Truth was, he hadn’t had a single male friend growing up. He’d been the loner bad boy who smoked weed and cigarettes and wandered the Strip looking for a fuck or a fight. Raised in a dressing room filled with half-naked women, constantly surrounded by females who, once he got older and grew into his looks, were dying to jump his bones. Needless to say, it had been seriously jarring when he’d enlisted in the navy—suddenly he’d gone from a room inhabited by gorgeous showgirls to a dormitory full of tired, cranky and hungry males forever being screamed at by their commanding officers.
But somehow, he’d grown close to not one, not two, but three of his fellow recruits. And, for some messed-up reason, those three put up with his bullshit and actually gave a damn about him.
“They’re late,” Dylan remarked, glancing up and down the deserted stretch of sand.
Seth shrugged. “McCoy probably couldn’t bear to drag himself out of Jen’s bed. Dude’s whipped, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, but he’s whipped by the sexiest woman on the planet. That’s not really much of a hardship.”
He couldn’t deny that Jen Scott, Cash’s girlfriend, was stunning, but Seth wasn’t into those perfect California-girl good looks. He was drawn to women with interesting faces rather than classically beautiful ones. Like Miranda, with her big hazel eyes, tilted at the corners to give her an exotic feel. The slightly crooked mouth, a tad too generous for her angular jaw. The unusual combination of olive skin and a sprinkle of freckles. To him, Miranda was more appealing than any cover model.
“Whipped is whipped,” he answered with a shrug.
Dylan grinned. “Cut McCoy a break. And you know what? I’m happy for him. He’s in luuuuuurve.”
“Poor bastard.”
“You know, one of these days you’ll fall just as hard, and I’ll be right there, laughing and pointing.”
Seth swallowed a laugh. Yeah, whatever. He didn’t do pansy-ass shit like love. He wasn’t a believer in love at first sight or the idea of “falling” in love, which implied not having a say in the matter. As far as he was concerned, love was a choice. You chose to open yourself up to it, you chose to feel something for the other person, chose to let those emotions develop and grow.
Well, he was choosing not to do any of that crap.
A loud whistle captured his and Dylan’s attention, and they turned around to see Cash and Jackson stalking across the sand.
“Sorry we’re late,” Cash apologized as he bumped fists with Seth, then Dylan. “I, uh, got delayed.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “I bet you did.”
Jackson spoke up in his Texan drawl. “With all the sexercise McCoy’s been gettin’, there’s really no reason for him to even be here.”
“I don’t know, he’s looking kinda flabby,” Dylan countered, his green eyes focusing on Cash’s bare chest. “Someone should send the CO an anonymous letter informing him that McCoy is slacking on his training.”
“Flabby? Uh-uh, I’m in peak physical condition.” Cash smirked. “And it’s okay to be jealous of my intensive sexercise regimen, boys. I won’t think less of you for it.”
That earned him incredulous looks from both Dylan and Jackson, who gave him the finger and proceeded to defend their sexual prowess by listing all the women they’d hooked up with over the past month. As an argument broke out about whether it was quality or quantity that mattered, Seth tuned the boys out. He couldn’t contribute much to the convo, anyway. He hadn’t gotten laid in eons, thanks to one very stubborn former showgirl.
It drove him fucking bonkers that she refused to give in to the attraction sizzling between them. So what if she had a pair of rugrats at home? It wasn’t like parenthood equaled mandatory celibacy. Surely she could set aside some time for a few rounds of hot, sweaty fucking.
And bad idea, thinking about hot, sweaty fucking while surrounded by three other men. As his cock stiffened to half-mast, he pushed all thoughts of Miranda from his head and focused on the tail end of his friends’ dispute.
“After a certain amount of times, sex with the same person becomes that ratty shirt you’ve washed a hundred times,” Dylan was arguing. “Suddenly it’s not so colorful and it doesn’t fit the way it used to and you’re not sure you even like it anymore.”
“Whoa, that’s deep,” Cash said dryly.
“All I’m saying is, quantity eventually kills the quality. So be warned, a few more months and this super-duper sex you’re bragging about? It’ll be nothing but the old Metallica shirt you don’t wear anymore.”
“Jen will never become an old shirt.” Cash’s voice oozed with confidence. “I guarantee it.”
Seth kept his mouth shut, but he was totally with Dylan on this one. Regular sex with the same chick was bound to get dull. At least in his experience.
“Anyway, let’s do this thing.” Cash glanced up at the sky, wary. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
They’d trained on this beach for years, so the workout that ensued was one Seth could do in his sleep. The sky remained overcast during the four-mile run, but once they hit the water, a light rain began to fall and the water grew choppier. Although the waves were nothing to freak out about, when Cash called out and suggested they head back, nobody protested.
They were a mile out, making their way to shore when all hell broke loose. A crack of thunder exploded in the air. The sky grew darker and darker in a matter of seconds, an onslaught of rain blasting out of those black clouds like water from a broken dam.
Gritting his teeth, Seth concentrated on swimming in a straight line, a damn-near impossible feat when the wind was determined to blow his body right back into the middle of the ocean. He was gasping for air by the time he reached the shore, thoroughly exhausted as he staggered out of the water, Cash hot on his heels.
He heaved himself onto the sand, rain and seawater dripping down his bare chest. Squinting, he studied the angry waves, experiencing a spark of relief when he spotted Dylan’s blond head bobbing in the water, powerful arms slicing through the current.
After Dylan and Jackson made it to shore, the foursome stared at each other for a long moment, then tipped their gazes up at the sky while the rain soaked them to the bone.
“Holy shit balls,” Dylan exclaimed. “It’s the fucking Apocalypse.”
“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Cash shouted over the wind.
Getting back to their cars proved to be a whole other workout. The rain fell harder and the wind blew faster, providing a wall of resistance each time Seth took a step. The thunder was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, and each time a bolt of lightning sizzled over the furious ocean, it was easy to see that the waves were gathering in size and speed.
When he finally stumbled up to his Jeep, he let out a breath heavy with relief.
Cash and Jackson raced to the SUV in the neighboring space. As Cash unlocked the driver’s door, he glanced over at Seth. “Text when you get home so I know you made it there alive,” he called.
“Same goes for you two,” Seth called back.
He and Dylan practically dove into the Jeep. Fortunately, the top was up, so they were spared having to drive home in a torrential downpour. Still, they were both soaking wet and cursing up a blue streak as Seth started the engine.
“That came out of nowhere,” he said, shaking his head in amazement.
“Looks like that annoying weatherman was actually right for the first time in his life.” Dylan paused. “He’s probably at the studio, gloating up a storm…ha. Get it? Gloating up a storm… You know, kind of like the storm that’s raging outside this Jeep?”
Seth stared at his friend. “Yeah, I got it the first time you said it, and it wasn’t funny then either.”
He reversed out of the parking space and turned onto the main road, the windshield wipers working so furiously he was surprised they didn’t fly away. Raindrops battered the roof of the car, so loud it was like the Jeep was being hit with an unending stream of golf balls. Luckily, he an
d Dylan only lived five minutes away. Visibility was totally shot, and the vehicle must have hydroplaned half a dozen times on the short trip home, but Seth got them there in one piece.
He parked in the driveway and killed the engine, then gazed at the scary black chaos beyond the windshield before shooting Dylan a sidelong look. “Ready?”
Dylan sighed. “Yup.”
Seth reached for the door handle. “See you on the other side, brother.”
They both hopped out of the Jeep like their asses were on fire.
The second he was out in the open, Seth was hit by a gust of wind that almost knocked him right off his feet—and for a man who stood at six-three and boasted two hundred pounds of solid muscle, that spoke volumes about the intensity of the wind.
By the time he and Dylan made it through the front door of the house, he was exhausted again. When he took a step, water spilled out of his sneakers and formed a huge puddle on the hardwood floor.
“You think we should board up the windows?” Dylan winced as the wall behind him rattled from the storm’s assault.
“Naah, I think we’ll be fine.” He kicked off his wet shoes. “I’m hopping in the shower.”
He headed for the bathroom, where he stripped off his trunks and turned on the faucet. His shower was quick, just a few minutes under the spray to warm up and wash the salt water off, and then he toweled off and headed to his bedroom. He threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black wifebeater, listening to the whine of the wind and the pounding of the rain. Outside his window, the sky had grown even darker, nearly black now. And it was only ten thirty in the morning.
As he stared at the rain streaking the windowpane, a pang of worry tugged on his gut. Shit. It was Sunday. That meant Miranda was teaching at the dance school today. Hopefully she’d looked out the window when she’d woken up this morning and had the sense to cancel the day’s classes.
Maybe he ought to check in, though. Just in case.
Without allowing himself to question his actions, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Miranda’s number.
He immediately got bumped over to voice mail.
“Miranda, it’s Seth,” he said gruffly. “The weather’s shitty. Call me back.”
Not the most articulate message, but it got the job done. Too bad it didn’t guarantee a speedy response—it took three hours for her to get back to him, and when her voice came over the line, she sounded harried and annoyed.
“I saw your number on my phone,” she snapped. “What do you want, Seth?”
“Wow, remind me never to be concerned about you,” he said sarcastically. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She had the decency to sound ashamed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Things are ridiculously crazy here.”
“Where are you?”
“The school.”
Another wave of worry washed over him. “Have you taken a look outside, Miranda? There’s a fucking tropical storm out there. Go home.”
“Trust me, I’m trying,” she said irritably. “I already cancelled the afternoon lessons, but a lot of the kids that were here for the morning classes can’t get in touch with their parents, so I’m trying to organize a carpool.”
“You need help?” He was already marching to the door. “I can be there in fifteen.”
“No, it’s fine. Really, Seth, don’t come here. The other teachers and I can handle it. We just need to bundle up the kids, pack up their stuff, and then we’re getting everyone home. I just can’t leave until Jase gets here.”
“Who’s Jase?”
Her tone took on a bit of an edge. “Jason. My son.”
Right. Her kid. Why did he keep forgetting she had one? Wait, make that two.
Probably because you don’t want to remember.
He ignored the internal taunt. Fine, so he wasn’t particularly thrilled that Miranda had two children, but that slice of misfortune wouldn’t stop him from doing his damndest to get her in bed. He’d already made it clear he wasn’t applying for the position of her baby-daddy, and he also wasn’t going to pretend to like kids just to sleep with the woman. Still, acknowledging the rugrats’ existence couldn’t hurt his cause.
“Your son’s not with you?”
She sounded upset. “No, he was at a friend’s house. The parents are dropping him at the school. They just called to say they’re ten minutes away.”
“Good. Once they arrive, get everyone home. The roads aren’t too bad yet, but the weather reports are saying there’s some risk of flooding.” He paused. “Might be some power outages too. You got candles and flashlights at home?”
“Yes, Seth. I also have canned food and bottled water and something called common sense and basic survival knowledge.” Her sarcasm reverberated through the line.
“Good,” he said again. “Call or text when you get home.”
“If I remember.”
“Don’t fucking give me that. If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’ll get in my car and—”
“Fine,” she interjected. “I’ll call you.”
With that, she hung up, leaving him staring at the phone in frustration. That woman drove him absolutely insane. So fucking independent, determined to do everything on her own, even when she desperately needed help.
He could see why his mother had worried about Miranda moving out here. The women who danced at the Paradis were like a close-knit family, always looking out for one another. They’d mothered Seth to the point of exasperation when he was a kid, and he knew Miranda had experienced that same maternal attention and sisterly devotion. He also knew she hadn’t once asked any of them for help in the four years she’d worked there.
Now that she’d left the Strip, she was completely on her own, raising two kids alone, and Seth worried that she’d never be able to swallow her pride and seek him out if she was truly in trouble.
Or at least that’s what he thought before the doorbell rang nearly an hour later.
Dylan, who’d been watching the storm coverage on the living room television, glanced at Seth in bewilderment. “Expecting anyone?”
He shook his head, getting a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to like what he found on his doorstep.
Setting his beer bottle on the pine coffee table, he rose from the couch and headed to the front hall. He’d only intended to open the door a crack, but a gust of wind blew it open, almost smashing him in the face. He stopped it just in time, then took a second to gape at the three bedraggled creatures huddled on the front stoop.
Miranda’s dark hair was drenched, wet strands glued to her forehead and whipping around in the wind. In her leggings and T-shirt, which were soaked, she wasn’t dressed for the weather, but the children plastered to her were. Two of them, wearing matching yellow raincoats with the hoods up, clinging to Miranda’s legs and wobbling each time they got blasted by a rainy gust.
“You just going to stand there or are you going to let us in?” Miranda yelled, her voice tinny amidst the persistent drumbeat of the rain.
Seth blinked, recovering fast. He ushered her and the children inside, then struggled to shut the door. He was yet again drenched, and new puddles were forming on the hardwood.
He focused on Miranda, whose hazel eyes looked a tad wild as she pushed hair off her face.
“You okay?” he demanded. “What happened?”
She blinked a few times. Glanced around the small entrance, as if she couldn’t comprehend what she was doing there. Then she opened her mouth and said, “My apartment is…”
Seth waited. When she didn’t finish the sentence, he sighed. “Your apartment is what?” he prompted.
Miranda wasn’t the one to respond. Rather, it was one of the dark-haired imps by her side, a little girl with pigtails and big brown eyes peeking out of that yellow hood.
“Underwater,” the girl announced.
He furrowed his brows. “What?”
“We live underwater now.”
Chapter Four br />
“Like The Little Mermaid, ’cept it wasn’t like The Little Mermaid at all,” Sophie explained in dismay. “It was cold and wet and icky and—”
Miranda snapped out of her shocked trance and placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Hush, Soph. I can explain it to Mr. Masterson—”
Seth snorted.
“To Seth,” she amended, meeting his amused gray eyes. “I’m so sorry to just show up like this. I had your address in my phone and I didn’t want to drive all the way back to the school when your house was so much closer. Imperial Beach is closer to Coronado than it is to the city—” Wonderful, now she was giving him a geography lesson. “And I couldn’t call because there was no signal and—” she gulped, trying to collect her composure, “—Ginny and Elsa live in studio apartments and I didn’t want to put them out, but I remember you saying you had a spare room and…”
She was too mortified to keep going, so she stopped talking altogether.
Seth’s voice was oddly gentle. “It’s okay. Tell me what happened when you got home.”
“Our place flooded. I opened the front door to find three feet of water in our hallway.” She gestured to her soaking-wet leggings and ballet flats. “I waded in there to assess the damage…” Her throat closed up, making it hard to continue. “I guess a few sewers overflowed, and there was also something wrong with my building’s gutters—my landlord said something about downspouts draining too close to the foundation.”
Seth’s expression turned grim. “How bad was it?”
“Bad. All four ground-floor apartments flooded, and with the rain not easing up out there, it’s bound to get worse.”
A wave of panic suddenly hit her. Oh God. Their entire life was in that apartment. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
Her landlord, a sweet Italian man named Marco, was already at the building when Miranda and the kids got home. One of the other tenants whose apartment flooded had called him, and although Marco had assured the affected residents that insurance would cover their lost belongings and no one would have to pay for the renovations, that didn’t solve the dilemma of where she and her children were supposed to live for the next week or so. The only people she knew in town were the teachers who worked for her at the dance school, and she didn’t feel comfortable asking any of them for a place to stay.