Tempted by a SEAL

  TEMPTED BY A SEAL

  Hot SEALs

  Cat Johnson

  Loner. Biker. SEAL.

  Known only as Mack to his SEAL teammates, he’s a stone cold killer when he needs to be, but he’d rather just straddle his Harley and escape from everything and everyone.

  The only person who calls James MacIntyre by his given name is his dad, the one family member he has left. That is until his widowed father meets a divorcee and decides to remarry. Suddenly, this woman and her daughter go from being strangers to family, all calling Mack James whether he likes it or not.

  The problem is he’s starting to crave hearing his name on the lips of curvy co-ed Lydia.

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  EXCERPT

  Mack glanced at the girl. “You okay?”

  She watched him for a second before nodding. “Yes.”

  He dipped his head in a nod, not bothering with more conversation. He had his answer, so he turned to move back to his spot and his drink.

  “Wait.” She scurried after him, arriving just as his ass hit the barstool.

  He cocked one brow. “Yeah?”

  “I uh wanted to say thank you.”

  “No problem.” He lifted one shoulder and reached for his glass.

  He didn’t quite make it before she stuck her hand out to him. “I’m Lydia.”

  Yes, she was cute. Yeah, he hadn’t gotten laid in far too long. But this close up, and under the light above them, his initial impressions were confirmed. She was young.

  Young and naïve and sweet and everything he had no interest in and no business touching.

  Completely ignoring her and her outstretched hand would be rude. Since that wasn’t an option he turned his body enough he could extend his right hand to her. “Mack.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah. You too.” He dropped his hold and turned back to reach for his glass.

  CHAPTER 1

  Mack ran full out until his legs ached and his burning lungs felt close to bursting as he gasped for air.

  But it didn’t matter how fast his boots pounded the ground, how hard he pumped his arms, how determined he was to get to where he needed to be, he couldn’t beat the speed of the sniper’s bullet.

  He heard it whiz by his ear.

  “Sniper!” Knowing it was too late, knowing the word wouldn’t make it to his friend in time, he shouted anyway.

  His voice was lost to the wind that whipped the dust of a foreign land around them.

  He saw his friend’s body jerk and then fall.

  The crimson puddle beneath him widened steadily the closer Mack got to his fallen teammate and he was helpless to stop it.

  One glimpse told him that Speedy had been beyond help the instant that bullet pierced his skull—dead center between his now lifeless eyes. Eyes that stared directly at Mack and into his very soul. Questioning. Accusing.

  Why hadn’t he been there to stop the bullet that took his friend’s life?

  Something tore Mack out of the dream. He woke with a start, gasping, his heart pounding, the adrenaline coursing through his blood making him shake.

  He sat up and pushed back the sheets that were soaked with sweat.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress and scrubbed his hands over his face.

  Even with as inaccurate as it was, the nightmare still felt horrifyingly real.

  Sniper bullets fired from a distance hit their target before the victim every heard the sound of the shot that would take him down.

  Even if Mack had been there at the time—which he hadn’t been—he wouldn’t have heard the shot or been able to save his friend.

  So what the hell? Why had his subconscious crafted that particular torture for him tonight?

  Mack knew he’d be haunted by his teammate’s death, but it had been a month since Speedy had been killed in Iraq. He would have thought if he were going to have nightmares about it, it would have happened before now.

  Though maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation for the timing. A good reason why his brain had excavated the guilt. Resurrected the pain.

  When Mack had first gotten back from Iraq, he’d been numb—mentally and physically. He’d kept himself well lubricated. Enough booze before bed had insured he passed out rather than slept.

  Liquor was one way to keep the demons at bay . . . the anger too. Anger that his unit had been there to liberate a city that should have never fallen to ISIS.

  So many men had died taking it in the first place. And now his friend had been added to the death toll.

  Then, shortly after his return from Iraq, Mack’s being called in and sent to Nigeria just days after Speedy’s memorial service had kept him focused.

  In Africa his single-minded occupation was working with the Joint Forces to eliminate Boko Haram.

  The action, the guys, the pace had all saved him from having to think, to feel.

  If there was one thing SEALs did exceptionally well, it was channeling emotions. Twisting feelings into something they could use.

  Mack’s anger at the ISIS sniper in Fallujah had worked well to fuel his determination. He went to Nigeria with the sole goal of taking out every member of Boko Haram he encountered.

  Different enemy. Different country. But it didn’t matter.

  When he had fallen into his rack he’d slept like a rock from sheer exhaustion. No dreams of any kind, good or bad.

  But Mack was back now and, worse, off for the weekend. No meetings. No team workouts or trainings. Nothing but his own thoughts to occupy him.

  The team’s transport had touched down just hours ago. He’d handled his shit on base and headed right home where there was nothing to do but think. And remember. And feel guilty.

  It should have been him in that sniper’s sights on that rooftop instead of Speedy. Instead, Mack got to live with the knowledge that his buddy had done him a favor by taking his place and he had died for it.

  Damn, he needed a drink.

  He glanced at the glowing numbers of the clock on the nightstand. The glaring digits showed the numbers nine-twenty-two.

  Twenty-one hundred hours might be bedtime for some—Mack among them when he was home—but it was time to start heading out to the clubs for many others. Kids, mostly. Freshly legal to drink and looking to score before closing time.

  The females were young and dressed to impress and the males threw money around accordingly.

  He wasn’t interested in preying on the party girls, but if nothing else, the scene could be amusing to watch. He’d welcome a distraction as much as the liquor.

  Mack’s apartment, cheap and big enough for his needs, afforded him little in luxury, but the one perk he’d taken advantage of many times was the bar conveniently located directly across the street.

  One thing was guaranteed—besides that they’d have his favorite whisky always in stock for him—weekend nights were packed.

  They played God-awful music way too loudly but they poured the drinks strong and the bartender bought-back for the regulars.

  For better or worse Mack was one—a regular. At least when he was stateside.

  He might as well take advantage of the last hours he had to himself anyway. He was expected at his father’s house early tomorrow for brunch with Daddy’s new wife and her kid.

  Brunch. Stupidest meal ever invented. Why not just call it what it was and be done with it? A big ass meal that couldn’t decide whether it was breakfast or lunch.

  Maybe if he kept obsessing over the meal he had to go to he’d forget that his widowed father had gone and married a stran
ger. Some woman Mack had never even been introduced to.

  Maybe he’d forget that Daddy had met and married her all during the period that Mack had been deployed, fighting to regain control of a city the Iraqi army should have never lost control of to begin with.

  Even better would be if Mack could forget that it had been his getting that call from his father announcing the marriage that had prompted Speedy to volunteer to take the overwatch in Mack’s place.

  Yeah, it was going to have to be one hell of a brunch with massive amounts of alcohol to make him forget all that.

  Might as well start trying to forget now.

  With a sigh he searched the clothes scattered around the room. That right there was proof he wasn’t feeling like himself.

  Normally things went where they belonged. Dirty clothes in the hamper. Anything he could wear again would be hung up or folded.

  This mess in his bedroom was a visual reminder of what a shambles he was on the inside. That reminder was one thing he didn’t need right now.

  More determined than ever to get out of his apartment, and hopefully out of his own head, Mack tugged on his jeans right over the boxer shorts he’d gone to bed wearing.

  With the addition of the clean long-sleeved T-shirt and socks he pulled out of his dresser drawers, he was dressed.

  Not exactly dressed to impress, but that wasn’t tonight’s goal anyway. Having a drink—or five—was.

  Then again, if a willing woman did happen to fall into his lap, he wouldn’t throw her off.

  Maybe a night of getting sweaty in bed with a female instead of from a nightmare would help his psyche.

  It certainly couldn’t hurt.

  Plan in place, he grabbed his wallet and his apartment key. Outside, he glanced at the neon beckoning him from across the street.

  Next stop, oblivion—God willing.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lydia sighed and looked around her. She pressed the cell phone, clutched in her hand like the lifeline it was, closer against her ear. “God, Marissa, I hate this place already.”

  “How can you hate it already? You haven’t even gotten there yet.” Her best friend and roommate’s question only had Lydia getting more depressed.

  “If I hate it this much before I even get there, I seriously doubt things are going to get any better once I do.”

  Marissa let out a huff. “That makes no sense, but anyway, where are you now?”

  Lydia surveyed the area through the windshield of her car. “In front of some scary looking bar in a neighborhood I’m sure Mommy and her new hubby would not approve of.”

  “You’re supposed to be driving to your mom’s new house. Why are you in front of a bar? What town are you even in?” Marissa squeaked out the question.

  “I don’t know exactly. I passed some signs that said Norfolk. I just got off 64. The GPS says I’m still about half an hour away from the house in Virginia Beach.”

  Some five-bedroom monstrosity her mother’s new husband had bought to woo her with. Crazy since Lydia had no brothers or sisters and was away at college all the time. And supposedly her new daddy only had one son, also an adult and out of the house.

  Lydia supposed she should have driven right there from her apartment just off the campus of William and Mary, but she couldn’t bring herself to go directly to her mother’s new home.

  New home. New husband.

  That thought had the acid rising in her throat.

  How could her mother get remarried so soon? The ink on the divorce papers was barely dry, which begged the question had this man, Joseph MacIntyre, been in her mother’s life before the divorce?

  She didn’t know, but her mother claimed it had been less than a year from first contact on the online dating site to marital bliss, and that seemed a bit rushed in Lydia’s opinion.

  Lydia’s father was a good man. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

  Divorce or no divorce, she knew her father loved her and her mother more than anything. Yeah, he had some problems when it came to gambling, and holding down a job, but didn’t taking wedding vows mean you stuck it out, for better or worse?

  Lydia sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t judge. What did she know about marriage? She didn’t even have a boyfriend.

  “So you’re heading to your mom’s now?” Marissa’s question dragged Lydia back to the present.

  She groaned. “Do I have to?”

  “Don’t ask me for permission to ditch this visit.” Marissa laughed. “I’m not your mother.”

  “Technically, I don’t have to be there until tomorrow morning for some stupid family brunch. I never confirmed I’d be there tonight. I only said that I’d try.”

  “But if you don’t go tonight, where are you going to spend the night?” Her friend’s question brought up a good point.

  Lydia huffed out a breath. “I don’t know.”

  She didn’t know the area. She had only pulled over and parked now so she could safely make the phone call and rant to Marissa.

  Maybe it was serendipity she’d chosen this exact spot, right across the street from a cheesy-looking bar.

  Knowing she’d spent an hour in the kind of place that would make her mother’s head explode if she knew could be just the right amount of rebellion to keep Lydia sane through the rest of this weekend.

  Maybe she’d even suck face with some tattooed biker bad boy. It would be the icing on the cake of her night out geared to spite her mother and new daddy.

  Hell, she might even invite her bad boy to the brunch tomorrow. That would be sure to add some excitement to what would otherwise be a painful, awkward and most likely boring morning.

  What the hell would she have to talk about with a man she hardly knew at all and his grown son who she’d never met?

  Lydia smiled at her idea. “I’m going inside this bar for a drink.”

  Marissa’s gasp was audible. “What? Alone?”

  “Sure. I’ll be fine. One drink then I’ll head over to hell—I mean Mom’s.”

  Lydia would go in, have one light beer, stay for a little while to absorb the local scenery and then go. She’d be okay to drive the rest of the way to Mommy and step daddy’s house if she limited her consumption to one beer.

  The dashboard GPS showed the rest of the trip was on one straight road and then a couple of turns on side streets to get to the house. Easy. No chance she’d get lost or delayed. She could still make it before her mother went to bed after the eleven o’clock news ended, like she always did.

  “You better call me and check in, okay?”

  Lydia smiled at Marissa’s concern. “Yes, Mom. I will.”

  “You joke, but you do the same thing to me when I’m out without you.”

  “That’s because you keep staying out all night without telling me first.” Lydia lifted one brow and waited for her roommate to try and deny that fact.

  “I’m sorry. I get busy and forget to call.”

  Get busy was Marissa’s euphemism for going home with some guy.

  The difference between them was that Lydia spent a lot more time home alone worrying about Marissa than the other way around.

  Marissa had more men fawning over her than she could handle. She could be the real life model for the Barbie doll with her crazy long legs and flowing golden tresses.

  Meanwhile, when they were out together, Lydia was consistently relegated to the position of the hot blonde’s chubby brunette friend.

  But Marissa wasn’t here tonight and Lydia would have a crack at any available guy inside without anyone being distracted by her hot friend.

  That realization was the last bit of motivation Lydia needed to cut the car’s engine and pull the keys out of the ignition. “I’m going in. I’ll call you later when I’m on the road again.”

  “When will that be?” Marissa asked.

  That depended on what she found inside.

  Lydia eyed the façade of the building. It made her as nervous as she was excited. It might be so horrible, she’
d turn right around without even ordering. Or she could have so much fun she wouldn’t want to leave until closing time when they kicked her out.

  “No idea. I’ll text and let you know.”

  “You’d better!”

  The knowledge that for once Marissa was the one sitting home and worrying about her for a change instilled more than a bit of confidence in Lydia.

  Of course Marissa was sitting home on a weekend because she had a huge paper due, and not for lack of male interest. Lydia tried not to dwell on that reality.

  “I will. Bye.” Lydia disconnected the call and tossed the cell phone into her open bag on the empty seat next to her.

  Now that she’d made the decision to go in, she couldn’t wait to get moving. Besides, if she hesitated, she might change her mind.

  Lydia reached into the passenger seat and hefted up her oversized and overstuffed purse.

  She hadn’t been planning on going out, so she didn’t have her bar purse—the small one that only fit her ID, cash, lipstick and phone. But she probably wasn’t going to be staying long anyway and from the looks of this place, she wouldn’t be dancing. The large bag she was carrying shouldn’t be a problem.

  Glancing at the row of cars and one motorcycle parked along the curb and the few available spaces, Lydia confirmed her car was parked as close to the safety of the streetlight’s illumination as she could get.

  After double checking that the car’s locks were secure, there was no more reason to delay. Time to go. Inside, a beer and possibly a bad boy awaited her.

  Forcing down the nervous feeling that entering the bar alone raised within her, Lydia lifted her chin and yanked open the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  The bartender paused in front of Mack. “Another one?”

  Mack raised his gaze from the now empty glass he’d been hunched over, partly because he was mentally and physically exhausted, but mostly so no one would bother him.

  He wasn’t there for small talk, but he was there for the booze.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Mack nudged the empty tumbler forward with one finger.

  As he leaned back while the bartender upended a bottle over the glass, he glanced around and took in his surroundings. The place had filled up a bit more since he’d arrived.