by Kaily Hart
NAIL DOWN
Kaily Hart
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Nail Down
Kaily Hart
Ward Andrade. Former Navy SEAL. Reluctant hero. Moody loner. Spectacular in the sack. At least, he had been before the only life he’d ever wanted chewed him up and spit him out. Now? Who the hell knew? It’s been three years and he’s still taking one day at a time.
Quinn Devlin. Old money. Unapologetic optimist. Complete klutz. Self-confessed black sheep. At least, that’s how she’s felt her entire life, especially by the people who mattered most. Now? Who cares? After years of battling her family, she’s finally living life her way, on her own terms.
Bookish and clumsy weren’t attributes Ward normally went for in a woman, but for Quinn, he’d make an exception. Quinn didn’t usually get the hots for banged up, surly bad boys either, but when Ward looks at her with those dark, tortured eyes of his, she can’t do anything else.
Ward is used to pushing people away, but that doesn’t work on Quinn. Besides, she makes him laugh. A first. She’s everything he never knew he needed and nothing he deserves, but… He could be hers. For good. All he has to do is let her close.
Nail Down
NAIL DOWN Copyright © 2015 Kaily Hart
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by an information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.
I’ve always wanted to write military heroes. A guy willing to defend his country? That’s hot. But then I got to thinking…what happens after? When former special forces guys are out in the wild? They’d need a special woman who could handle them, right? And so…the Men Out of Uniform series was born. ENJOY!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
So…now what?
Chapter One
Quinn threw herself into the front seat of the car before she got more wet then she already was, although at this point, maybe that was impossible. Of course, when she tried to slam the door closed, it caught on her purse—big time.
Damn.
She grimaced as she yanked, felt the resistance as it broke free. Great. That had to have left a mark. She tossed her armful of grocery bags in the direction of the backseat and winced when she remembered what she had in there.
When she finally had the door closed, she let out a deep breath. She’d sat on gum, broken a heel, spilled coffee down the front of her white shirt—the new one, of course—and had lost an earring…somewhere. She’d also probably just smashed every one of the eggs she’d stopped by the store to pick up. Oh and she was drenched, drowned-rat drenched. Because she’d left her umbrella in her classroom. Again.
She smiled. She had not in fact dropped the breakfast taco she somehow still clutched in her hand. It might be a bit soggy, but it was intact. Hopefully. Breakfast might be long gone but if she couldn’t eat breakfast for dinner when she felt like it, what was the point of being an adult? Right?
All in all, it hadn’t been such a bad day. Of course, she still had to get home.
She flicked the ignition on so she could at least eat without melting in the steamy heat of the car and groaned. There was one of those flyer thingys on the windshield, under the wiper. Out there. In the pouring rain. She couldn’t have noticed it before she got in the car, could she?
No. Because that would have been too easy.
She would have left the thing there except it was right in her field of vision. And she had to use the wipers. And…
Holy hot guy, Batman.
Squinting, she leaned forward to get a better look at the flyer. A man. Doing push-ups. Corded with muscle. Staring right at her, his intense dark eyes daring her to do…something. And, God, those eyes. Could they even be real? The dark-blue rim around the lighter iris had to be Photoshopped because they might just be the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a guy.
Quinn thrust the car door open before she lost her nerve. She had to walk around the door to grab the flyer. She already knew her arms were too short to reach it from the protection of the car. Another fail for short girls everywhere.
She wiped the card against her pants leg when she was back in the car. The picture was a close up of the guy’s face, part of his shoulder and arm, his fist on the floor. The wet, sweaty look should have grossed her out, but on this guy? No. It was just freakin’ hot. He frowned right at her, his lips drawn back in a slight snarl as if he was pushing himself to his limit and had glanced up just as the photo was taken. Annoyance was clear. There might have also been a touch of savage anger. What was so hot about a pissed-off bad boy?
And talk about arm porn. The guy had some serious biceps. Yeah, that was probably Photoshopped as well. No guy looked that good. That hot. That…
Jeez. She must really need to get some. Quinn sighed. Like that was going to happen anytime soon. The thing was? A woman like her? Shortish, curvyish, clumsyish? Yeah, those chances would be slim to none.
“Gus’s Boot Camp” was emblazoned across the front of the flyer. It was one of those programs where people signed up in the name of fitness and got tortured at some ungodly hour in the morning right there in a public park, for everyone to see. Who actually did that?
Quinn’s fingers flexed around the taco. It’s a wonder it hadn’t burned a hole in her hand. And what was this anyway? A kind of divine intervention? She could have looked down, but that would have just depressed the hell out of her. She knew what was there. On the upside? Her boobs might have been considered spectacular by some.
Usually she didn’t give a flying fig about her appearance, but this guy? With his muscles on muscles and his get-out-of-my-face attitude? He seemed to be saying “what have you done lately”? Or maybe that was “who have you done lately”?
And that would be nothing and nobody.
It wouldn’t kill her to get healthier, would it? She didn’t exactly have an active lifestyle. Doing laps of her classroom didn’t count. Did it? Probably not. The park was even on her way to work. Maybe something like this was the answer? Having some big tough guy yelling at her to get in shape or else?
Her phone rang and she jumped because she’d been staring into his eyes. And because she knew who it was before she dug the phone out of her bag.
She was a bad daughter—the worst. She was also chicken. She owned that, but she just wasn’t in the right frame of mind today, not for the less than subtle hints to try harder to live up to the family standards. Her mother had perfected the conversation to an art form.
Quinn sighed. She was a disappointment to everyone but herself and even then, it had been a near thing. But it didn’t matter, not anymore. She wouldn’t let it. She’d promised herself. Because what do you know? There were some people out there she wasn’t disappointing on a daily basis.
Quinn looked down again at the flyer. He was still challenging her, daring her, as if he knew she’d just trash him the first chance she got. So this is the kind of stuff all those super fit beautiful people did? Commit to a program and stick with it? Yeah, yeah, yeah. She knew that, except…sticking with something wasn’t exactly her strength. But this, this she just had
to show up to and she didn’t need to use any complicated equipment. Right? What did she always say? No time like the present. Your future is created by what you do today, not what you will do tomorrow. Delay is the deadliest form of…
Shit.
Quinn punched in the number from the flyer before she could second-guess herself.
“Andrade.”
The voice was hard, rough and more than a little annoyed.
“Um… Hi, I wanted to find out more about the boot camp program?”
There was the slightest pause before a muttered, “Yeah?”
“Well…” Actually, most of the information was on the back of the flyer. “I— It seems expensive.”
And really, someone should pay her to get up at this unheard of hour. To exercise.
“Look, lady, you want to reduce the size of your ass, this is the best way to do it. It works. Guaranteed.”
“Wow.” Quinn’s eyebrows shot sky high. Jerk. Sexist, insensitive jerk. “Business must be really good,” she muttered.
“Yeah? What makes you say that?”
“Are you serious? Have you ever heard of customer service? I could have been offended by that ass comment. I’m a potential client, one who has contacted you and you’re just… Well, you’re rude.”
“And you’re very perceptive.”
Quinn frowned, actually held the phone away from her for a second and looked at it as if it could give her a clue as to what this guy was trying to achieve. Was there some new reverse psychology thing about exercise she didn’t know about?
“The program works,” he bit out. She almost heard the shrug through the phone. “Look, how about I give you a free one-week trial?”
Could there be a hint of apology in his voice? Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?
“Okay, so if I don’t like it within the week, I don’t have to pay anything?”
“Oh, you’ll hate it, but that’s the point. But you’ll like the results.”
“Ah…okay.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Why not? Wear something comfortable and breathable. Bring a drink bottle and a towel. Leave your valuables at home.”
Quinn frowned. “Towel?”
“Yeah. You’re going to sweat if I have anything to do with it.”
“Ah…”
“First class is at five and then every hour on the hour until nine.”
“A.M.?”
“Yep.”
Quinn gulped. “I’m—I’m not really a morning person.”
“Who is?”
Quinn kept staring at the phone after he’d hung up.
Holy crap. She’d just signed up for…exercise. Along with wondering what she’d just done and why, she had a more immediate problem. What the hell was she going to wear?
* * * * *
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Ward lowered his sunglasses and peered over the top of the frames to be sure he got a good look. And to convince himself he really wasn’t seeing things.
Nope. His eyes were as good as they’d ever been.
Everything screamed “new”, as if she’d walked into some sports clothing store, pointed to a mannequin and said, “I’ll have that.” Jesus, even her shoelaces were color coordinated with her drink bottle and the fuzzy thing holding her ponytail in place. She looked as if she should be at some fancy, upscale fitness center, not outside at his brother’s boot camp getting down and sweaty at the local park.
He wasn’t the only one thinking it either. All talk from the group waiting for the next class had pretty much stopped the minute she walked up.
He knew the type. More interested in what they wore and how they looked than in working out and getting serious about fitness. Gus’s program had no room for anyone like that but he didn’t need to tell her. Nah, she’d figure that out for herself and he’d never see her again.
She looked around, zeroed in on him and walked toward him, her stride all business. And then he knew, he just knew, she was the woman he’d spoken to on the phone yesterday. The talkative one, the one with the soft voice but the upfront, in-your-face attitude. The one whose attitude he’d kind of liked.
The contrast had intrigued him. Along with the husky “fuck me” sound of her voice, a little low and a whole lot of sexy. Of course, looking at her now, that had probably been all in his mind. If he hadn’t needed a “time to get laid” reminder, that was most likely it.
She stopped in front of him, a little out of breath and gave him a look up and down.
Ward was used to women looking at him, checking him out, sizing him up. He took it for granted, but somehow he didn’t think she was checking out his physique.
“You look lost,” he drawled.
“And you don’t look like a Gus,” she added.
Same husky, fuck-me voice. Huh.
“Yeah,” he bit out. “I’m not.”
She frowned. “Not what?”
“I’m not Gus. Look, are—”
“But it’s you on the flyer.”
“Yeah.” He gritted his teeth. Gus had been screwing around and had taken a picture of him doing push-ups. He’d given him his meanest “get out of my fucking face” look and the idiot had used it on the damn flyer. When Ward had insisted he scrap it, Gus had given him a whole sob story. He didn’t think he’d mind. He’d already produced the flyers. Printing cost money. Blah, blah, fucking blah.
Fending these comments was an unexpected downside of stepping in for his brother, even temporarily. They had his face plastered all over the place. Recognition. He hated it, loathed it, in fact. He was more used to trying to blend in, not standing out on damn purpose.
“Long story,” he ground out.
“Then who are you?”
Bold. Direct. Her eyes were a clear blue. Her gaze locked on to his, even though he knew she couldn’t see his eyes through the shades. He frowned. Another thing he wasn’t used to in others. Most people went out of their way not to make eye contact with him. “I’m Ward. Gus is my brother. I—”
“I’m Quinn. And just so you know, I haven’t really done this before.”
“A boot camp based program?”
“No.” She turned toward this morning’s group of all women, waved her arm in their general direction. “Exercise.”
Ward gave her compact body a quick glance. “You’ve never exercised before?”
“Well, nothing…formalized.”
He fought against the urge to scrub his hand down his face. Save. Me. Now. “Why are you here, Quinn?”
Finally, he had her on the back foot if the dumbstruck expression was anything to go on.
“Ah…I talked to you yesterday about—”
“I figured. I mean, what do you want to get out of this program specifically?”
She looked down, spread her arms wide. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Yeah, she had a nice little body. He’d have to be blind not to notice. And her curves were in all the right places—more than—but this program wasn’t for sissies. He’d bet money she wouldn’t be back tomorrow. Maybe he could save her some time.
Don’t scare or insult away my business. Or else.
Yeah. His brother knew him well. Ward was trying—sort of—but he had no patience for this shit. No patience for convincing, cajoling, all the Goddamn hand holding. Hell, if they wanted to get fit, they just did. If not…well what the fuck did it have to do with him? He gritted his teeth. Except…he’d promised he’d hold down the fort for Gus. In a moment of fucking weakness he’d given his word because why the hell else would he have agreed to take these classes for two weeks? Two. Whole. Weeks. At least he only had a few days left.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The moment didn’t do shit except make him hyperaware that she smelled like fresh laundry—crisp and fresh—and that he didn’t. He’d already been out here for over an hour and any scent of fresh laundry he might have had was lo
ng gone.
Just go with the fucking flow, Andrade. For once.
“Gus wants me to tell all the new starters to take it easy. Ease into the program, don’t overdo it, go at your own pace, at least until you find your feet.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Okay?”
She tilted her head to the side. “What does Ward want to tell all the new starters?”
He’d already been turning away but his gaze swung back and locked to hers and damn if he didn’t catch the smile in her eyes. He should bite his tongue, he should just shrug it off, but... Damn if there wasn’t a challenge buried in there and he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. Ever.
He turned back to her, leaned in close and tried to ignore the sweet scent of her hair. “Push yourself past your comfort zone so you know what you’re capable of. Don’t be a fucking pussy. Give it your all. You’re paying a shitload of money for results. Make it count.” He straightened. “That’s what I’d tell the new starters…you know, if Gus would let me.”
She smiled, slow and hot. It was a little lopsided and sent a sizzle and jolt right to the pit of his stomach. And lower.
“I’ve got a feeling it’s not a case of Gus letting you do anything. He made you promise to be good, huh?”
He sighed. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“And you always keep your promises.”
There was no question, just a statement of fact. He felt like answering it anyway.
“Always. Don’t you?”
“Sure, but only if it’s a pinky-swear promise.”
Don’t ask. Just don’t ask.
“Pinky-swear?”
Damn.
“You know, hooking pinkies?” She held up her hand, pinky finger extended. “It’s the only binding kind of promise.”
“It is?”
“Of course.”
“Right.” Ward shook his head as if that would help him make some sense of what she was saying, of why he was even having this conversation. “Listen, the sign-up paperwork is over in front of the gym, but first a couple of rules of the boot camp program. You—”