SEALionaire Book 2: A Navy SEAL Romance

  “Um…” I rubbed at my neck, trying to figure out the best way to explain the insane change in my circumstances. “Yeah. Turns out he’s kinda…well. He’s my father.”

  Hawk gave me a long, intense study and then went back to watching the crowd. “Should figure that you’d find a way to come out of everything on your feet, kid.”

  With a disgusted sound, I shook my head. “I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

  Across the room, I caught the sound of O’s laugh, and I followed it, finding myself staring at her.

  She was dressed in red. The dress wrapped around her, crisscrossing at her breasts and hips, emphasizing her curves and making her excellent legs look endless. Hawk followed my gaze and made a low hum under his breath. “I’m assuming you can handle her just fine.”

  “Actually…” I shot him a look.

  He arched his brows and then a grin broke out over his face. “Well, hell, man. You went and took the fall, didn’t you?”

  I shoved him lightly but went back to staring at O.

  If James hadn’t approached us at that moment, I might have embarrassed myself, because she really did look amazing in that dress.

  “Adam.”

  I nodded at him, trying to brush off the concern I felt. He looked even more tired, grayer, older now than he did two days ago. He told O he’d start coming into the office only two days a week now, but I wondered how long that would last.

  “Hey.” I nodded at him before gesturing to Hawk and making the introductions. It didn’t take long before Hawk segued into a discussion about some of the newer models Clarion had on the market.

  James looked like he’d found his new best friend.

  “It’s nice to see you two bonding,” I said, amused.

  They ignored me, and I shook my head, wandering off.

  O had disappeared a few minutes ago. I’d seen the direction she’d gone and thought I’d try to find her. Just for a few minutes in private. We had a date for tomorrow, a real date, our first one.

  But if I didn’t get another taste of that mouth…

  She’d been moving toward the hedge maze located in the main grounds, so that was my direction as well. As I neared the entrance to the maze, I looked for the security guard who was supposed to be standing at this location.

  He wasn’t there.

  Slowing my pace, I looked around. An alarm began to whisper in my head. It wasn’t a loud one. Too many things that were loud ended up with the bad side effect of death and destruction.

  There should be several guards around the grounds. I’d met the entire team and knew that Sullivan was supposed to be here. He was a nice guy, older, former army. A cop who picked up extra money on weekends doing security detail. The decent, responsible sort. Not somebody who’d walk off because he had to take a piss less than an hour into the event.

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I ducked into the maze and twisted around the very first turn. I don’t know what propelled me to do that. A moment later, a foot scuffed up against the stone where Sullivan should have been.

  “All is secure on this end, over.”

  Secure…over.

  Somebody was sending out a status update.

  There was a pause, followed by, “No sir. Nobody saw – I’m absolutely positive. Yes, he’s neutralized. Over.”

  Neutralized?

  Angling my head around, I followed the sound of the voice, pinpointing the speaker’s location better. I caught a glimpse of him. He was close to the entrance, taking the place of the hired guard. He was wearing a tactical uniform.

  Had Sullivan been neutralized?

  I set my jaw as more voices and noise began to draw closer. I needed to be somewhere else. Actually, I needed to know what the fuck was going on, but I wasn’t going to get that information getting caught.

  The hedge had any number of dips and natural camouflage, and I took advantage of every bit of it as I eased away from as much of the noise as I could while still staying close to the first person I’d heard speaking.

  The man clearly didn’t do stealth all that much.

  He wore too much deodorant for it. He still smelled like body odor and sweat, thickly veiled under a heavy dousing of Axe body spray.

  He continued to have a one-way conversation, and I would have killed to have access to some of my old equipment. Since that wasn’t going to happen…

  He signed off on the call, and I came out behind him, wrapping a forearm around his neck, jerking upward.

  He was big, strong, and fast.

  But he wasn’t prepared to deal with somebody like me.

  I had him neutralized in seconds and dragged him into the hedge, shoving him not too gently into the greenery after I took a minute to strip off anything useful to cuff his hands behind his back. He had a roll of duct tape fastened to a hoop on his tactical vest. I cut a piece off, slapping it over his mouth as I listened.

  More voices.

  And there was one coming over the phone.

  Shoving his Bluetooth into my ear, I melted back into the shadows just as somebody came around the corner, his weapon up and ready, looking around.

  Over the Bluetooth, I heard an insistent voice.

  “Is the entrance secure? She’s coming. We don’t have time for fuck-ups!”

  She…

  Who?

  But my gut was already screaming.

  “Tiger One, report.”

  I had a feeling Tiger One was snoozing away in dreamland in the hedge behind me. I kept the silenced Beretta ready as I ducked into what turned out to be a dead end – but that was fine. I needed back-up.

  I pulled out my phone and used my body to hide the screen as I dimmed the screen down to nothing. I sent a quick text to Hawk.

  His response was fast.

  You’ve got to be shitting me.

  I didn’t bother responding, just punched in what facts I had. They were pitifully few.

  His next response was a lot more in line with what I needed.

  Son of a bitch. You find trouble everywhere. On my way.

  Not bothering to reply, I silenced the phone and shoved it into my back pocket. Then I cleared the narrow path that had led me to the dead end.

  Then I focused on another, and another, following the sound of the voices coming from somewhere inside the maze.

  Finally, they became clearer, and worse, vaguely familiar.

  “This isn’t right…not the way…” a man was saying, his nasally tone coming in harsh whispers.

  “We’ve already agreed,” a female voice hissed. “You’re in this as much as I am.”

  They argued back and forth, their voices dipping too low for me to hear them at times. Finally, the man cursed and nearly yelled, “We’ll find another way to get it done.”

  I placed him.

  The weasel.

  Russel Braxton – the board member who’d been so pissed off earlier in the week when James had announced the changes coming down the pipeline for Clarion.

  And the woman…I almost had her voice placed.

  But then another voice rang out from the entrance. “Okay, Russel. Where are you?”

  My skin went icy, dread crawling up my spine.

  O.

  I started moving quicker, faster, moving to intersect.

  “Call him,” the woman hissed.

  My phone vibrated a second later, but I ignored it as I peered through the gap in the hedges, staring in. I could just barely make out O, that murder red dress. The others, though…I couldn’t see them for shit. Didn’t know what weapons they possessed or who else they had with them.

  My phone vibrated again.

  “He’s not answering,” Russel said, his voice panicked. “Look, Cherise, let’s–”

  The woman interrupted him, her voice coming out too loud and fast. “Olivia. Hello, we’ve been…”

  Cherise.

  Olivia.

  “Okay, big guy…I think you’ve heard enough,” a calm voice said, right before I f
elt the muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of my skull.

  Don’t miss the exciting conclusion in the final SEALionaire Book 3, coming September 16th. Click Here to get a reminder email on release day.

  If you enjoyed this story, you’ll also enjoy the other stories from M.S. Parker and Shiloh Walker.

  CLICK HERE for a list of all books by M.S. Parker

  CLICK HERE for a list of all books by Shiloh Walker

  Bonus Book: Hero - The Assignment

  Hero

  The Assignment

  By M. S. Parker

  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 © 2015 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC.

  1

  Leighton

  Everything was wrong, and I wanted to blame Ricky. He was flirting with a woman who kept trying to tug down the hem of her white dress. The cheap scrap of fabric was too tight, and it kept slipping further up her thighs every time she shifted on her too-high heels. She didn't belong here. Probably some farm girl transplant trying to make it as a model or actress or whatever else people came to LA to do. Too bad.

  I checked my reflection in the full wall window of the LA Hills mansion. The short beaded fringe on my designer dress brushed the tops of my thighs just the way I liked it, showing off my slender legs. The narrow chevron pattern of the dress accentuated the tight silhouette, and the dark colors drew attention to my flame red curls. My hair had always drawn enough attention in and of itself, but the newest addition of black streaks added even more. Ricky hated the black, said it made me look damaged. I was just happy it pissed off my grandfather.

  I spun easily on my six-inch heels and strode across the room to the patio door. Ricky moved on to flirting with the hostess, a mousy, brown-haired girl who was wearing a green dress from last season. Her father was rich. The only reason she had friends.

  The mean thoughts burned in my stomach. My father. I would give anything to see his green eyes smiling at me again. My mother had called them shamrock green. Mine weren't like his. They were bright blue, like hers. Like my grandfather’s. My hair color was all dad though. I dropped down to sit on the wide steps leading to the pool. The memory of them was like a punch in the stomach.

  They died a year ago.

  I checked the time on my phone. In two hours, it would be exactly the time I'd gotten the phone call telling me they were both dead. That my little brother and I were orphans.

  “Hoping Gramps is demanding you come home?” my best friend Paris asked, tossing her wavy dark brown hair over her shoulder. “Checkers with him would beat this party any day.”

  “Chess,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We play chess.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I'd play Hangman with your grandfather if it got us out of here. Have you seen Ricky?” Paris asked.

  My on-again-off-again boyfriend was not hard to spot. At six foot three, he towered over most of the guests. He'd hit his growth spurt a couple months ago and enjoyed looming over people. I watched him ruffle his sandy brown hair, a sign he was about to move on from the bottle-blonde he was flirting with at that moment to someone else. He caught my gaze and his light blue eyes flashed as he smiled.

  The trouble with Ricky was his effortless good looks. He hardly made it five feet toward me before another girl stepped in front of him, a hopeful expression on her face. He couldn't resist stopping. Then couldn’t keep his eyes from roving over every inch of her.

  “Poor little cater-waiter,” Paris said. “As if Ricky would ever touch her.”

  I said nothing, glad to still have a few minutes to bury my grief before my this-time-on-again boyfriend expected me to have fun with him. Compassion wasn't Ricky's strongest personality trait. That was okay, though. I hadn't picked Ricky because I wanted a shoulder to cry on. I'd picked him because I wanted someone to make me forget.

  “Leighton?” Paris asked, nudging me. “Are you okay? Something seems really off with you tonight.”

  “Bad night, lame party.” I stood abruptly.

  Paris stepped around me so that we were face-to-face. I tried to avoid her ice green eyes, but my best friend won out. I'd never been one for eye contact, even less since it happened.

  “Bad night, the worst.” Paris pitched her voice low, the expression on her face uncharacteristically serious. “This is it, right? One year?”

  “One year? What is it? An anniversary or something? Let's celebrate,” Ricky said, snaking an arm around my waist. He reeked of alcohol.

  “Let's leave,” Paris said, her eyes still on me.

  “Leave?” Ricky asked with an ‘are you crazy’ look. “No way, honey. This party is just getting started.” His lips went to my neck. “How about we do some shots. Something's gotta liven up my ball and chain here.”

  “I'm not slowing you down, Ricky,” I said, the words coming out more harshly than I intended as I pushed him back. I hated when he called me that. “Who's it going to be tonight? The one in the white dress or the hostess?”

  Ricky snorted. “Model wannabes from Iowa aren't really my thing.”

  “What about the hostess? Her bank accounts measure up to your high standards,” I said, twisting out of his hold. It would be just like him to take off so he could fuck some other girl on the anniversary of my parents' death. I wasn't even surprised that he hadn't remembered what today was.

  “And I've seen cuter gophers than her. What’s gotten into you?” Ricky asked, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like this version of me. I wasn't fun like this. And Ricky liked fun.

  The memory of my parents' death flashed over me, twisting the knife in my heart. “Me? Nothing's wrong with me.” I drew myself up to my full, heeled height. “In fact, I think I'll go flirt with a half dozen guys to prove it.”

  “Not my girl,” Ricky said, grabbing my waist again.

  He twirled me around and dipped me low, his light blue eyes laughing in my face. He pulled me back against him, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck. The kisses were sloppy, and I could feel him sucking at my throat. Shit. The last thing I needed right now was a hickey. My grandfather would go through the roof.

  “Ricky, stop it. Let me go,” I said, pushing against his chest.

  “Come on, Leighton, you wanted my attention. Now you've got it,” he said, moving in for my mouth.

  “I don't want you or your attention.” I turned my face away. Was it really expecting too much for him to not act like an ass?

  “Fine,” Ricky snapped.

  He spun me away, letting go as his arm extended. I stumbled a few steps, and was just starting to right myself when my heel caught on a crack in the sidewalk. I reached back for Ricky's hand, but he just looked at me as I fell.At first, I thought I was going to face plant right into the concrete, but my momentum kept me turning. My head hit the edge of a hibiscus-filled planter, and I heard a splash as my world went dark.

  Two black bags on the canyon road.

  My grandfather standing next to them. Nodding at the sheriff, neither letting me get close enough to look.

  My parents' car, hanging from chains as the crane dragged it from the lake.

  Water dripped from it, heavy splashes that hit me over and over again.

  Cold water. Splashing on me.

  “You're getting her all wet.” Paris' voice came through the darkness.

  “She fell in the pool,” a strange voice said. It was deep and rough, sounding annoyed and concerned at the same time.

  I opened my eyes, and the world spun around me. When it finally settled, I saw Paris standing over me, a worried expression on her face. The only other person was a stranger whose presence only partially registered as I looked for Ricky. It didn't take me more than a few seconds to realize it w
as only Paris and the stranger on the pool deck with me. The party had cleared out, and Ricky had gone with it.

  I heard sirens and groaned. No wonder everyone had fled. Aside from the free-flowing alcohol to anyone and everyone regardless of age, I knew of at least four different illegal substances that were making the rounds, and I was sure there were more.

  “Leighton?” The man's voice spoke my name, drawing my attention to him at last.

  I blinked before I could focus. Chocolate brown eyes looked deep into mine, and for a moment I held his gaze. I'd never seen such depth in a pair of eyes before. Concern. Aggravation. And a few other things that I probably could've recognized if everything around me hadn't been lurching and rolling.

  “Over here!” Paris called.

  Shit. The sirens hadn't been cops called on the party. They were paramedics. For me.

  “No hospital,” I said, trying to roll over. I had to get up.

  A sharp spike of pain went through my head, and I gagged against the wet pool deck.

  “You probably have a concussion,” the stranger said.

  I saw him reach out like he was going to touch me, then pull back as paramedics surrounded me. I was poked and prodded, questions asked and answered. Within a few minutes, they'd come to the same conclusion as the mysterious stranger had. I’d suffered a concussion and needed to go to the hospital for overnight observation.

  “No hospital,” I insisted.

  Grandfather couldn't find out about this. I'd told him I was staying with Paris, and while I knew he wasn't dumb enough to believe that we weren't going to a party, it was something completely different to flaunt it with a hospital stay. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if the press got ahold of it. I wasn't drunk or high, but that didn't mean they wouldn't write it that way.

  “You need someone to stay with you tonight and keep an eye on you,” the paramedic said.

  “No.” I glared at him.