Secret Daddy Surprise - A Secret Baby Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 4)

by Layla Valentine

  No one wants to hear about my thesis, or my teaching career, I remind myself as I swivel around on the barstool and survey the club.

  Liz wasn’t talking about her job as an accountant when she started flirting with that guy, a few hours ago. He even had a friend with him. But I talked so much that soon Liz and her guy were making out while I was asking the friend what he thought about the latest round of educational reform laws.

  I’ll tell you what that guy thought about educational reform: nothing. Meanwhile, Liz and her guy left together…and I’m still here. Alone. Like there’s some sort of repellant force-field around me.

  “Valerie Brown?” the bartender says.

  I turn to the bar and he slides a slip of paper and my card towards me. I take a moment to calculate the tip, sign my name, and pick up my card.

  I push the paper back towards him, and within two seconds, he’s moved onto the next person lingering near the bar, waiting for his attention.

  The tab wasn’t expensive—just twenty-five dollars—but still, I’m struck by what a colossal waste the night has been. It’s already one fifteen in the morning; by the time I walk home it will be one thirty. Way past my bedtime. I’ll wake up a little bit hungover and tired, and my whole Sunday will be ruined.

  I huff in annoyance as I pull my purse over my shoulder.

  I’m about to stand when the sight of a man approaching me steals the breath right out of my lungs. My annoyance withers and dies within seconds. All of my attention is captivated by this one man, cutting through a crowd of strangers, heading in my direction.

  Holy smokes. I mean, hot damn. I rarely curse, but this guy deserves curse words. He’s just that hot.

  He’s holding a motorcycle helmet in the crook of his arm and moving fast, as if he can’t wait to reach the bar. With his head lowered like a battering ram, he pushes through the crowd. People move aside as he knocks into them, and I see a few people give him annoyed looks, but no one says anything.

  They wouldn’t. He looks like he could kick the crap out of anyone who tried to stand in his way.

  His body is lean and built, and his tight black T-shirt pulls against his muscular chest, shoulders, and tattooed biceps. He’s wearing faded jeans and black boots.

  He’s closer, now, and he looks up. His body was captivating enough, but now that I see his face, I see that his body was just the beginning of his good looks.

  Time seems to slow as he walks towards me. His dark brows cover smoldering black eyes. He has dark brown wavy hair, and stubble over his chiseled jawline.

  There’s a different energy about him. Sort of…deep. He doesn’t fit in here, in this hyper, shallow club.

  Neither do I, so I guess that makes two of us.

  The barstool next to me is empty, and before I know it the tall, dark, and handsome man is sitting next to me. Though I was about to get up to leave, my legs suddenly feel like jelly. I stay put, trying—but not succeeding—to avert my eyes.

  Okay, I’m staring.

  He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he holds a hand up, calling the bartender over. Though the bar is crowded, a female server comes up to the guy quickly. She flashes a seductive smile. Apparently, I’m not the only one captivated by this guy’s looks.

  “What can I get you?” she asks, leaning over the bar so that her ample cleavage is on display.

  “Whiskey on the rocks,” he says. “And…” Suddenly, he’s turning to me.

  I’m ogling him outright, and his quick turn doesn’t give me time to look away. Our eyes lock and I feel mortified that he’s caught me.

  “And whatever she wants,” he says, lifting his chin in a gesture towards me.

  I feel myself blushing, but I can’t look away. His eyes are so dark. So alive. Cutting right into me. He seems to dare me to accept his offer.

  The bartender is waiting to hear what I want. I hear myself fumble my words at first. This has all just happened so quickly. So unexpectedly.

  “I—um…well, I’ve been drinking vodka tonics tonight,” I say.

  “A vodka tonic for the lady,” the handsome stranger repeats.

  The bartender bustles away, clearly miffed.

  “You…you don’t have to buy me a drink,” I say weakly.

  “I know that.” His voice is deep, quiet, and slightly rough. I can barely hear him over the pounding music. I lean in closer to him to catch his words. “I want to,” he says.

  He smells good—not like too much cologne, which I’ve picked up from many of the men I’ve talked to tonight. No. He smells fresh and clean, like body wash and laundry detergent.

  “Oh. Well, thanks.” I look down.

  “I’m Garrett,” he says.

  “Valerie.”

  Neither of us speaks for a moment. The music pulses all around us, and I enjoy the feeling of his presence next to me. He’s so damn attractive. I feel struck dumb by the sheer gorgeousness of him.

  The server brings our drinks, and Garrett reaches for his immediately. He lifts the short glass to his lips and I watch him from the corner of my eye as he pours half of it down his throat.

  “Thirsty?” I joke as he sets the glass down.

  “It's been a rough night,” he says.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” He meets my eyes with his again.

  His eyes are so dark that, for a moment, I can’t read into the inky blackness. But as I stare into his eyes, I pick up on something that I’ve seen before in my job as a teacher: pain. I’ve been teaching for the past two years in an inner-city high school, and I’ve helped many students through hard times.

  I know what people look like when they’re hurting.

  Almost as soon as I recognize it, Garrett looks away.

  “Okay, then,” I say, letting him off the hook.

  But really, I’m curious. I’m curious about why he’s hurting. I’m curious about why he walked into this club after one in the morning, on his own. I’m curious about his strange, intense energy, his tattoos, and his muscular build.

  “What about you?” he asks, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Are you having a good night, Valerie?”

  The sound of my name on his lips makes a shiver run down my spine.

  “Oh, it’s…all right…” I say vaguely. My night really hasn’t been great, but it’s getting better, now.

  I feel him watching me. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he says.

  “I don’t go out to clubs often,” I say. “My friend Liz begged me to come with her. She needed a wingwoman.”

  “Where is she?” he asks, looking around.

  “She left with a guy a little while ago.”

  “Then I guess you did a good job,” Garrett says with a wink.

  I feel myself blushing. For some reason, discussing my friend’s sexual escapades feels intimate. I feel like Garrett and I are talking about sex directly, though I’ve just barely mentioned that Liz left with a guy.

  “What about you?” I ask, trying to alleviate some of the tension that I’d just introduced. “You come here a lot?”

  “Whenever I’m in San Antonio,” he says elusively.

  “Which is…often?”

  He doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, he takes another long pull from his drink.

  I sip from mine, as well. The introduction of more vodka into my system rekindles the buzz that I’d worked on earlier in the night. I feel myself relax and loosen up a little bit, and I take another sip.

  Garrett leans in closer to me. The music really is loud, and it’s the only way we can hear each other. But as he leans in to place his lips near my ears, I feel tingling arousal build up in my core. This man is so attractive, just talking to him is making me swoon.

  I feel his breath tickle my ear as he speaks. “I travel around Texas a lot,” he says. “My work takes me all over the state.”

  “What do you do?” I ask.

  “I’m…well, I’m a Texas native, born and rai
sed here. I protect civilians. I’m in the field of…criminal justice, I guess you could say.”

  “Oh.”

  I’m trying to concentrate on his words, but really, I’m drowning in the feel of him—his smell, the deep tone of his voice, and the feel of his breath caressing my skin.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

  Oh, no. He’s giving me an opening that would usually cause me to launch into a long, nervous monologue about the public school I work for, the committees I’m on, and the political volunteering that I’m passionate about. I feel it all bubbling up, but I shove it down.

  I take a deep breath and bite my lip. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t talk about work tonight,” I say. I flash a quick smile, and look up at him.

  For the first time since he sat down, I see the corners of his mouth tilt upwards. It’s a brief, subtle smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

  “I like that idea,” he says.

  “It is the weekend, after all,” I say.

  He nods. “It is, Valerie. You’re right. Happy Saturday night.”

  He lifts his glass and I mirror him. I catch his eye as we both drink, and I feel the jolt of shared communication passing between us. It’s as though we’re drinking for a purpose, now.

  Just as he dared me to accept his offer to buy me a drink, now, I feel him daring me to keep up with him. To drink at his pace. To let the alcohol carry us towards something that we might not do in a sober state.

  And I want to let it carry me. I want to do something that I might regret in the morning. I want to make a mistake—especially if it’s with this captivating man. I swallow the icy cold, bubbling drink and feel it go to my head. I watch his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallows, too.

  Damn. I had no idea that I could get so turned on by a man’s Adam’s apple. But here I am, getting hot and bothered as I watch him. I’ve never felt this much attraction to a man that I barely know, but the feeling is pleasant.

  My eyes travel upwards to his chin and his full lips. What would they feel like on mine?

  Suddenly, I know. Whatever Garrett is daring me to do, I’ll do it. I’ve never gone home with a guy that I’ve met at a bar, but if Garrett asks me to leave with him, I’m going to say yes.

  Chapter 3

  Garrett

  I can see it in her eyes. She’s asking me where this night is going, and suddenly, I’m wondering the same thing.

  I thought I just needed a drink to soothe my nerves. But I’ve slammed down the glass of whiskey and I still feel on edge. Maybe I need more than just alcohol to take my mind off of the evening’s events.

  She’s pulling her drink up through a red straw. Her lips are plump and pink with gloss. She has long lashes, and every time she glances up at me through that mascara-covered fringe, I get the vibe that she wants something to happen between us.

  She’s deep, thoughtful, on the quiet side. That’s much more my style than the bubbly, clingy girls that laugh too much and tell me to lighten up. She’s shy, too. Timid. When I look at her, I feel this surge of power. She’s letting me have complete control of the situation, and I like it.

  It’s just what I needed, after feeling such a lack of control this evening. That damn photograph—the way I fumbled the ladder. Maybe taking this girl to bed will give me my confidence back.

  God damn, it’s loud in here.

  I lean in towards her. Her shoulder-length blond hair looks so silky smooth, for an instant, I want to reach out and touch it. I stop myself, though. That can come later.

  “Valerie…do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter?”

  She pulls back a bit and looks into my eyes. I feel like she’s looking straight through me. For a bizarre instant, I feel like she knows what I’ve done tonight. More than that. It’s like she knows all that I’ve experienced—foster care, war, the deaths of my friends…

  Sounds crazy, I know. But that’s what I mean when I say this girl runs deep.

  It might just be in my imagination. I shake the feeling away.

  She’s biting her lip. There’s a little crease above her right brow. After a moment, she nods. “I live just around the corner,” she says. “A fifteen-minute walk. We could go there…if you want to?”

  Her place. This sounds so good to me, so inviting, so full of promise, that I feel my blood running hotter just thinking about it. I want to go home with her.

  She’s waiting for my answer, and I feel myself enjoying the sense of control again. She’s so submissive. It’s sexy. So, I make her wait. I take a few slow minutes to just look over her body.

  Now that I know that the offer is on the table, I’m even more interested in taking in all of her curves. Her blond hair ripples with natural waves. The black, satin top she’s wearing contrasts with her pale, milky skin. The top is not as revealing or low-cut as many of the styles I’ve seen in this club, but I can imagine her body beneath the conservative blouse. It’s a body I’d love to see…touch…and kiss.

  Since she’s perched on the stool with her legs tightly crossed, I can’t figure out what her hips and ass look like, but if her chest is any indication, she’s got a fine, curvy hourglass shape.

  I let my eyes roam back up to her face. She seems to be holding her breath, waiting for my response.

  Damn, this is fun.

  I feel myself forgetting about my fumble this evening. This is just what I needed. I’m going to take full advantage of the situation before me.

  “I think we should skip the walk,” I say. “Let’s ride.”

  I stand before she can respond. In this game we’re playing, I’m the one to call the shots. I begin walking, and I don’t look back.

  But I know that she’s following me.

  The instant I step out of the club, I’m greeted by fresh air. It’s only a few degrees cooler than inside the club, but still, it feels refreshing against my skin. There were so many bodies in there, and the crowded space was beginning to feel too muggy and hot. Soon, there will just be two bodies creating heat. Mine, and the voluptuous blonde I’m going home with.

  Valerie. I like the name. It suits her.

  I turn around. Just as I expected, she’s stepping out of the club into the fresh air behind me. My bike is parked close, and I motion to it.

  “You’ll wear the helmet,” I say. “Don’t worry, that was my first drink of the night. I’m fine to drive.” Though I’m holding the helmet out, she doesn’t take it.

  “I…um…I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” she says. Her voice is soft and breathy. She looks like a frightened deer.

  I feel like a hunter, luring her in. I step towards her and place my hands on her hips. I was right; they are just as curvy as I hoped. Her jeans fit her well. I can feel the heat of her skin beneath the denim.

  I lean down, as though I’m about to kiss her.

  I know my actions have taken her by surprise.

  Hold on, sweetheart, I think. Not so fast.

  I lean in closer, enjoying the surprised look in her eyes and the heat of her body. At the last minute, when our faces are only inches apart, I turn my head so that my lips are near her ear. “Just hold on tight,” I say. “I’ll do the rest.”

  I feel her shudder.

  Shocked, she nods. This time, when I hold out the helmet, she takes it. I watch her slide it over her head and tighten the chin strap. Again, without looking back, I walk to my bike. It’s not a two-seater, so I make sure to situate myself towards the front, giving her room to mount the bike behind me.

  I feel her climb on, and then her arms wrap around my waist.

  Her body presses into mine, and it takes a massive amount of concentration to start the bike instead of giving in to the fantasies that are now ripping through my mind.

  Her body feels good—soft, supple, and warm. It’s a fast ride, and the whole time I’m torn between wishing it would last longer and needing it to come to an end as fast as possible. There’s no denying
it. I’m damn turned on by this woman and I need to have her.

  As soon as possible.

  By the time we pull into her apartment lot, my mind is revving with thoughts of what I want to do to her.

  She leads the way up to her apartment, and I watch her hips sway back and forth as she climbs the steps in front of me.

  “This is my place,” she says, reaching a door on the second story. “I hope you like wine…I don’t think I have any whiskey, but—”

  I stop her words with a kiss.

  We’re standing at her doorway. Her hand is on the doorknob, and she’s already inserted the key. Now that my lips are on hers, her hand stops working the doorknob. Her lips feel soft and hot against mine. I can taste her strawberry lip gloss. Delicious.

  I move my mouth against hers and place my hand on that blond hair I’ve been wanting to touch all evening. It’s as soft as I imagined, and I let my fingers slide down the strands as I move my lips.

  I pull away before I lose myself in the kiss. I want to save more for later. That was just a taste. A taste to let her know what I have planned.

  “I’m not interested in another drink,” I say.

  She’s breathing hard. Her chest rises and falls, and again I’m struck by how high-cut her top is. A single bulb above her front door is casting light over her, and I can see the faint outline of a bra beneath the smooth black fabric.

  I want to rip the top off of her. It’s hard to practice restraint. But at the same time, it feels good to hold back, knowing that it will all come eventually, if I play my cards right.

  It’s the same feeling I used to get at the beginning of a mission. I knew that I was going to give my full focus and attention to meeting the mission’s objective.

  I have that same feeling now.

  I’m going to conquer this woman. I’m going to make her cry out with pleasure. We’re both going to enjoy it.

  She’s fumbling with the doorknob again. I know that my kiss has thrown her off…and I like seeing her vulnerability. Is she feeling the same sense of anticipation that I am?

  She opens the door and steps inside. The moment we enter her apartment and the door clicks closed behind us, she steps in closer to me. She places her hand on my chest and runs her fingers up and down.