SEALionaire Book 2: A Navy SEAL Romance

  It shouldn't have surprised me, though. Everyone was like that. There wasn't a person in my world except Ian who didn't want something from me.

  Grandfather wanted me to be the perfect granddaughter.

  Ricky wanted me to be available when he wanted me while ignoring his indiscretions.

  And Haze...

  Haze wanted something. I just didn't know what it was yet.

  But it didn't matter.

  I was alone, and my biggest mistake was ever thinking that hadn't been the case.

  16

  Leighton

  My embarrassment was a thick wall that made it easy to avoid conversation with Haze for the rest of the day. Not that there was anything either one of us had to say to each other. I knew he'd heard every word Paris had said, but his expression hadn't changed. If he remembered any of it, it obviously hadn't meant enough to him to join the conversation, to assure me that my feelings about our encounter hadn't been one-sided. Or to at least tell me that how I'd felt had been okay, that he didn't think less of me because of it.

  Not that I cared what he thought.

  As I continued shopping with Paris, I pretended that I was okay, that her cruel actions hadn't bothered me. It was almost easier than pretending that Haze's cold professionalism didn't make me both furious and upset at the same time. By the time we finished, I was determined to think of Haze as an unwanted accessory from now on, like the chunky watch my grandfather had once demanded I wear. He served a purpose and that was it.

  The day after the incident with Paris, I forced myself to go out again and Haze did his shadowing thing. Again. A whole day of shopping, meeting friends at a trendy new restaurant, and even a lively happy hour at a beachfront bar, all to prove I wasn't letting the awkwardness affect me. Except it did, because I didn't enjoy myself at all, even though I pretended to do just that. It was all an act, an exhausting one. And since it didn't even seem to faze Haze, by the time I got back to Grandfather's house, I realized it had all been completely pointless.

  The next day, rather than go through all of that again, I stayed in my room, announcing to everyone that I was going to be redecorating. I stuck with that claim through the entire day, even using it as an excuse to Paris as to why I couldn't go to a party with her. I wasn't sure if she believed me or not, but I made sure I had proof to back it all up.

  All day, Haze checked on me every few hours to make sure I was actually in my room. By mid-afternoon, I had paint samples delivered, swatches for new curtains, five new bedspreads to choose from, and two men putting together new furniture. I ignored the nosy bodyguard and he disappeared. By the end of the night, the entire room was transformed, and I was already sick of looking at it, so I headed for the media room, thinking some vapid guilty pleasure was exactly what I needed to distract myself. I didn't know when I fell asleep, only that when I woke up in the early hours of the morning, I didn't feel like going back to my room at all.

  When my brother found me on the sofa in our media room several hours later, staring at the wall-sized television, I was still telling myself that I wasn't going to let Haze's indifference get to me. The faux-fur blanket hid the fact that I was in my pajamas, but I had a feeling Ian knew anyway.

  “You're still here.” He sounded mildly surprised. “I thought there was some yacht party thing you were going to with Paris tonight. Shouldn't you be accessorizing?”

  “Paris has a tendency to go overboard on those. Literally.” I looked up at him. “She jumps off the back into the water, and you know I don't like to get my hair wet.”

  I wasn't about to tell him that Paris wasn't one of my favorite people at the moment. He'd want to know why and I hated lying directly to him. Not being truthful and telling him that I'd already known Haze was hard enough.

  “Yeah, and I suppose if you were there you could never let your friend drown,” Ian said with a grin as he flopped down on the couch next to me.

  For a moment, I wondered what Paris would do if the situations were reversed, but just thinking about what happened made my stomach hurt. “Plus I'm not feeling so good.” Not exactly a lie.

  “I figured. There's no other reason you'd be staying here rather than with Ricky.”

  I couldn't tell him that there was a bigger reason I'd condemned myself to Grandfather's prison. If I was here, then Haze was off duty, and I didn't have to see him.

  Hence, the reason I'd spent hours on the couch, staring at the television.

  Dinner last night hadn't helped either. I'd hoped that since I'd spent the day actually being productive, Grandfather would've been proud of me.

  I should've known better.

  “I'm glad you're settling back in here,” Grandfather said with a glance at me. "I must admit, the invoices gave me a shock.”

  “You can't put a price on comfort, right?” I asked, my smile tight. I still had some paint on my wrist, but I'd at least changed out of my paint-spattered clothes.

  “Having you both here at the table for dinner is the priceless thing,” Grandfather said.

  Ian nodded as he shoveled food into his mouth, and I glanced at my phone. Family dinners had always been like this with the three of us. Grandfather had always insisted we eat together, even though Ian and I knew that he'd rarely been around for dinners when our mother had been alive and living at home. Over the years, Grandfather had admitted that he regretted the years he'd spent away from home working, but an admission wouldn't give those years back to our mom.

  And it sure as hell wouldn't bring her or Dad back.

  “Perhaps you'd like to choose a room to create an office,” Grandfather said. “It might make taking classes and doing homework easier if you had a work space.”

  The idea should have been appealing. I loved decorating my room and had thought all afternoon about posting photographs of my work. I’d even had one or two daydreams about working as an interior designer and wondered how to put together a portfolio. If I had something to show maybe I could get an internship.

  I didn't, however, want to have an office here. In Grandfather's mind, an office would mean I was going to do the smart thing and go to college, get straight A's and start my own business. After all, that was the sort of thing our family did. It didn't matter to him that school had never been my thing. I'd always learned better doing rather than being told what to do. But since that wasn't how he learned, it meant my way was wrong.

  “There's space at Ricky's beach house,” I said. Maybe I could get something out of it after all.

  Ricky had been my boyfriend for more than four years now, but my grandfather's dislike of him was as strong as ever. Ricky's parents gave him everything and expected nothing in return. One of those things they'd given him was a gorgeous Malibu beach house. Before Ian had gotten hurt, I'd practically lived with Ricky there. Since I'd been spending more time at Grandfather's house since Ian's return, Ricky was rarely at his place for more than a few hours.

  It would've been perfect. The entire mansion was still a blank slate, and I had the keys. The problem was, I didn't want to see him and his parade of...whatever they were. I used to call them his indiscretions, but last night he'd managed to convince me to embrace the open relationship we already clearly had, so I didn't know what to call the other women he fucked. All I knew was, I still hadn't tried to find out what would happen if I started behaving like Ricky and found some other guy to have sex with.

  The thought of Ricky with one of his conquests was enough to make me lose my appetite. I put down my fork. I needed to get out of here but I'd have to word this carefully. I wasn't about to let my grandfather think I was considering his advice. He'd be too quick to gloat and launch into a litany of other ways I should fix my life. I knew step one would be to break up with Ricky for good, and after everything that happened with Paris, I wasn't ready to have another big shift in my personal relationships.

  “I might head over there tonight,” I said. “See what sort of space I could use.”

  “Fine.”
Grandfather's quick agreement surprised me, but then he said, "Just notify Haze. Ricky's beach house isn't on your list of safe residences, and he'll need to accompany you.”

  No way in hell was that going to happen.

  I scowled at the memory, more at how my grandfather had spoken about Haze than about my thwarted plans.

  Haze. My grandfather was even calling him by the nickname rather than the more formal Mr. Welch. And it wasn't even only that. There was a familiarity to the way he said it. It shouldn't have surprised me that my grandfather liked Haze. Former military, with discipline and focus. Strength. Integrity. Sacrifice. Haze embodied everything I wasn't.

  Ian's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

  “I gotta get out of here. Grandfather is picking out law schools for me.”

  “What're you going to do?” I asked.

  I felt a squeeze around my heart and pushed aside my own issues. I know Ian didn’t want to be here. I knew where he wanted to be and I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't want him to enlist again. I wanted him to stay home. I wanted him safe. I needed him safe. I needed to know that he'd never leave me alone.

  But I could never tell him any of that. He could never know how absolutely terrified I was of losing him. If he knew, he'd stop trying to get back on active duty, and while that would mean I'd know he was safe, I knew he'd also be unhappy. And that it'd be all my fault.

  Mindlessly, I changed the channel on the wall-sized television.

  “Haze gave me the name of a construction company. Said the foreman had served with one of his brothers.”

  He stood. For a moment he looked like Grandfather, his forehead crinkled as he paced. I'd always told myself that he looked like our dad, but I could see now how much he looked like Grandfather.

  “You want to go into construction?” I couldn't stop myself from sounding as surprised as I felt. I'd never pictured Ian working construction.

  He sighed and ran his hand over his short hair. “It's an active job, on my feet all day. It'll prove that I'm fit for active duty. Plus, with the foreman having been in the service, he can vouch for me.”

  “Staying fit is good.” I smiled despite the ache in my heart.

  “Maybe that's what you need to do,” Ian said quickly. “Go work out or something. You're just going to get depressed hanging out in here.”

  I threw a pillow at him. He caught it and laughed at me. I glared at him as he tossed the pillow back before he left. I swore softly. He was right. This place was depressing and lying on the couch for the rest of the day wouldn’t help matters much.

  I heaved myself up from the couch and headed upstairs to change. Ignoring the bright perfection of my newly redecorated room, I changed into workout clothes and then headed back downstairs.

  The basement had a fully-equipped workout room including treadmill, stair climber, free weights, a host of other machines I didn't understand...and a body bag. I'd always been naturally slender, so I'd never had to worry about having a workout routine. At the moment, I wanted physical activity. The thought of punching the solid sandbag appealed to me.

  Except that it was already being used.

  Haze was there, destroying the body bag with heavy punches. The guesthouse had its own workout room, but it didn't have a punching bag. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who needed to work off some steam.

  Before he could see me, I darted behind the archway door and considered my choices. I could march over to the treadmill and run with my back to Haze, continuing to pretend that he was just another employee. Except I knew that every bouncing step would feel self-conscious whether or not his eyes were on me. And I wasn't sure which would be worse. If he watched me, or if he ignored me. My other option was simpler. I could send him away and do what I'd come here to do.

  Even as I was sorting through my choices, the sounds from inside the room registered. The heavy thump of his fists against the bag. The exhalation of breath. My stomach twisted, and I couldn't resist. I peeked around the corner and watched Haze for a moment. The solid sandbag shuddered back from his punches. When I hit it, I hardly made it move.

  He grunted with the effort of his next hit, and the sound sizzled in my brain, bringing with it memories of the other time I'd seen him like this, shirtless and sweating. I swallowed hard.

  He had a tattoo on his back that hadn't been there before. Words. De oppresso liber. Latin. And I actually knew what it meant. Sort of. To free from oppression or to liberate the oppressed. It was the Special Forces motto. I knew that because I'd looked it up. Or, to be more accurate, I'd looked up pretty much anything to do with Special Forces over the past couple days.

  I'd been bored.

  I wondered when he'd gotten the tattoo. With that thought, I realized that even though we'd had sex, there'd been a lot of his body I hadn't seen. Something deep inside me twisted at the thought of seeing more of him.

  But that would never happen, I reminded myself.

  Haze had pretended he hadn't heard Paris’ big mouth that day. Instead he'd stood with his hands locked together, his eyes obscured by reflective sunglasses, and only spoke when I spoke to him. There was no way he hadn't heard. She'd been talking loud enough. So he was either pretending he didn't remember...or he really didn't.

  How could he not?

  I knew it was silly to still be thinking about it. It was clear he didn't remember. But, no matter how much I tried to resist it, I couldn't stop wondering what would happen if I flat-out asked him. What would he say? Would he say he felt bad for leaving without a word?

  Was that the reason for the silence?

  Even as I pondered the question, I couldn't deny that a part of me wanted him to crush me against him, to sear my mouth with a demanding kiss, to show me what his body must remember even if his mind had set it aside.

  I knew Ian had left after our conversation. Grandfather was working and the staff wouldn't come down here to clean until late afternoon. No one would come downstairs for at least a couple hours, I thought.

  I could walk right into the room and kiss him. I could force Haze to look me in the eyes, dare him not to kiss me back, dare him to pretend that he didn't remember me. The idea made me quiver, and I leaned on the archway as I continued to watch him.

  He shifted, kicking the body bag, then attacked from another angle. His back was a hard board of muscles, and I remembered the feel of them underneath my hands. A slick trail of sweat ran down his spine, and I had the surprising urge to lick it off. His waist was narrow, his ass flexing beneath his shorts.

  Fuck.

  Other girls did it. I knew plenty of girls who'd slept with their drivers, their butlers, even their attorneys and bankers. Paris had said it herself, Haze was incredibly handsome, and no one would wonder why I'd been tempted.

  It'd be so easy.

  I imagined coming up behind him, slipping my hands around to his flat stomach, while my lips kissed over the salty sweat on his back. The muscles would clench under my touch when I tucked my hands under his waistband. One hand would find him, wrap around him, tease him until he was helpless to resist.

  This time, I would make him lose control. He'd pick me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he devoured my lips. I could almost feel his wide hands gripping my backside, spreading me open as he lowered me to the mat.

  My cheeks blazed with the fantasy, and when I shook off the images, I saw my nipples standing out hard against my sports bra. I was wet and aching, my pussy throbbing with need.

  Shit.

  I turned and fled back up the stairs. I needed to get out of here. But I didn't really have anywhere I wanted to go. I did know that I didn't want to go to a club or hang around any of the vapid people who usually filled my social circle. But I had to clear my head.

  As I went into my room, an idea popped into my mind. There was somewhere I could go, something I could do. Something that would actually make me feel better. I jammed clothes and shoes, unused toiletries, and jewelry into a Louis Vuitton suitca
se. If I hurried, no one would notice I was gone.

  I crept down the back stairs, lugging the heavy suitcase, and slipped out to the garage. Outside the rows of shining sports cars, parked in the shade under an oak tree, was a reliable, but beat up old pick-up truck. Grandfather kept it for the gardener to use. The keys were folded up in the driver's side visor.

  There was an old baseball hat, left by the gardener, on the passenger seat. Perfect. I twisted my hair up and tucked it under the hat. If anyone happened to look at the security screen when the front gates opened, they'd just think I was the gardener.

  I gripped the steering wheel, leaning far back against the seat to avoid the camera catching my face. It wasn't my first time sneaking out. The gates opened slowly, but once I was out, I took off down the curving road that led out of the hills.

  So much for those Special Forces training, I thought. Even if Haze realized I was gone, he wouldn't even know where to start, much less where to find me.

  I smiled and tossed the baseball hat out the window.

  Maybe this was the best way to get him out of my life and my mind.

  For good.

  17

  Haze

  I stopped by the kitchen on my way up from the workout room. For all the punishment the punching bag had taken, I still felt frustrated and bored. I'd only been stuck in the house for a couple days and the sheer boredom of it was driving me crazy. I'd taken this job because I'd wanted to prove that I was good for active duty, not that I was good for sitting on my ass.

  Not being active sort of made it difficult.

  Okay, so beating the shit out of the punching bag was technically active, but I was getting seriously stir-crazy. And it wasn't like while we were in the house I needed to do much to keep an eye on Leighton.

  The entire place was fully staffed. Granted, the butler was a snob, the cook was unfriendly, and had a habit of gesturing with knives, and the cleaning staff kept to themselves. But there were also chauffeurs, gardeners, delivery drivers, and Devlin's business associates. With that many extra people marching around the house at all hours, all I had to do was ask whoever I passed in the hallway, and they could tell me what Leighton was doing.