Bodyguard SEAL (SEALs of Coronado Book 8)

by Paige Tyler

  Peyton snapped out of her silly thoughts at the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see the aforementioned hunk walking into the kitchen, regarding her with those beautiful dark eyes of his. Her gaze drifted to his jean-clad legs, remembering what Laurissa had said about her brother injuring his knee. He wasn’t limping that she could tell. In fact, she wouldn’t have been able to pick out which leg was causing him trouble if her life depended on it.

  Realizing she was staring, she self-consciously reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Sandwiches are made, if you’re ready to eat. I have water, coconut-almond milk, and iced tea.”

  “Iced tea is fine, thanks,” he said.

  Picking up the plate of sandwiches, he brought it over to the kitchen table while Peyton got the drinks.

  “Sorry I don’t have anything other than tuna sandwiches to offer, but the cabinets start getting a little bare as I get near a deadline for a book,” Peyton said as she set the glasses on the table.

  Noah was already standing beside the chair closest to the wall waiting for her, so she took the one opposite him. Something told her that a dangerous man like him always liked to sit with his back to the wall so he’d be able to scope out the rest of the room for inbound trouble.

  She almost laughed at that. Man, she really needed to get a life outside the books she wrote.

  “Tuna’s fine. Remember what I said about not turning down food,” he said, flashing her a grin as he reached for one of the sandwiches and transferred it to his plate. Damn, he had a nice smile. “I take it you don’t leave the house too much as you get closer to crunch time?”

  She nodded, helping herself to a sandwich. “It doesn’t seem to matter how fast I write when I start a book, I always have to rush to finish it. Going grocery shopping is the first thing to go in that situation.”

  “You could always order online and have it delivered, you know?” he pointed out.

  “I could,” she admitted. “And when I’m desperate, that’s what I do. But at a certain point, I get so far behind that I don’t even want to waste time filling out the order. And forget about putting the stuff away once it gets here.”

  He chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I can picture it now—bags of food sitting in the middle of the kitchen for days while you come in every once in a while to dig out a box of Pop Tarts.”

  She laughed. “That’s about the way it works. Except it’s not Pop Tarts, it’s Honey Nut Cheerios. I think I’m addicted to the stuff.”

  He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “So, you haven’t left the house in a while, except for last night. Who knew you were going out?”

  The sudden nature of the question caught her off guard. One second they were laughing and talking about Pop Tarts and Cheerios, the next he’d gone all intense on her.

  “Laurissa is the only one who knew. She showed up and dragged me out to see a movie and grab dinner. You don’t suspect your own sister was involved in the break-in, do you?”

  “Definitely not, but you have to admit it’s convenient as hell that your house gets broken into the one night you decide to go out, right? It means the thief was either incredibly lucky you were out or he was watching the place for a while and made his move the moment you left.”

  The coincidence hadn’t been lost on Peyton. She and Laurissa had talked about it while the cops had poked around. They’d come up with dozens of convoluted and outlandish theories. Peyton was a writer. But Noah had cut through all their wild speculation in seconds with his bleak—and rather creepy—assessment of the situation. The idea that someone had been outside her house day and night watching her every move made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  “Which one do you think it is?”

  She wasn’t sure which she’d rather have him confirm. The first meant she was lucky to be alive, the second meant she had a determined stalker.

  “I have no idea,” Noah said with a casual shrug before taking another bite of his sandwich. “If we’re lucky and the guy never comes back, that means we have our answer.”

  Peyton sipped her iced tea. “You keep referring to the person who broke in as a he. Is that based on any kind of evidence, or simply plain old sexism?”

  Noah snorted, reaching for another sandwich. “Good point. Consider me properly chastised. I’ll endeavor to be more inclusive when I’m talking about the thief.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I figured it was a guy, too,” she said. “I was merely hoping you knew something the cops didn’t tell me.”

  “I wish I did,” he admitted.

  As they ate, Noah asked her to walk him through the events of last night’s break-in one more time. That wasn’t too difficult since she’d already gone over it at least twenty times for the police and then Em.

  “What’s up with saving your book to an external hard drive?” Noah asked, licking some avocado mayonnaise off his thumb in a way she shouldn’t have found intriguing, but did for some reason. “Hasn’t your publisher ever heard of the Cloud?”

  Peyton laughed. “I asked them the same question. Unfortunately, they’re sort of old school that way. When the third book in the series took off and became an international bestseller, they got worried someone would hack the Cloud and find the book or that someone on the inside would pluck it off and sell it to the highest bidder. I’m lucky. If they had their way, I’d be locked in an underground bunker somewhere writing this thing on a manual typewriter. The hard drive was the compromise.”

  “International bestseller, huh? I guess I can understand the paranoia.” A frown marred his otherwise perfect features. “How many people know you carry the drive around with you all the time?”

  “Not many. Em and Laurissa, of course, and a few people at my publisher.”

  “That’s good,” Noah murmured. “If there really is someone determined to get their hands on your book and he discovers you carry it with you every time you go out, he’s more likely to come after you instead of trying to break in to your house again.”

  She shuddered. “Then let’s hope they never learn about the hard drive.”

  Noah picked up his glass, regarding her over the top of it. “Laurissa told me that you guys went to San Diego State together. Did you go to college for creative writing or something like that?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “I’ve always loved books and reading since I was a kid. I wrote stuff all through middle and high school, but nothing serious. Just goofing around, you know? I went to SD State to get an undergraduate degree in English and my master’s in education. I figured it would be a natural fit for me.”

  “And it wasn’t?”

  She laughed again. It was easy to do that with him, she realized, which was kind of crazy. It usually took her forever to get comfortable with a guy, but with Noah, it was like she didn’t even have to try. “Actually, it was. I taught for a couple of years. Teaching is a ton of work for sure—don’t ever let anyone tell you differently—but I enjoyed it.”

  “Okay, so how does one go from being a hard-working English teacher to an international best seller?”

  “The normal way, I guess. By pure accident.” She smiled as she thought about how many times she’d told this story at book signings and conferences. It was something everyone wanted to know. “During summer breaks I wrote stuff for one of the big fan fiction sites. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a fun way to relieve a little stress. But then Em sent me an email saying she liked my voice and wanted to know if I had any original material. I sent her what I had and about a year later, the first book in my young adult series hit the stands. It kind of exploded from there.”

  He seemed to consider that for a moment before answering. “I’m probably going to shock you by admitting I actually do know what fan fiction is, but even then, it sounds like an amazing ride.”

  She laughed, imagining the big Navy SEAL leaning over his iPhone reading Harry Potter fan fic. “Amazing is a good word for it. One minute, I’m
barely covering the rent on my apartment, and the next, I’m resigning from my teaching position so I can write full time. I might have loved teaching, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to chase a dream.”

  “Did you grow up in the San Diego area?” he asked, changing direction with his question. “Since you went to State, I’m assuming you did.”

  “Nope. I grew up in San Francisco.” She shrugged. “And while I love it there, there was no way I could pass up a chance to go to someplace warm enough where you can actually swim in the water. And once I got used to the weather, there was no way I was moving back.”

  Noah let out another chuckle. “I get that. I went swimming in the San Francisco Bay once during a training exercise and definitely didn’t enjoy it.”

  They talked for a bit longer about what it was like growing up in warm, sunny San Diego versus the frequently sunny, but not-so-warm San Francisco. Before long, Noah had polished off the rest of the sandwiches, and she realized she’d spent a lot longer on lunch than she’d planned.

  She glanced at her watch. “Crap. I need to write.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you from your book. If you could give me a quick tour of the house first…?”

  Peyton opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t like that and that she didn’t mind spending time with him, but then remembered Noah was there to protect her, not hang out with her. He wanted to get on with his job.

  “Sure,” she said, quickly getting to her feet and feeling a little silly she’d been gabbing away with the guy hired to be her bodyguard. Like he didn’t have anything better to do. “You’ve already seen most of the downstairs, so it won’t take long.”

  As Peyton headed for the stairs, she was extremely aware of Noah walking behind her, and she suddenly found herself wondering if he was checking out her butt. Reminding herself that they weren’t in one of her books, she hurried up the rest of the steps, quickly pointing out the guest room, workout room, the home office where she did her writing, and a spare bathroom.

  “My bedroom is the one at the end of the hall,” she added.

  “Does your boyfriend stay over often?” he asked, his dark gaze surveying her bedroom, eyes lingering for a moment on the king-sized bed with its soft blue paisley-print blanket before turning to look toward the en suite bathroom beyond.

  Thank goodness Noah wasn’t looking her way or he would have seen her standing there gaping like a carp.

  “What?” she finally managed to squeak, hoping it would give her a little more time to gather her thoughts.

  “Your boyfriend?” He swung his gaze back to her. “I assume he spends the night occasionally and need to know when so I can make myself scarce.”

  Blushing, she slowly shook her head. In truth, her dating life was nonexistent. But it wasn’t her fault. She’d gone out with guys in college and had been in a relationship for a while after graduating, but nothing had come of it. Dating had taken a backseat once her writing career took off. Hell, she hadn’t even been out with a guy since sometime during the middle of book two in her series. Or had it been the beginning of book three? It was hard to remember. She liked to blame her lack of social life on her writing schedule, but honestly, she hadn’t met anyone who sparked enough of an interest to bother. But maybe that was changing.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “I’m sort of between boyfriends at the moment, so no guys will be hanging around.”

  “Except me,” he murmured.

  Peyton was sure she saw a flicker of something in his chocolate-brown eyes, though before she could be sure, he stepped past her into the hallway.

  “Yup, just you,” she said, only realizing how sad that sounded once it was out.

  When he didn’t respond, she decided he probably hadn’t heard her anyway, which was fortunate.

  “So, this bodyguard thing,” she said, catching up with him in the hallway. “How does it work? Do you follow me around all the time, or will you be somewhere in hiding, ready to come running when I scream for help?”

  He gave her a smile. “Less of the first and more of the second.”

  She refused to touch the innuendo with a ten-foot pole. “So, I simply go about my business like normal, writing and stuff?”

  “Yup. You do whatever you usually do, go wherever you usually go, and I’ll stay in the background. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Um, right.

  Peyton seriously doubted she’d forget a man like Noah was hanging out in her house. He was sort of hard to miss, even when he wasn’t in the same room.

  She cleared her throat, motioning toward her home office. “Okay then. I’m going to hang out up here and get some writing done. Feel free to grab something else to eat or drink if you want. I’ll be up here…just writing.”

  Noah smiled again, then turned and headed downstairs. Peyton watched him disappear down the steps. How the hell was she ever going to get any writing done when her hunky bodyguard had taken up residence in her head?

  CHAPTER THREE

  NOAH MADE ANOTHER circuit around the outside of the house after going downstairs, then stood on the bluff gazing at the water again. It was crazy when he realized how long it had been since he’d gone for a swim in the ocean. Even before the mission in Yemen, he’d laid off the deep-sea workouts, trying to baby his knee. It had been nearly five weeks since he even tried it. Watching the deep blue water rise and fall, and seeing the waves lap onto the sand made him eager to do it again. But that would have to wait until after this bodyguard gig. Besides, his knee was doing good. He didn’t want to do anything to screw it up.

  He headed over to the front of the house to grab his overnight bag from his SUV. His mouth curved as he thought of Peyton, replaying the stuff they’d talked about at lunch, then while she’d been showing him around the place. The mere suggestion that a woman as attractive, intelligent, and witty as Peyton could be in between boyfriends seemed too insane to consider. How could there not be a line of men a mile long trying to get with her?

  He was still thinking about that as he rounded the corner of the house and saw a Black F-150 truck pulling up next to his SUV. He barely had a chance to recognize the vehicle before Sam, Wes, and Lane jumped out and headed for the front door, all three dressed in camouflage uniforms. What the hell were they doing here in the middle of a work day?

  Knowing there was only one way to answer that question, he hurried to intercept them before they could ring the doorbell.

  “I assume you guys are looking for me,” he said as they all turned his way. “Though to be honest, I’m more interested in how you found me than in why.”

  Sam grinned. “Chasen mentioned you were out walking on the beach, so we knew something was up considering how much you frigging hate exercising on sand. When we stopped by your place, a neighbor said you left hours ago with an overnight bag, so I called your sister. She ratted you out in nothing flat.”

  Noah ground his jaw. There were definitely disadvantages to having friends who knew him so well. Not only did Sam know Laurissa’s number, but also how much he hated exercising on the beach. Ever since going through the twenty-four weeks of hell that was Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, where running through the surf and sand until you puked was a near daily occurrence, he had a thing about working out there. He might love swimming in the ocean, but running—or even walking—on the sand? No way. Not unless someone forced him to do it.

  “So, what’s up?” Wes asked. “Laurissa wouldn’t give us any details, only that you were at this address doing something important. What the hell, dude? You go out and get another job while on medical leave?”

  He didn’t say anything, because honestly, what the hell could he say that would explain any of this?

  “Holy crap!” Lane said, looking at Noah in shock. “That’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? You got bored sitting around your apartment playing video games and decided to get a job.”

  Noah
couldn’t help but stare at the effing new guy. “What would you know? You’ve only been in the platoon for a month and we haven’t spent more than fifteen minutes in the same room together.”

  Lane snorted. “Am I wrong?”

  “No.” Noah grimaced. “I never knew I was so transparent.”

  “Well, you are,” Wes said. “But if you needed something to keep you occupied for a few hours a day, you could have volunteered to be a door greeter at Walmart or something. Not whatever this is.” He gestured toward Peyton’s house and the pricey piece of beach front property she owned. “You didn’t get yourself mixed up in anything illegal, did you?”

  Noah did a double take. “What? No! Why would you even think something like that?”

  Wes shrugged. “You have to admit, our team has a history of making bad choices when it comes to the law. Hell, a couple months ago I spent the night in jail for one of my less stellar decisions. So, I’m in no position to judge if you decided to do something stupid.”

  Noah remembered. That situation had definitely been messy.

  “Well, you can chill out,” he said. “I don’t claim to be brilliant, but I’m not reckless enough to get involved in anything illegal. The woman who lives here—Peyton Matthews—is a writer who’s a friend of Laurissa’s. Someone broke in last night while she was out and tried to steal the book she’s writing. Her publisher wanted to hire a bodyguard and Laurissa recommended me.”

  His Teammates stared at him like pigs looking at a Rolex.

  “Very funny,” Sam muttered. “What are you really doing here?”

  Noah scowled. He supposed he couldn’t blame the guys for not believing him. Noah barely believed it and he was living it.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Wes said when he didn’t answer. “This house really belongs to Peyton Matthews, the writer? Hell, I don’t even read romance and I’ve heard of her. And you’re actually her bodyguard?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” he said. “Yes, this is really Peyton Matthew’s house. And yes, I’m actually her bodyguard. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m not taking any payment for it. I asked the publisher to donate the money to a military charity.”