Bought by the SEAL

by Zoe York

And that sweet wonder had nothing on the way his heart was beating hard in his chest. He didn’t know how today would go. Despite all his money, and all the resources available to him, he wasn’t going to Vegas with much intel. He had no idea if Daphne would be tied up in sorting out this mess for days, weeks, or longer. What legal hurdles stood between them and—

  “Will? Are you awake?” Her head popped up and she poked at his face.

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  “Your breathing changed.”

  “Aren’t you a pixie spy? Clever girl,” he said, hauling her on top of him. There was a new sizzle under his skin, a crisp awareness of her that craved contact.

  She snuggled close. “What do you have to grill for breakfast?”

  He laughed out loud. “Nothing. Come on, let’s shower. I’m eager to get to brunch. We can grab coffee on the way.”

  An hour later, Daphne was giving him a look over the top of her Starbucks takeout cup.

  “What?”

  “You made it seem like brunch was, you know, in San Diego somewhere.”

  He glanced around the plane. “Huh.”

  “You think you’re being cute.” Truth. “But I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll be in Vegas in fifty minutes, and you had a muffin in the car.”

  “Is this a ruse to get me to face the shit in my past as early as humanly possible today? Because I feel like scrambled eggs might help in that endeavor.”

  “No ruse.” He hesitated a beat. “Not much of a ruse, and not for that reason.”

  “Your story is already changing.”

  “You’re extra lippy this morning.”

  “Sex makes me bitchy.”

  He grinned. “Good. I like bitchy Daphne. Come here and sit in my lap while we’re at cruising altitude.”

  “We are not having sex where the flight attendant can see,” she whispered, but she crawled onto his lap all the same.

  “No, of course not,” he murmured, sliding his hand under the hem of her shirt. He breathed in the scent of her, which was mostly the scent of him, his shower products, but still Daphne underneath. And he lowered his voice further still, to a raw, honest whisper for her ears only. “I wanted to get on the road—or in the air, I suppose—as soon as humanly possible, because I was afraid if we didn’t, I’d chicken out.”

  She froze. “Chicken out?”

  “I was full of fire yesterday. Angry, focused on fixing this.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think it doesn’t matter.”

  She made a wounded sound and scrambled backward before he could catch her. “Hey,” he said, following her as she stood. He stood, too, taking up a lot of space on the small plane.

  And he was painfully aware, as she had been a moment earlier, that his father’s employees were within earshot.

  Daphne glared up at him. “It doesn’t matter? You dragged me across the continent for it doesn’t matter?”

  “No…” He replayed his words. “Not exactly.”

  She shook her head, pulled her lips tight into a disappointed pout, and threw herself back into her seat.

  A second later, the plane jerked sideways, and the turbulence sent him staggering. He caught the edge of his chair and hauled himself back.

  The corner of her mouth tugged, amused, and then she twisted to look out the window. He took a deep breath and buckled up. “That came out wrong.”

  “How was it supposed to come out?”

  “I’m feeling less fire-and-brimstone today, because I don’t have any conditions on—”

  The pilot’s voice came over the PA system, interrupting him. “We’ve arrived in Las Vegas ten minutes ahead of schedule, and we’re cleared for landing, so we’re going to make this descent a quick one, folks. Buckle up if you haven’t already.”

  His confession could wait a few minutes. Once they got to the hotel, he’d tell her exactly how he felt.

  But when they landed, Gill was waiting for them next to a limousine.

  “How did you get here?” Daphne asked suspiciously.

  His lawyer wasn’t fazed. “I came here last night after I checked in at the office and grabbed a new suitcase of clean clothes.”

  Will’s eyebrows hit the roof. That was news to him. Nothing should be news to him, he was the boss.

  Gill glanced his way. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

  “And this morning?”

  “I’ll explain over breakfast.”

  Daphne softened at the mention of food. “Apparently Will has a favorite brunch place here.”

  Gill frowned. “This would be better at the hotel. In private.”

  That didn’t sound good to Daphne’s ears.

  She was tempted to hop on a flight home. Except she’d been kidnapped by a billionaire, and now if she wanted to make her own way back home, it would cost her an arm and a leg she didn’t have to spare—thanks to her own mistakes—and probably take a layover in Miami to boot.

  You’re freaking out because this place has a lot of toxic history. Sure, that was true. Telling herself to chill wasn’t working, though.

  It turned out, she hadn’t matured very much in the last decade.

  Her first trip to Vegas had been a hormone-fuelled rage fest. Anger at her mother, a desperate need to prove herself, and then so much fighting with Adrian that it hurt to think about how toxic everything had been.

  She’d spent the last decade running away from all of those memories. Had buried them deep.

  And now she’d thought maybe she could face them, head-on, with Will by her side. But he was having second thoughts and his lawyer was dictating where they should eat breakfast, and Daphne was no longer having any fun at all.

  Will stepped closer, his hand sliding over the small of her back. “Are we on a pressing timeline?”

  Gill blinked at him. “Are we not?”

  He didn’t answer her. The firm press of his hand continued. “I want to take Daphne out for brunch. We’ll meet you at the hotel after that.”

  They were just going to leave her at the airport? Daphne didn’t want to take Gill along for any meal, but the thought of being stranded without a ride made her anxious as fuck. “We can give her a lift,” she whispered.

  Will shook his head. “It’s fine.”

  She stopped in her tracks, not letting him guide her to the limo. “No it’s not.” She looked at Gill. “Do you need a ride somewhere? Because I get that he’s your boss, but you shouldn’t just let him abandon you here.”

  Gill’s mouth dropped open.

  Will cleared his throat. “She’ll be fine. She can take another car.”

  “But—” Daphne cut herself off, her face going hot and probably an embarrassing shade of red. Right. Of course these people didn’t care about the extra cost of a second car. The first car was an idling limo. Gill wouldn’t be counting her pennies, trying to decide if a cab ride was worth the hit to her drinking budget for the night.

  She was in so far over her head it wasn’t funny.

  It had never been funny.

  Will had seen her as the easy mark that she was. The country bumpkin who’d spent the last bunch of years playing bartender on a laidback island, who’d be impressed by the promise of an easy way out.

  But no way out was ever easy.

  Everything had a price and part of the cost in this relationship was Daphne’s dignity.

  She was an idiot.

  She lifted her head and looked straight at Will. “You know what? Both of you can take another car.” She grabbed the handle on the limo door, pulling it open, and then awkwardly climbed inside.

  Will was staring at her, which made the reach out to grab the door and pull it shut—no slam possible, it was too heavy—all the more uncomfortable.

  As far as huffs went, it hadn’t been very elegant.

  She crawled up to the divider and knocked on it. It slid down, and the driver looked back, his face carefully neutral, like awkward huffs were just par for the course. Ma
ybe they were.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Do you know what hotel we were going to go to?”

  “The Wynn, ma’am.”

  “Excellent. Can you take me to literally any other hotel, preferably one that has a cheap breakfast buffet and free Wi-Fi?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” She hesitated. “And I know that guy pays the bills, but can you not tell him where you drop me off for like at least an hour?”

  The driver nodded. “I’ll give you two hours at least.”

  “Awesome. What’s your name?”

  “Julio.”

  “You are the best, Julio.” She sighed and slumped down on the seat. “I’m going to take a quick cat nap on the way to the Strip, okay?”

  “Okay by me, ma’am.”

  Well, that hadn’t gone at all according to plan. Will stared at his limo drive off without him.

  Beside him, his lawyer cleared her throat. “Shall I call for another car?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Where’s the nearest cab stand?” He pulled out his phone. “Or better yet, how quickly can I get an Uber?”

  “You need an app for that.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Will—”

  He held up his phone. “Downloading.”

  “Will.”

  “What?” He gave the app permission to find his current address. A bunch of black car icons appeared on the screen, little moving replicas of cars all around him, waiting to be summoned. Magical. He synched it to the credit card stored on his phone, and summoned a ride. Then, remembering Daphne’s point which he’d missed the first time, he looked at his lawyer. “Do you, in fact, need a lift?”

  She sighed. “Sure. But can I talk?”

  “Nope. I need to find Daphne first. Then I need to apologize for having more money than sense. Then I need to ask her what she wants to do, because it’s her life, after all. And then, and only then, can you talk. Deal?”

  A red Toyota Corolla pulled up in front of them. The driver rolled down the window. “Hey, man, are you Will?”

  He looked at Gill.

  She nodded. “Deal.”

  Will opened the back door of the car and gestured for her to get in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even the limo driver had a different idea of a cheap breakfast than Daphne did. No way was she putting twenty bucks down for sausage and eggs. So, after she was deposited on the Strip, she cut through the hotel and out the other side.

  After a quick stop at McDonald’s to shove some food in her face, she headed away from the casinos, up to the Marriage License Bureau. Memories slammed into her, awkward and uncomfortable, as she stood in line. Don’t do it, she wanted to tell the people in front of her. You never know who the person you’re marrying is. And sooner or later—sooner, in my case, both freaking times—you’ll realize they don’t have your back.

  But that wasn’t true for everyone.

  Daphne just had the world’s worst luck when it came to men.

  By the time she reached the head of the line, her face was hot, her chest was tight, and her voice didn’t work properly.

  “I’m looking for—” Her words caught in her throat. “I’m hoping you can help me—” She made a face and blurted it out. “I need to get a copy of a marriage license that was filed about ten years ago?”

  The lady on the other side of the counter didn’t even blink. “You need to go to County Records office.” She grabbed a photocopied map print out and showed Daphne where to go. It wasn’t far.

  As she stood in another line in another building, the tight, painful heat grew across her entire body.

  She hated everything about this.

  Maybe she should have leaned on Will a bit longer. Let his wealth smooth the way so she didn’t need to stand in a line to get a copy of a license his lawyer already had.

  Except…she didn’t want to owe him anything. All of this was a mistake. It doesn’t matter. Probably, when it came right down to it, nothing mattered to Will.

  His service to his country matters to him, a tiny voice said, deep inside her.

  Fine. He was a loyal commando. And he loved his friends with his whole heart. But when it came to her… She scrunched up her face to keep the hot, frustrated tears at bay. It didn’t matter. That was fine.

  She stomped up to the counter when it was her turn. “Hi,” she said, going for tough and curt this time. “I need to get a copy of a marriage license.”

  The clerk pushed a form across the counter, and a pen. She scribbled all of her information, then handed it back.

  After glancing down the page, the clerk looked up. “Do you have your social security number?”

  “Oh, sorry, I missed that field.” She recited it from memory.

  “And photo ID?”

  She handed over her passport. Her heart hammered in her chest as the clerk typed on the computer, then held the passport up and glanced back and forth between the thing that would get her back to Miralinda and the monitor.

  Then the employee pushed back from the counter. “One moment.”

  “Wait, my passport—” Daphne’s voice died as the woman disappeared. “Can you give it to me?” she muttered under her breath. “I guess not.”

  It didn’t take long, but when the clerk returned, the passport wasn’t in her hand.

  Daphne’s pulse picked up. “Is there a problem?”

  She got a bored shake of the head in response. “It’ll just take some time to print, have a seat. We’ll call you up when it’s ready, and then you go to that door.” She looked past Daphne. “Next.”

  Summarily dismissed, Daphne took a seat. The clock on the wall ticked, she realized after staring at it for a while. It was faint, but there it was.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  She started counting seconds with it, then stopped. Five minutes went by, then ten.

  Someone else was told to sit and wait, which made her feel better, but then that person got their document printed just two minutes later.

  When her name was finally called out, she jumped out of her seat. “Here! That’s me!”

  A short man in a wrinkled suit gestured for her to follow him. “This way.”

  She stopped before the open door. “Maybe there’s some mix-up? I just need a copy of an old marriage license.” Had she said the wrong thing at the counter?

  “We’ve got it for you, yep.” He still stood there, holding the door wide open. “Follow me.”

  Pulse racing, she stepped through the door. It clicked hard behind her. On this side of the wall there were cubicles and a long hallway. It was quiet, although somewhere someone was listening to a local radio station.

  No reason to be nervous.

  None at all.

  She swallowed hard as he silently led her to an office.

  Except when she stepped inside, it wasn’t really an office. It was a windowless room with a small table in it and a single chair—and she wasn’t alone.

  There were two women in suits, one tall, one a tiny bit shorter. Both towered over Daphne. The taller one spoke first. “Ms. Strike, we have some questions for you.”

  “For me.” She frowned as she looked them up and down. “Who are you?”

  They didn’t answer that. The marginally shorter one spoke next. “Have a seat.” Daphne didn’t sit. “You asked for a copy of a marriage license from a decade ago. Why did you do that?”

  “Because my name is on it.”

  She came around the table and pulled out the chair. “So you claim.”

  “Yes, I claim. What is going on here?” Daphne turned and looked at the door, closed behind her. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No. Please sit. We need to verify your identity.”

  “Is that why I didn’t get my passport back?” Daphne sat. She was in the county clerk’s office in the city of Las Vegas. If people in suits asked her questions, there was a really small, like-in-the-movies chance they were mobsters of some sort, but m
ore likely they were police.

  Her stomach flip-flopped, making her queasy.

  “Do you have any other identification on you?”

  She shook her head.

  “No driver’s license?”

  “Not an American one. I live in Miralinda. My permanent visa is in my passport, which by the way, I’d like back, or I’m going to need to call someone from the federal government.”

  “We are the federal government.” The tall one flashed a badge. “U.S. Marshals.”

  A roaring sound started in Daphne’s ears. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why did you request this document today?”

  “Because…” Her mouth was dry and the words were hard to get out. “I did something stupid ten years ago, and now I’m trying to find out…”

  They looked at her, waiting for her to continue, but she wasn’t sure what the end of that sentence was.

  “Can I have some water?”

  “Sure.”

  A plastic bottle materialized at the door, handed through by an arm. This was just like something on TV. Nothing good could come from being sarcastic, but lippy was her default self-defense mechanism.

  She was so screwed. She desperately took a swig, wetting her throat, then she tried to be as honest as she could without accidentally getting herself into trouble. Don’t mention the fake marriage. Did it matter if both people in a marriage of convenience were American citizens? Was she in some kind of tax haven sting?

  This was all Will’s fault somehow.

  Don’t mention Will at all.

  Oh, she wouldn’t. She was going to do her best to forget the Navy SEAL had ever existed. If she ever saw him in Petite Ciotat again, she’d ignore the hell out of him. She’d ghost him so hard, he’d wonder if he was actually a ghost. A reverse Sixth Sense of a sort.

  “When was the last time you spoke to Adrian?”

  “The night we got that license.”

  “You haven’t heard from him since?”

  “No.”

  “Does he know you’re looking into the records now?”

  “I’m not looking into the records,” Daphne said, exasperated. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do next, I just found out that I’m married, okay? I’d blocked it out of my mind. So, I think I need the license, so I can find a lawyer and get myself out of this mess. I promise, whatever it is you think I did, I didn’t do.”