A SEAL's Secret

by Tawny Weber

  Maybe even more, considering the sweet delicacies to be found on that side of the country. But Mitch figured he’d keep that little fact to himself.

  “Nonsense,” the Admiral barked. “DEVGRU is the only option that makes sense.”

  “An option you have plenty of time to think through,” his dad said from his position at what Denise liked to call the other head of the table. “A month, at least.”

  Thomas didn’t say any more than that. He didn’t need to. Four of them at the table knew he was referring to a highly classified mission Mitch was leading against a drug kingpin in Guatemala. The other two didn’t need to know.

  “DEVGRU? Isn’t that another name for SEAL Team Six?” Charity asked in her delicate southern accent. “You’re serving with Team Two right now, aren’t you, Mitchell? Will your aviation training help you qualify, do you think?”

  The silence in response to Charity’s comment was as shocked as it would have been had she offered to perform crude sexual acts on the turkey.

  Mitch and Romeo exchanged surprised looks.

  Not at her comments. Charity was a congressman’s aide and had obviously been well informed about the unsecured goings-on of the military. And she was clearly an intelligent woman.

  But she evidently wasn’t in the know when it came to social etiquette in the house of Admiral Donovan. You’d have thought that’d be one of the first things the Admiral’s daughter-in-law would have schooled her protégé on.

  “So,” Denise said brightly before her guest could make another faux pas. “Would anyone like their drinks refreshed?”

  And that’s how things were handled in the Donovan house.

  Mitch watched confusion, then frustration crease the brunette’s face and realized this was one of the reasons he couldn’t see himself getting married.

  Because as much as he appreciated the family’s rules on communication, he readily acknowledged that a few of them were so archaic they had chisel marks on the stone they were etched on. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to say Mitch and Gabriel were assigned to one of the SEAL teams in Coronado for the next six months, or that they were currently preparing for a mission. And, hell, information on DEVGRU was readily available on the internet.

  But the Admiral had strict views on the role of the support team in questioning and/or interfering with key military personnel. In other words, he expected anyone who ranked lower than O2, or lieutenant junior grade, to maintain the position of eyes down, mouth shut when it came to military matters.

  “Irish can’t go too far or I’ll lose my excuse to come visit,” Romeo told the table at large. “And we all know Mrs. D would miss me like crazy. Isn’t that right, Mrs. D?”

  Denise offered Romeo a smile that was equal parts gratitude and indulgence.

  “Of course I’d miss you, Gabriel. But you know you’re always welcome, with or without Mitchell.” She shook her head in amusement at Romeo’s exaggerated sigh of relief. “You are incorrigible, aren’t you? How do you get better-looking each visit?”

  “After all you’ve done to make me welcome here, the least I can do is look good for you, Mrs. D.” His wink made the words a joke, but Mitch knew how serious he actually was. “What do you say we ditch these guys later and go dancing? You can teach me the real meaning of boogie nights.”

  Denise gave a delighted laugh and even the Admiral smiled. Nobody was immune to Gabriel’s charm.

  “That’s enough, Romeo. Quit flirting with my wife and eat more turkey. If you don’t, I’ll be stuck eating leftovers for the next week.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  “Mitch, aren’t you going to have more?” Still smiling, his mother lifted the bowl of yams. “Charity made the yam casserole. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “I’m still working on my first helping,” Mitch admitted.

  “You’ve got to excuse your son’s poor appetite. He’s developed a taste for Twinkies, Mrs. D.” His face perfectly straight, Romeo gave Charity the most innocent smile he had in his repertoire. “I think the cravings might be causing him some problems today.”

  Mitch knew hundreds, if not thousands of creative ways to kill a man. He looked at his best friend, debating which one he’d use if Romeo didn’t shut up.

  “Oh, Mitchell. Twinkies are so bad for you,” his mother protested. “How could you let yourself develop a taste for them?”

  “Sometimes it just takes one taste,” he murmured. Then he leaned forward, pitching his voice so it’d be heard by his father and grandfather. “Did you know Romeo met a woman? Totally fell for her, too.”

  “Gabriel, that’s wonderful.” Denise beamed. Her fondest hope, right after marrying off her son to the perfect woman, was marrying off all of his friends. Her theory, Mitch knew, was to surround him with so much wedded bliss that he would never catch sight of the temptations of bachelor life again.

  “You finally got hooked, did you?” Thomas grinned. He didn’t have his wife’s hopes. He just liked seeing his son and his friends happy.

  “Well, who is she? Tell us about her,” Denise prodded, slanting a sideways look at Charity. Mitch knew a trap when he saw it. But as a trained SEAL, he knew how to use it to his advantage, too.

  Before Gabriel could do more than aim a deadly glare his way, Mitch offered a sad shake of his head.

  “She was a sweetheart. An absolute angel. But for some reason, she didn’t want anything to do with our boy here.” Mitch pursed his lips before adding, “I think Romeo might be losing his touch. We might have to find him a new nickname.”

  The scowl on Romeo’s face and the frustration in his eyes told Mitch he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get Halloween out of his head. Good.

  The only other person who didn’t look shocked by Mitch’s words was Charity. She hadn’t been around long enough to understand Romeo’s reputation.

  “Oh, Gabriel,” Denise breathed. She looked devastated, as if Mitch had just told her his friend only had hours to live.

  It only took a moment for Gabriel’s usual equanimity to resurface, though.

  “Hey, we can’t all have Twinkies,” he said with a shrug and an unabashed grin.

  Mitch looked from the array of delicious food spread over the table to the pretty brunette now engaged in animated conversation with his mother.

  The problem was, that Twinkie was all he wanted.

  5

  LIVI ALMOST GOT a speeding ticket on her way to Thanksgiving dinner. Not because she was in any rush to glut on turkey. But because she’d heard her phone chime to tell her she had a text message, and she couldn’t wait to stop the car and read it.

  She didn’t even bother to turn off the engine when she reached the restaurant parking lot. She just grabbed the first space, put ’er in park and grabbed her cell phone.

  It was from Mitch. Doing a happy butt-wiggle in her seat, she read the text.

  I kept fantasizing about you over dinner. You’re such a distraction.

  She typed back.

  A good distraction?

  A sexy distraction.

  That’s a good distraction.

  I’ll call later.

  Livi bit her lip to keep from giggling.

  She knew he couldn’t actually see or hear her. But it was so unsophisticated. She wrote back:

  Can’t wait. I’ll be home by ten.

  Oh, my. Livi dropped her head against her seat and fanned her face. Whew. Mitch Donovan was amazing. Just a simple text from him had her all hot and excited. And three weeks after their backroom lip lock, she was still reeling.

  Livi wondered if he’d seared the image of his lips on hers when he’d sent her over the edge. Or maybe her mouth was just refusing to let her forget what good kissing felt like.

  Or, maybe it was his first phone c
all last week.

  She hadn’t expected to hear from him. Hoped, maybe. But not expected.

  Livi had spent the week after Halloween pumping Roz for information, and the one after that tapping every resource she had on the SEALs and who knew whom.

  It seemed that Lt. Commander Mitch Donovan was a wunderkind, even among the SEALs, a group known for surpassing excellence. A decorated pilot, or rather a naval flight officer, he’d trained in communications and linguistics before joining the SEALs. He’d risen through the ranks at the speed of light, in part because he kept volunteering for dangerous missions and racking up points. But smarter, Roz claimed, was that he’d trained and gotten certified in areas few others did, which meant he was in high demand.

  Beyond that info, though, Livi had come up blank.

  Nobody would even tell her if he was, indeed, single. If he had a girl in every port, if he left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Or more importantly, if he liked shower sex, preferred top or bottom or was interested in including food in bedroom play.

  And then he’d called. Because he couldn’t resist, he’d said.

  The minute she’d heard his voice, Livi had stopped caring about facts. Who needed those trivial distractions when there was sexy talk to be had? Which meant she’d asked him about showers, positions and play.

  That three-minute phone call had been more exciting than actual sex with her ex had.

  Of course, that had rarely lasted more than three minutes, either.

  Livi hadn’t asked Mitch if or when she’d see him again. She’d known he couldn’t say.

  But she still considered that phone call—and the handful of texts they’d exchanged since—to be perfect.

  Or—she eyed the restaurant through her car windshield and sighed—perhaps it was the perfect distraction from real life. Livi grabbed the purple leather stilettos off the passenger seat and opened the car door to slide her feet in, then reached back to get her phone.

  Time for family fun.

  “Miss Kane,” the maître d’ said as she hurried in. “Let me take your coat.”

  “Hi, Jenson,” she said, smiling as she shrugged out of the lightweight poplin. Whether it was his easy manner and the fact that he’d poured her mother into too many cabs to count, Livi always felt comfortable with the man. “Bummer that you caught holiday duty.”

  “It’s the price we pay, isn’t it,” he returned with a warm smile as he took the coat. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And speaking of, your mother is waiting at her regular table. She’s on her third Scotch.”

  Livi winced.

  “Your aunt’s only had two.”

  “Goody.” With a deep breath and a wide-eyed look of only half-fake terror, Livi headed in.

  “Wish me luck,” she called over her shoulder.

  His laughter followed her but unfortunately faded before she made it to the table positioned in the exact center of the room. Where better to see and be seen? Livi often wondered if her shyness was a direct response to her mother’s need for attention. The more Pauline wanted it, the more Livi hated it.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Livi said optimistically, smiling at the only two relatives she had.

  “Hey, sweets,” Roz responded, getting to her feet and offering a hug. Her Mohawk was pumpkin-orange today, contrasting nicely with her rust-colored leather pantsuit.

  Pauline didn’t get up, of course. Not even the competition she considered herself to be in with the sister of her one-time lover was enough to overcome her irritation over her daughter’s tardiness.

  She did deign to raise her cheek for a kiss then pat the chair to her right, indicating that Livi was to sit there. The table seated five, so her daughter could sit at her elbow and leave plenty of room between her and the woman she considered to be an unwelcome interloper.

  “I’m surprised it’s so crowded in here,” Livi observed as she slid into her seat, noting that most of the tables in the four-star restaurant were filled.

  “You shouldn’t be. Given the choice between slaving in a kitchen half the day and then scrubbing pots and pans, and ordering a delicious gourmet meal, I’m surprised we could get in at all.”

  “Tell me, Pauline. Have you ever scrubbed a pot or a pan?” Roz slanted a look over her glass of Scotch. “Or cooked, for that matter?”

  Ah, it was going to be one of those dinners.

  Her stomach knotting, Livi sighed and signaled for the waiter to refill the ladies’ drinks. A risk, since Pauline had been known to cause a scene when she was sloshed. But unlike some people, she was more likely to throw one when fully sober. Livi cast another look around the room, hoping her mother wouldn’t ruin these nice peoples’ holiday.

  With that hope, and her biggest smile, she leaned forward before her mother could say another word.

  “It’s a good thing you have a standing reservation, isn’t it? Then it doesn’t matter how busy it gets—you’re covered.”

  Thanksgiving, Christmas, Mother’s Day. The restaurant might change, but the tradition remained. Pauline demanded to be served. After meeting her aunt, Livi had insisted on including Roz, and Roz had come along in case she needed to step in on Livi’s behalf.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the waiter offered.

  “A pitcher would be nice,” she told him, tapping her glass. Water with lots of ice and slices of lemon. Her drink of choice at all family get-togethers.

  “You should order a real drink,” Pauline suggested. “We’ll toast my news.”

  “No, I’m fine with water,” Livi said. Then, because she knew it’d work better than, I’d prefer to be sober when facing whatever you’re about to spring on me, Livi added, “Alcohol will add too many calories, and I have clients in the morning.”

  Livi was excited about her current mix of clients. She was working with a few new high-paying power players, two in entertainment and one in finance. Those would pay the bills and support her reputation as The Body Babe, but were insanely demanding.

  In addition, she had a few dozen long-term clients that she met with several times a year to retool their workout regimes. The retooling consisted of an assessment session so she could gauge their current fitness levels and discuss their goals, a few hours of private planning in which she’d use that session’s information to create a new workout regime, and a few training sessions to get them into their new groove.

  And finally she had a handful of ladies who just wanted to get in shape and, according to them, wanted the best to help them do it. They were great. The average person’s reasons for getting fit were usually just as emotionally charged as the divas’. Their career might not hinge on the size of their ass, but their confidence did. She considered it a key part of her training to empower them—all of them, from the diva to the housewife.

  Someday she’d be happy to shift her focus to simply coaching. But not yet. As Derrick, the genius of a businessman and snake of an ex-husband, had once pointed out, there was no money in small potatoes. That was the only thing he’d ever said that Pauline had agreed with.

  “Your career is exactly what I wanted to toast,” Pauline said when the waiter left again. Her eyes glittered with either triumph or battle readiness. Or, more likely, both.

  Livi’s stomach clenched. Pauline had given up a lot and invested so much to help Livi with Stripped Down Fitness. So Livi rarely questioned her decisions. But please, oh, please, not another tour. They’d had an agreement. Pauline had promised a reprieve until after the first of the year when her daughter had wound up the last tour. Livi wanted—needed—that entire time to gear up, recharge and get ready to kick career butt again.

  “I’ve been pitching the idea of your own televised fitness series to a few television networks, and there’s been a lot of interest. The most money is in the live option, of course, but they want a different p
rogram than Stripped Down, the prudes.” Pauline laughed before she knocked back the rest of her drink.

  “Television?” Livi said around the lump in her throat. “Live television?”

  “Of course. So many stars have a regular show. You should, too. I’m holding out for a few contract changes before I accept the offer.”

  “Video podcasts?” Because television—live television—wasn’t bad enough? Livi took a long breath and tried to find some enthusiasm. But all that came out of her mouth was, “Why?”

  “ROI, Olivia,” Pauline reminded her. “It’s all about Return on Investment. One-on-one sessions, videos—they take up too much of your time. You’re an expert, a leader in your field. It’s a waste of resources to only reach one person—or even a thousand people—at a time when you can reach millions.”

  When Pauline had conceived the Fit To Be Naked series, she’d said hundreds of thousands. Now she wanted millions? Livi shuddered and her stomach churned. Her breath knotted somewhere between her chest and her throat and she had to close her eyes to stop the room from spinning.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured as she bolted out of her seat.

  Air. She needed air.

  “She’s fine,” Livi heard her mother say as she headed for the exit. “Just a touch dramatic.”

  Dramatic.

  Outside, not caring if it dirtied her dress, Livi leaned against the cool building and let the chilly evening air warm her terror.

  Did she want to reach millions? Reaching thousands had been great, but it’d pushed her to her limits. Apparently Pauline figured the cool, impersonal lens of a camera was the perfect answer to her daughter’s shyness. Livi knew Pauline was just doing as she had been asked to do. She was rebuilding Livi’s brand, recouping her losses. She just had a different recouping pace than Livi was comfortable with. Because as Pauline often said, why bother with five steps if it can be done in two?

  The stucco tugged at her hair as Livi rested her aching head against the building. The sooner Livi’s debts were paid, the sooner she could slow down. Ready to find a middle ground, Livi lifted her chin and dusted the dirt off the back of her dress, then returned to the holiday festivities waiting inside. She frowned at the turkey entrée that’d been served in her absence, trying to remember if she’d actually ordered it.