Conceit (Se7en Deadly SEALs Book 1) (10 page)

I pulled up to hotel entrance with Ksenya and tossed the valet my keys. I pressed her against the building. My lips met hers, and her fiery mouth tasted as sweet as freedom.

She let out a slow, sweet moan. My cock hardened in my jeans—only a fine layer of denim between it and her wet panties. Navy SEALs rarely wore underwear.

I checked in at the front desk, the key already waiting for me. One of my Team guys knew the concierge; whenever one of the suites was vacant, he was happy to let one of us use it.

Ksenya’s mouth dropped when I opened the door to the suite. The pad was pure decadence: a black leather sofa faced the gold stripper pole, a mirror overhead. A full bar beckoned to me.

“Oh, Grant. This place it is very beautiful. It must be very expensive. Do you come to here many times?”

I studied her face; she looked almost dazed.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I have a friend who hooks me up. Would you like a drink?”

She smiled in agreement, so I poured her a glass of wine, myself a shot of whiskey. She studied the pole. “You want me to dance for you now?”

Hell yeah, I did. But I didn’t want her to feel cheap. “Let’s just relax for a bit.”

“Can I look around?”

“Sure. Make yourself at home.” She walked around the suite, examining the pole, the gaudy painting of a naked woman to the right of the bar.

I downed my shot, and poured another, then another. My head buzzed from my earlier beer.

She sat on one of the bar stools, slowly sipping her wine.

Then I saw it. Her lips. Big and pouty, but the left edge of her mouth curled when she smiled. Just like Mia’s used to.

Fuck. I was still so hung up on that girl that even sitting here with a beautiful woman, all I could think about was my ex.

I studied Ksenya’s face. It was perfect. Completely symmetrical, as if an artist had sculpted it. No imperfections, like the small bump Mia had on her nose. Still, I’d loved Mia’s face; she was unique. She
had
been all mine. I was still not sure why I was never enough for her. But that was history. This was my present.

Ksenya bounced her knees, fidgeting in her swivel chair. I turned the satellite stereo on in the room. “Undressed” by Kim Cesarion was playing. Perfect.

“Dance for me.” I relaxed on my sofa, the bottle of whiskey in my hand, waiting for my private show.

Her skin flushed, and her fingers brushed down her side. My every nerve tingled.

A wicked smile slowly built on her lips, and she pranced up to the pole. She teased me with glimpses of her tan thighs, the round curve of her back. She was baiting me, fondling her chest.

“Take off your dress.”

She obliged and it slid onto the carpet. Man, she was incredible. Easily the finest woman I’d ever laid my eyes on. Including actresses, porn stars, and every stripper I’d ever fucked. She was too good to be true.

“Now your bra.” I set the bottle down.

With one hand, she unhooked her red lace bra. I motioned her to the sofa, and she rubbed her breasts in my face. My tongue lashed at them, but she slapped me away and backed to the other end of the cushions. The friction from my jeans reminded me how much I wanted her, and my breath hitched. Fine, I’d play—for now. I couldn’t wait to have my way with her.

“Show me your pussy.”

Her fingers traced down her stomach, and she pushed off her panties. Her skin looked soft and warm, a thin landing strip begging me to devour it.

I lowered my voice, touched my tongue to my upper lip. “Come here.”

Naked except for her heels, she crawled over to me. She pushed herself on top of me and straddled my lap. I closed my eyes for a second, just to feel her sensational body pressing down on mine. I lived for this moment, the moment of anticipation before I hit my target. I leaned in for a kiss.

“I told you, I don’t do extras,” she hissed before my mouth found hers.

“Don’t tease me, baby.”

“I gave you the dance you paid for earlier tonight. If you want to see me again, you can come by club. Tomorrow.”

She kissed my neck, my face, her warm tongue tracing my ear, and I imagined her tongue dancing around my cock. Her lips pulled away from me, and she quickly gathered her clothes, dressed, and slammed the door behind her.

Fuck.

My balls burned. I could’ve easily stopped her, but I knew I was being an asshole. After having my heart ripped to shreds by Mia, I just couldn’t allow myself to see women as good for anything other than sex. Women treated me like this too—none of the San Diego coeds wanted to get to know Grant, they just wanted to be fucked by a Navy SEAL, something to brag about to their sorority sisters. I figured after getting fucked over by Mia, these types of emotionless hookups with no future were the only way for me.

Maybe I was wrong and Ksenya was just a typical stripper playing me—after money, fame, or power—getting me all worked up so I would give into whatever she demanded. But I had to have her. I was ready to play her game.

***

I RACED OUT OF THAT hotel suite and headed to the elevator—pressing those stupid buttons and begging those doors to take me away from this nightmare. I reached into my purse to grab my cell phone and call for a cab.

Did I just squander my best chance to find out the truth and save Joaquín? After everything I’d gone through to get here, how could I be so careless?

I flicked off those ridiculous heels and threw them in my purse. I was wrong—I didn’t have what it took to accomplish this. I couldn’t handle being treated like a whore. Not by the love of my life. I fantasized about unbridled passion with Grant, nothing off-limits. But I had to feel like he saw me as more than a random stripper to get off with. I had just wanted to tease him, bait him, but I panicked when I couldn’t control my emotions. I needed to regroup.

The blue light on the elevator button taunted me.
Open!

Thump, thump, thump.

I didn’t need to look back. The rhythm of Grant’s gait gave him away.

I shuffled back a step. He had always been protective of me as Mia, but I was impressed that he had come back to retrieve a stripper.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I shuddered. “Ksenya, I’m sorry. You’re so fucking sexy, and I can be a prick when I’m drunk. I can call you a taxi or you can stay here with me. I won’t touch you.”

The elevator door opened. My resolve forced my feet to stay put and not hightail it inside. I had to see this through, stay with him tonight. His false bravado masked his loneliness. I knew the real Grant. Deep down, I wanted to comfort him, hold him, make love to him, be the woman he needed, and apologize for abandoning him.

But my only goal now was to get him to trust me. “I forgive you.”

His arms extended to me, and he pulled me into his chest. For a second, I tried to resist, retreat into my shell, but I found comfort in his embrace. His bulging arms seemed almost twice the size they had when I had seen him at his apartment in January—how was that even possible? Sure, he was twenty-three now, not the same lean nineteen-year-old boy I’d fallen in love with. But his biceps were massive, like one of those slicked-up bodybuilding guys you saw on television. Was Grant using steroids? I’d seen him only six months ago, and he hadn’t been this ripped.

I couldn’t dismiss this thought, especially now. I had to find out what had happened to Tiffany, and I refused to allow myself to let my feelings for Grant get in the way of my mission. What was the link, where were the clues? Drugs, sex, money? Maybe that saké and wine were too potent, because not a thing about Grant, or this night, made any sense to me. This man standing in front of me, who could easily be Thor’s stunt double, was nothing like the man he’d once been, the man I’d given my heart to.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I nodded, and we walked back into the hotel room. He poured me a glass of water, and we snuggled up on the sofa. This was more like it. He stroked my hair, and I nuzzled his chest. I had so many questions, but I couldn’t decide which ones to start with.

My throat burned. “Why did you take me to here? Do you have girlfriend at your home?” My heart thumped. I didn’t want to know the answer to this question, not that I had any reason to believe he would tell me the truth.

He swallowed and his voice softened. “Nah, babe. I just thought you’d like this place. I just wanted to take you somewhere nice, figured you weren’t used to a place like this. I had a girl once, a few years ago. She left me when I was in an accident.”

This time he wasn’t lying. I blinked back tears; my brown contacts itched. After my parents died, I couldn’t imagine loving someone so deeply and losing them. Being the sister of a SEAL was bad enough; I couldn’t fathom being the widow of one.

“I am sorry, Grant. I don’t understand how she could leave you when you were not well.”

But I did know. I had left Grant, but it wasn’t because I didn’t love him. I loved him more than anything—even more than my own brother, though I’d never admitted that to anyone. But seeing Grant laid up in a hospital bed, a deep scar under his neck, his chiseled face bandaged, I couldn’t…I wouldn’t go through that agony again. I watched my parents cling to this earth hooked to respirators, and I’d had to help make the agonizing decision to turn off their life support. When Joaquín had called and told me Grant had been trapped in a vehicle that had been destroyed by a roadside bomb, I knew I couldn’t go through the pain of losing someone I loved so deeply again. I was too young, too fragile after losing my parents, too scared to trust again. So I’d walked away from him, from us, and had regretted it ever since.

And that wasn’t the only reason. Something had happened to me while Grant was deployed. I’d done something stupid and paid the consequences. My shame for my lack of judgment bore at me, and I didn’t want to explain myself to Grant. So I took the easy way out and ran, like a coward.

He lifted my chin with his hand. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re different than the other strippers I’ve met, and I thought you were into me. One of my buddies is having a rager tomorrow at this townhouse he’s housesitting in Pacific Beach. Would you like to come with me?”

Hooyah! There it was. The golden ticket. The invite I’d been waiting for. This was actually working. Old Grant never invited me to the beach parties—I’d been relegated to family days with four-year-olds running around with melting Popsicle sticks. I remembered the rules—no wives, no girlfriends. Men only. But I wasn’t dense—I knew their bashes had no shortage of willing women thrilled to be in the presence of sexy SEALs. These women were peripheral ghosts to every SEAL wife and girlfriend.

I knew I was in.

“I would love to go to beach.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, nuzzled his ear. He attempted to kiss me, but I turned away. The sharp stubble from his beard grazed my cheek. I wanted him to pin me down and ravage me, but it was completely out of the question.

“I’ll pick you up at the club at seven. Feel free to invite any of your hotty friends.”

You got it, buddy!
I clenched my hands to contain my joy, fearful that Grant would somehow realize my true intentions. “Oh, I will. They will love to come. I not want you to think I go home with all man I meet at strip club. You are first, I promise this to you.”

His leaned into me and made firm eye contact. “I believe you.”