream this at him, but realized it was already open and filled with a nonstop flow of oxygen; the rush of air as she fell through the sky was filling her lungs without any effort on her part.

  The thing was, she didn’t regret it. The rush was incredible.

  So was the view. They had jumped into free fall off of the cliff holding hands, and were now rushing toward a cerulean lake in the valley. It was beautiful.

  Smith had somehow maneuvered in the air so that Cam was underneath him as they fell. He wrapped his legs around her and motioned for her to grab on. She held on for dear life as he deployed his parachute, her stomach dropping as their free fall suddenly stopped.

  They splashed gently into the lake. Smith detached the parachute and grinned at Cam.

  “Well, how was your first time?” he asked.

  “God, that was incredible! You were right, it was a huge rush!”

  “No regrets?”

  “None,” she said, and impulsively kissed him.

  What am I doing? Sex is one thing, but I literally just jumped off a cliff for this man, and now I’m kissing him? Is this for the story, or for me?

  Smith groaned and deepened the kiss, pulling away reluctantly as other BASE jumpers began to land in the lake.

  Cam had felt him getting hard. Sometimes it was nice to have the upper hand.

  “I guess that’s the end of your bonding activity,” she said sweetly to Smith, and with that, she began to swim toward the lake shore.

  14

  Smith stared through the windshield to the road ahead, which had dwindled over the two-hour car ride from an interstate with four lanes to a two-lane highway, to the bumpy country road that he was currently driving on. The family estate was severely isolated compared to his penthouse in the city, tucked away near a sleepy little town that they’d just passed through five minutes ago.

  The journey up here wasn’t Smith’s favorite, but the board was meeting at the estate this time. At least if he had to be here, he wouldn’t be alone.

  He cast a glance at Cameron, in the passenger seat. She was absorbed in looking out the window.

  “We’re almost there,” he said.

  She turned to him with a smile. “I’m not going to be the only assistant coming along, right?”

  Truthfully, he had no idea. He cleared his throat.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Well, I think having a weekend away from the city will be good for both of us,” she said, her attention soon drawn back to the passing scenery.

  Both of us.

  Smith pondered that as he made their final turn onto the well-maintained gravel drive that led up to his family’s estate, passing beneath a stone archway that proudly bore the Calloway name in shiny black metal letters.

  Does that mean both of us together, or both of us individually? he thought, frustrated and confused and entirely unsure of what to do about it.

  Five days had come and gone since the night they’d had drinks at Haro. And over the course of those five days, he and Cameron had gone on pretending as if nothing had happened between, just as they had before.

  Smith was used to living t
wo separate lives in one, having done so for years out of necessity to keep his father out of his personal affairs, but it was bizarre for him to have somebody else playing this tedious game with him. To her credit, Cameron was as good as him when it came to maintaining outward appearances; annoyingly good, if he was being honest.

  The truth was, Smith was anxious to talk about what was going on between them, but he wasn’t sure of how to go about bringing it up to her, or if she would even be willing to talk about it if he somehow did manage to broach the subject. After she left him high and dry in that alleyway last Saturday night, Smith didn’t know how she’d react to anything anymore.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Smith was startled from his ruminations about her, as he glanced over to see Cameron looking at him, her forehead puckered with lines of worry.

  “What?” Smith asked, confused by her question.

  “You were making a face like--” Cameron squinted her eyes and turned down the corners of her mouth as she jutted her chin out.

  Smith laughed at her ridiculous imitation of him. “I was not.”

  “Oh yes, you were.”

  “I have never made a face like that in my life,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

  “Well, that’s the face you were just making, so…” Cameron shrugged, but she didn’t let the subject drop as she studied his face. “You looked like you were, I don’t know, conflicted about something.”

  “I was just thinking about how miserable it’s going to be to have to spend the next forty-eight hours or so trapped in the house with my father,” Smith covered smoothly.

  It wasn’t a complete lie, at least. To say he wasn’t looking forward to it was a severe understatement.

  “Oh,” Cameron said, seemingly mollified by his answer as she relaxed back in her seat.

  Only to sit forward again suddenly as they crested a final hill, and she saw the entirety of the Calloway estate stretched out before them for the first time.

  “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, turning to look at him with wide eyes. “That’s your freaking house?”

  “No, that’s my father’s house,” he corrected her, before drawing his brows together in contemplation. “Well, it’s one of them anyway. This is the one he christened the family estate, though, so... well, you get the idea.”

  “I’m not so sure that I do, Mr. Silver Spoon,” she said, rolling her eyes before returning back to gawking out the window. “I’ve never seen a house this big in person before, let alone stayed inside one.”

  “Well, it’s just like staying in any other house, only far more uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t know,” Cameron said as he pulled the car around the circle drive, stopping to park in front of the house. “I think you might be biased.”

  “You may be right on that account,” Smith sighed as he cut the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition.

  He looked up at the house as he got out of the car. It was an old Victorian mansion made of brick, magnificently gabled and set amongst the trees. It was three stories high, with fifteen bedrooms. He wrinkled his nose briefly, then went to the trunk to get their bags.

  “Well, we’re here,” he mused. “Might as well get some relaxation out of it.”

  He carried the bags to the porch, Cameron trailing behind him with wide eyes. He considered the ornately carved front door for a moment before reaching out and ringing the bell.

  The door opened. Smith squinted. The tuxedoed man behind the door was unfamiliar to him, but that wasn’t unusual with his father’s employees.

  “Mr. Calloway,” the butler said in an Irish brogue, bowing. “I am McDonnell. Please come in. Leave your things where they are, and I will have the lads take them up.”

  Smith dropped the suitcases, nodding to McDonnell. He looked at Cameron, who hovered behind him.

  “You want to freshen up?” he asked.

  She nodded, apparently silenced by the size of the house.

  “Which rooms are we in?” he asked the butler.

  “In your customary room, sir, and your guest will be across the hall. Mrs. Cassin will escort you, ma’am,” O’Donnell said. Another servant materialized and led Cam off to her room. Smith stood awkwardly for a moment in the foyer before O’Donnell spoke again.

  “I will have your bags brought to your room. Do you require anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you, but do you know where my father is?”

  “In his study, sir,” the butler replied.

  Smith strode away toward the study. He paused outside the study entrance for a moment to admire the intricately carved mahogany doors. He could hear his father on the phone inside the study, saying something about taxes. Smith looked around the hallway, then put his ear a little closer to the door.

  “...if we move operations to Ireland, we could save millions,” he was saying.

  Smith felt numb. He’d never even heard his father mention the possibility of moving operations overseas. How much is he hiding from me? Growing angry, Smith jerked open the door without knocking and glared at his father.

  Spencer sat up, startled. “Oh, it’s you, Smith. Come on.” He motioned at his son to take a seat. Instead, Smith walked over to the desk and plucked the phone from his father’s hands.

  “He’ll have to call you back,” he said into it, then hung up.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Spencer angrily demanded.

  Smith ignored this. “Ireland? How long have you been planning this behind my back?”

  Spencer sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic!” He took a deep sip from a crystal glass on his desk. Smith couldn’t be sure if the clear liquid inside was water or vodka, but he was betting the latter.

  “Look,” his father continued, “the company could save a lot in taxes by moving to Ireland.”

  “Sure,” Smith shot back, “so long as your plan is to not pay taxes to begin with once you’re there. Also? I’m supposed to be running this company with you, Father, not walking in on closed-door deals by chance.”

  Spencer took another deep draw from the tumbler and grinned at his son. “Don’t worry so much, boy! You can keep your sexecutive assistant when we move. I’ll even help you set her up with a little love nest so you can fuck her in your off hours, ha! Come on, drink with me and we’ll talk about it.”

  Smith clenched his fists until his fingernails were digging into his palms. He was about to tell his father off when a small chime went off, indicating dinner was in thirty minutes. He forced a smile. “Regretfully, father, I must change for dinner.”

  Spencer waved him off. “Another time. Oh! I had O’Donnell put your room right across from hers…”

  Smith left the study before his father could say any more. As he stalked to his room, he ran across the housekeeper, who was carrying a long garment bag to Cameron’s room. The housekeeper avoided his gaze as she knocked on Cam’s door.

  I wonder if every servant here thinks that I fuck my employees just like my father? And damn them, they’re not wrong.

  Smith’s father had a way of bringing the absolute worst out in his son. He slammed the door to his room angrily and changed into his tux.

  Precisely twenty-five minutes later, Smith walked into the formal dining room. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored and without a speck of lint. Smith resembled a panther, all muscle and tension beneath a polished exterior. He nodded to his father, who was already seated, and poured himself a drink from the sideboard before sitting.

  Cam walked in, Smith tried not to stare. She was wearing an emerald silk dress that, while technically modest, hugged her curves perfectly. No bra. Strappy black heels. Her thick red hair was swept up off her neck.

  “It took me forever to find this room. This house is huge!” Cam exclaimed.

  Smith nodded carelessly at her.

  Spencer smirked. “Well, we’re certainly happy you made it, sweetheart. O’Donnell, we will have our dinner now.”

  At his word, a cluster of servants streamed
into the room. One came out with a silver ewer of hot water, which she poured into small finger bowls by each person. Another servant silently poured a chilled white Burgundy, and yet another served the soup course from a steaming tureen.

  Smith stared at the servant pouring the wine. He recognized her with a start; she was the P.I. he’d hired to look into the company’s finances.

  He took a deep sip of wine. Did his father know his suspicions? Worse, had he hired the P.I. out from under him? Shit.

  The servants disappeared without a word. The men began to eat, but Cam felt her appetite fading; she was beginning to feel self-conscious.

  Smith noticed. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m not used to all of this,” she replied.

  For the first time, Smith cracked a smile. “Try the wine. It’s how the upper class tolerates all of this, right, Dad?”

  Spencer raised his glass in a mock toast to his son. For the first time, Cam could see the resemblance between the two men. They were both powerfully built, tall men with blue eyes and good smiles. The father’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

  Cam took his advice and took a deep sip of the wine, chewing it on her palate, then swirling it around her tongue to better taste.

  “My god,” she said happily, “this wine is incredible!”

  Smith forced his eyes away from her lush mouth.

  His father smiled again. “I’m glad you approve. So, Miss Cameron... tomorrow morning the board arrives, but right now we have a little time to relax. Tell us about yourself. Where are you from? Who do you do?”

  Smith clenched his jaw. Had Cam noticed that remark? Apparently not. She was still savoring the wine.

  Cam rattled off a few sentences drawn from her fake résumé. She hadn’t missed the tension between father and son, or the father’s remarks. But she knew better than to lose her cool. Instead, she played dumb, giggling at Spencer’s bawdy jokes and complimenting each dish that came out of the kitchen.

  What if you knew that I was not only fucking your son, but investigating your shady company, you creepy old man? Cam smiled at her thoughts.

  Meanwhile, Smith was on edge. His father’s constant innuendo and Cameron’s simpering replies were driving him crazy. Every time he tried to calm down, the P.I. came out to serve a new wine.