SEAL'd Shut (A Navy SEAL Standalone Romance Novel)

by Ivy Jordan

  “Hey,” I said, not wanting to disrupt the quiet. I could hear birds outside.

  “Hey,” she said back. She smiled up at me, and I wished I could have taken more time, all the time in the world, to appreciate how lucky I was to have her with me. I kissed the top of her head and gathered her closer for a second before sitting up.

  “I told my dad I’d go fishing with him today,” I said. “Do you want to come?”

  “I’ve never been fishing before,” she admitted. She sat up, a blanket around her shoulders as though she had anything to hide from me.

  “Really?” I raised my eyebrows. It was hard to grow up anywhere around here and not eventually go fishing. “It’s a classic pastime!”

  “For guys,” she pointed out. “I’ve never really been outdoorsy, remember? I never had a reason to go fishing.”

  “Well, you do now,” I decided. “You’ve gotta come with us.”

  “I won’t be any good at it.”

  “There’s no being good or bad at it. You just sit on a boat for a little while and talk about stuff. Sometimes you don’t catch anything. You’ll do fine.” I smiled. “Come on, please?”

  “If you say so,” she conceded.

  After we got dressed and had a quick breakfast, we headed out to the nearby lake. We would have gone to Pete’s house to fish in his tank, but Pete wasn’t home, and Dad had made it relatively clear that he wanted to have some family time. I texted him to let him know that Quinn was coming with us, too.

  He was waiting for us when we got out there, sat against his car. “Well, hello! Sawyer told me he was bringing a friend.”

  “A friend?” Quinn lifted her eyebrow.

  I laughed. “I did not!”

  “You been fishing before?” Dad asked.

  Quinn shook her head. “No, sir. I’m not terribly good with it, I don’t think.”

  “You can’t be bad at fishing,” Dad said, echoing my earlier consolation. “And you can call me Eugene.”

  When Dad turned around to get a fishing pole for her, Quinn smiled at me and shrugged. I smiled back. It seemed they’d get along; at least that my dad liked her. That was a big deal in and of itself.

  We got set up on the river where the trees did a decent job of shading us. The river was cool to the touch, and we set up some lawn chairs in the sturdier soil.

  “If you get too close to the riverbank, you’ll get stuck in the mud, and we’ll have to come pull you out,” Dad warned Quinn.

  “Really?”

  “No, he’s messing with you,” I told her. “Well, don’t get too close to the riverbank. You will get stuck. It just won’t be all that bad.”

  She glanced down at her feet. “I wore sandals.”

  “That might be a problem,” I agreed. “Sorry. Forgot to mention the mud. I’ll do all the stomping around down there; you stay up here where it’s dry.”

  “Sounds good,” Quinn said.

  “You could just take your shoes off,” Dad joked.

  “No!” Quinn laughed and sat down in a lawn chair.

  Dad held the fishing rod out to her and said, “Now, what kind of bait do you want? Do you know what kind of fish you’re hoping to catch?”

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said. “What kind of bait works?”

  “They all do,” Dad said. He popped open his tackle box. “Here, you wanna get a worm on the hook?” He popped open the tub of worms and held it out to Quinn, who stared at me, mortified.

  “Dad, come on.” I picked up the tub and shook my head. “She’s never been fishing before, remember?”

  “They’re just worms!”

  But Quinn was laughing all the same. “I don’t want to touch them!” she exclaimed. “Use them, by all means, but I’m not ready yet.”

  “That’s perfectly fair,” I said to her—and to my father, who already had a protest forming on his mouth. I hooked the worm for her and made sure that her fishing rod was set to work properly. It wasn’t a particularly great fishing rod. My dad had the really expensive, top-of-the-line fishing rod, insisting that it was his best shot at getting the biggest fish in the river.

  Quinn cast the fishing rod perfectly well, and we sat back for a moment talking about nothing and everything. Quinn told Dad a little about where she worked, even though Dad already knew, and I served as the occasional barrier when Dad made a joke that was just a little too cruel. All in all, it was a fun gathering, and I was grateful that two of my favorite people were getting along so well.

  As the sun started to get higher up in the sky, the heat went from warm to uncomfortable. It reflected off the river and made for an unpleasant experience, and Dad declared the fishing time to be over.

  “I think it’s about time we packed up,” Dad said. “Fish are all at the bottom of the river.”

  “Wait, I think I got something.” Quinn furrowed her eyebrows and grabbed at the lever on her rod. “I think I got something.”

  I looked at her bobber—or, where her bobber had been, but wasn’t anymore. “Oh, shoot. Um, reel it in. Give it a tug.”

  Quinn tugged it back and started cranking the reel.

  “Slowly, slowly. Let it fight a little.”

  She loosened her grip and then began to turn the knob extremely slowly, and I laughed.

  “Well, not so slow that it gets away.”

  “I’m trying!” Quinn exclaimed. She tugged the rod up again, and a fish flopped up on the surface of the river. “Oh my God, I got something!”

  “You did! Reel her in. Easy goes.” Dad said, and he had a grin on his face.

  Quinn began to reel it in, and the fish became visible within a few seconds. A small perch, probably just going back for a little nap on the ocean floor, flopped in the air, suspended by the line.

  “Is that a good one?” Quinn asked. “What kind is it?”

  “You want to pull it in?” Dad asked.

  “Um…” Quinn stared at it, and I leaned forward to catch the line for her. I took the fish off the hook and held it in my hand.

  “Look at him. He’s a great fish,” I said.

  “I told you I’d catch something!” Quinn declared, beaming.

  “You told me nothing of the sort!” I protested.

  “Told you!” Quinn stuck her tongue out.

  I held the fish out to her. “You wanna hold him?”

  “No thank you!”

  My dad laughed behind us. “If you’re not going to hold him, toss him back. Let me get a picture first.”

  It was hilarious to me to take a picture with this tiny perch. But it was Quinn’s first fish, and so I smiled with her until Dad took his phone down and put it back in his pocket. “Toss it back and let’s pack up.”

  I helped Dad lug some of the tackle boxes back to the car while Quinn got the chairs folded. For a moment, Dad and I had some alone time to talk.

  “I’m proud of you, Sawyer,” Dad said. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

  “She’s something,” I agreed. I smiled and waved at her from afar. She grinned and picked up the lawn chairs.

  “You two got any big plans together?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. I… I hope we do.”

  He nodded. “Well, I certainly hope it works between the two of you. I like her, and I think she likes you too.”

  I grinned and laughed a little at how he phrased it, like it would be a feat to like me. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I’m proud of you,” he repeated. “I really am, Sawyer.”

  I smiled, and I nodded, just to show that I appreciated the gravity of his statement. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d said that with sincerity, not buckled down to an apology or tied to some sort of treaty between the two of us. He clapped me on the back, and we got everything in the car loaded up.

  I didn’t know if Quinn and I had any big plans together, but I knew that my life was never going to be the same, now that she’d come into it.

  EPILOGUE

  E
ven after two years, I hadn’t gotten entirely accustomed to waking up to Sawyer. I didn’t know that I would ever get used to it, even with all of my things moved over to his place and my own quite well inhabited by someone else. A new family had taken residence in my old house, and I wished them the best of luck knowing that I was going somewhere better and, really, perfect in every way for my future.

  I woke up and crept out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Sawyer. He’d had a particularly long day the day before, not getting home until late. He worked hard and left little time for fun, but that was the case with myself as well. Psychiatry was going very well, and I had started a sort of group therapy for veterans to come and talk about their struggles abroad. It was still in the formative process, but it attracted a lot of attention, and the local newspaper had even done a column about it.

  I went to the kitchen and started making some eggs and toast. I made enough for the both of us in case Sawyer woke up soon.

  Sure enough, I heard footsteps down the hallway within a few moments of the smell of bacon hitting the air.

  “Good morning,” he said, pulling me to him from behind and kissing the back of my neck.

  “Good morning,” I agreed. Outside some birds chirped, and I didn’t know that anyone could prove to me that a world existed outside that house.

  “I told Pete I’d help him with some new decorations in his house,” Sawyer said. “But I don’t know shit about decorations. Do you think you’d be willing to come up with me for a bit?”

  “Sure,” I said. I got us some plates and we ate at the table, talking about whether we wanted to get another birdfeeder. The birds nearby were absolutely terrorizing the ones we had set up, but it was too much fun to have them to not want another.

  We took a few moments to get dressed. I pulled on a sweater; it was beginning to get a bit chilly. It was uncharacteristic of Texas to get chilly in the fall, but in only early October, it seemed that I would need a sweater. We got in Sawyer’s truck and turned to different radio stations on the way to Pete’s house. I’d been acquainting Sawyer with all the new music styles and technological advances that had taken place in his absence.

  When we pulled up to Pete’s house, something looked strange. Or, beautiful, but strange because Pete’s property usually looked humble. The trees had big bows tied around them, and there was a long carpet down the side of the hill covered in flower petals. I looked up the rug and saw a tree stump, one of the older ones that had been there since the first time I’d seen the property.

  Sawyer came around and opened my door, and he took my hand and walked with me up to the carpet.

  “Is Pete inside?” I asked.

  “I brought you here to talk to you,” he told me.

  I blushed. I didn’t know what was going on, and while I would usually panic at ‘I want to talk to you,’ the situation seemed far from dire. I set my hand on his arm and nodded. “Alright, then,” I managed, trying not to let my imagination run too wild.

  “Since I got back two years ago,” he said, “my life has been indescribably good. I could never have hoped for the family, the friends, and the relationships that I have now. I have a house; I have a good relationship with my father; I have a job—I didn’t expect to have any of those things when I came back. I didn’t think I deserved them.

  “But those things all happened because of you. You came into my life and made it something better than I could have ever dreamed. I have you to thank for everything good that’s happened to me, Quinn. I love you very much.” We were approaching the stump, and my heart started to pound.

  “I don’t want to see this go,” he said. “I love you, and I want to share the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me.”

  We stopped in front of the stump. Something glinted and caught my eye; I peered and saw a ring, a small silver ring with a diamond-studded center.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  I stared, dumfounded, at the ring. At the stump. The birds in the background filled the silence in the air. Slowly, I began to nod, pressured by the realization that I had to say something.

  “Of course. Of course, I will marry you!” I picked the ring up off the stump and slipped it onto my finger.

  He pulled me to him in a hug, squeezing me nearly too tight and yet somehow not tight enough. I wrapped my arms around him and bounced on my toes.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you too.”

  “Aww, that’s sweet,” said Pete—where had he come from? I turned around and saw him standing off to the side, along with Jesse and Janet and Sawyer’s parents. Babs waved at me too, hiding behind a tree.

  “How did you get them all here? How did I not see them?” I was a laughing, crying mess. “Oh my God, Sawyer!”

  “They’re good at hiding,” he said simply. He kissed the top of my head, and I turned around to poke him in the chest.

  “I’ll get you back for this,” I promised him, the smile never fading from my face.

  “You’ve got the rest of our lives,” he told me. He pulled me closer, and I let the world slip away.

  That’s the end of SEAL’d Shut. Click here to continue.

  HERE’S SOME BONUS BOOKS

  MR. BILLIONAIRE

  By Ivy Jordan

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan

  Chapter One

  Stella

  My phone directed me toward a set of large black gates. As I reached out the window of my 2012 Kia Forte to push the intercom button, my nerves rattled my securities.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” a male voice echoed through the small speaker near the gate.

  “I’m Stella Griffin. I’m here for an interview,” I said, my voice shaking a bit as I spoke.

  “Yes. Come on in.”

  A buzzer sounded, and suddenly the gates opened in front of me.

  The ad for the nanny position was simple, nothing fancy. I’d had no idea it was for such a wealthy family. I pulled my car forward, driving slowly up the smooth blacktop drive. Large trees landscaped the path to the house, and then opened to a beautiful lawn, complete with a tire swing hanging from a lone elm in the middle of the yard.

  I parked my car, took a deep breath, and forced myself to get out of the car. I needed this job.

  My blue heels clacked against the pavement as I walked toward the steps leading to the heavy wooden front door. My fists clenched, and I worked hard to swallow as my nerves began to increase with every step I took.

  The floor flung open before I had a chance to ring the bell, leaving me frozen in my spot on the top step of the entrance. The man, beautiful and refined, stood in the doorway with a warm smile. “You must be Stella,” he said, motioning me inside.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I said warmly, extending my hand to his.

  A soft, callous-free hand gripped mine. It was a hand that probably never seen a hard day’s work in its life. “Gavin Bellefonte,” he said strongly, and then released his tight grip from my hand.

  I followed him as he turned and walked inside. The home was just as impressive inside as it had been on the outside. Tall ceilings hovered above with crystal chandeliers hanging for a dramatic touch. The floors were made of marble, and with every step, my heels echoed a disturbing noise through the large room.

  “Tell me a little about yourself, Stella,” he said, sitting on a white sectional just off the entrance.

  “Well, I guess I could start by telling you I’m twenty-six. I have a degree in fine arts, and I paint in my free time,” I rambled.

  “An artist?” he asked, his eyebrow raising.

  I hated the way people looked at me when they found out I was an artist. It was almost as bad as when th
ey found out I was a nanny. “Yes,” I said softly.

  His lips curled into a smile as he crossed his tan, bare legs. My eyes drifted toward his large calves as he sat. “Please, have a seat,” he offered, motioning to the chair across from him.

  I was nervous. He was gorgeous. I knew I looked like a rambling idiot. I sat, took a deep breath, and calmed myself down.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

  I shook my head and smiled.

  My throat tightened as I worked to swallow. “I’ve been a nanny for four years,” I said quickly.

  “Great. So, you like kids?” he asked.

  “Yes. I love them,” I admitted.

  “My daughter is ten. I would expect whomever I hire to sign a contract to stay on until she turns eighteen,” he said with a serious tone.

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  In the ad I responded to, it did say ‘long-term,’ which wasn’t so unusual. Most parents didn’t want people flying in and out of their children’s lives. They wanted stability. “That wouldn’t interfere with your future plans?” he asked.

  “No. As I said, I paint in my free time,” I smiled.

  “Why did you leave your last position? Did the child turn eighteen?” he asked curiously.

  I felt panic stirring in my blood. I wasn’t sure the truth was the best way to go with Gavin Bellefonte. “No. They were twelve and fourteen,” I said quickly, avoiding the part about why I left.

  “And the reason you left?” he inquired.

  My heart raced at the thought of telling him the truth. The father, Larry Evans, was a lawyer who worked long hours, and his wife spent most of her time aboard with her fashion company. Living in the house with a lonely, overworked man proved to be a problem when one night he grabbed me from behind. His hands were wild and fast, caressing all the delicate and private parts of my body before I could pull away. I didn’t want to destroy the family, so I quit.