Jagger's Moves
Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press, Inc. publication.
Jagger’s Moves
by
Allie Standifer
SEALs On Fire Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Jagger’s Moves
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Allie Standifer
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, January 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-773-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This one’s dedicated to the awesome,
slightly insane ladies of the RHB loop.
Wouldn't have half as much torturing people without you ladies. Thanks for making me laugh,
kicking my butt when needed, and for loving my stories and characters as much as I do!
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author of this work of fiction
acknowledges the following trademarks:
World of Warcraft:
Blizzard Entertainment, Inc.
Viagra: Pfizer Inc. Corporation Delaware
Chapter One
"You've got to be the dumbest SOB alive, Jagger," Trip muttered from his sprawl in the lime green plastic chair. The man might look half-asleep, but Trip would know every marked exit, possible exits and have a memorized the passing individuals while sizing up their threat level.
Yeah, tell him something he didn't know, but Jagger kept his expression bland as he turned to look at his teammate, BUD/S partner, and best friend, Garrett "Trip" Trippington. "You didn't have to play tag along."
Tyler Jaggerstein regretted ever mentioning his leave to his mother. Because she just
happened
to tell her best friend. The same best friend who
happened
to be the mother of his childhood pen pal. A confusing relationship to be sure, but once the Westlake's moved away, the mothers were determined their children would grow up as friends even if distance separated them.
Now thanks to the combined efforts of his mother's Catholic guilt and Mrs. Westlake's Jewish passive aggressive double speak, he and his buddy were waiting at the airport.
"Shit, it's been fifteen years, man." Running a hand through his shaggy sun-bronzed hair Jagger paced the small arrival area in the Key West airport. "What the hell am I doing here wasting my—our—vacation time?"
Finally lifting his dark head, Trip narrowed his pale blue eyes as the two SEAL’s gazes met. Alpha male to alpha male, knowing neither one would give or cry uncle. "Hell, yes, I did have to play tag a long. The other guys are never going to believe me when I tell them about your little imaginary friend come to life."
"Trip, man, she's not imaginary. Hell, if she didn't exist, then why did our mothers set me up?" Again, Jagger pulled at the longer-than regulation length of his black hair. He thanked God his job allowed for something other than the buzz and brush most active members of the military suffered with.
"Cause your mama is tired of her baby boy lookin' like a dumb fuck and this is her way of helping you locate your balls." Pulling the tip of his straw cowboy hat over his eyes, Trip smiled around the toothpick rolling between his teeth.
"You're a moron," Jagger replied lamely as he lifted his watch for another time check. "She's a real woman, an author of some sort, and she's coming here for something to do with her books. I guess she'll try to pimp her books at that conference we saw the flyers to."
"Pimp her books? You suck, my friend. What if this chick is actually successful? Maybe she doesn't have to 'pimp' herself anywhere." The lecture came from beneath his buddy's hat without Trip moving once.
Damn, sometimes jealousy burned hot and bright at the ease the big Texan seemed to take in the world. It didn't matter if they were dropping out of a plane over enemy territory, playing World of Warcraft or driving through rush hour traffic on their way home from the Virginia base. Nothing shook Trip up to the point their C.O. ordered him through a complete physical after their last mission.
Trip, it seemed, felt three bullets in his body was nothing more than a bump and hadn't bothered to mention the injuries as they bugged out over the Iraq border. Hours after their evac and subsequent debriefing, Jagger went in search of his swim buddy and found him prepped for surgery.
The fuckin' dumbass, already high on happy juice, mumbled something about not holding back the team then passed out.
When he blinked those freaky wolf blue eyes open in the recovery room, their C.O. reamed his buddy a new one. Then happily ordered a battery of tests for Trip. Since his 'cough and cup' testing, Trip did his best to play better with the rest of the team. But the Texan still kept to himself too often and way too easily. Something Jagger was having more and more trouble doing as the minutes ticked by on his watch.
"She reeled you in faster than a bass on a hot Texas summer day," Trip drawled. The heavy sound of the South dragged out his voice even as he kept his head down and arms crossed over is broad T-shirt-covered chest.
"Tell you what, Trip." Jagger turned on his best buddy and felt a smile forming on his lips. "You think I'm being a pussy? Well, let's head out." Jagger waved one hand in the direction of the terminal doors while he used his other to pull out the sleek cell phone from his back jean pocket. He tossed the black cased gadget straight at Trip. And wasn't the least surprised when the other man caught without looking.
"What the hell, Jagger?" Trip actually moved to sit up while staring at the phone in his hand.
"You wanna bug out? Fine with me, but you're the one whose ass will be explaining why we're leaving." He nodded to the number he'd brought up in his list of favorites. Yeah, he'd eat his favorite pair of boots if Trip actually took the dare and made the call.
They might be big, mean, and had millions of dollars poured into their training, but no man remained immune from the all mighty power of the mother.
Trip shook his long, messy blonde hat-covered head before Jagger even finished speaking. "Hell no, man," Trip tossed the phone back to Jagger faster than a grenade with a missing pin. "You are not getting me mixed up in your mommy issues."
"Asshole"
"Prick"
The two men looked at each other and smiled in perfect understanding and harmony until reality announced the arrival of Alexa's flight from New Orleans.
"I'm here. I'll pick her up, swing by the house, let you out, drop Alexa off then meet the rest of you at the bar. Just leave a few cold beers and hot women for me," he joked even as his stomach churned.
Yep, that was the plan. Pick Alexa up, exchange a few token pleasantries, dump her off wherever she requested and hightail it back to his boys, beer and a few blondes.
The small airport situated right outside the Key catered to a few small private charters. Alexa must have some pull or money to arrange her own plane and pilot. They waited in the air-conditioned coolness, eyes squinted to the horizon.
"This must be her plane." Trip broke into his thoughts.
Sure enough a small twin-engine plane drew closer with each passing moment. Within minutes, the red and white Piper landed and taxied to a smooth stop while airport attendants scurried across the tarmac with a set of portable stairs and blocks for the wheels.
"Half an hour, right, Jagger. Then you'll dump the word-nerd and meet us for drinks and dames."
"Dames?" he snorted out the word. "Who the hell says dames anymore and with a Texas accent? Doesn't work well with you, my friend."
"Oh, shut the fu—" Trip's word stuttered to a stop as his friend's gaze jerked to something over Jagger's shoulder.
"Huh? What—"
Jagger turned to follow his friend's gaze. What met his eyes had his mouth drying up even as his cock hardened behind the zipper of his fly. "Come to papa," he whispered as he visually striped the goddess exiting the plane.
"I got dibs, Jagger. You're already called for, remember?" Without even looking at his friend, Jagger heard the smirk in Trip's voice.
Shit, for a woman like this one, he'd call a cab for Alexa, toss her some cash, wish her the best, and deal with the moms combined anger. 'Cause a perfect slice of curvy heaven didn't walk into his world everyday. Long tanned legs he wanted wrapped around his waist. Silky sable hair pined up in a loose sexy bun framed a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full, lush glistening lips. Only a pair of oversized black sunglasses kept him from seeing the true beauty of her eyes.
Blue? Brown? Green? Something truly extraordinary he was sure. Nothing ordinary would fit the Venus strutting toward him in a red sundress.
"Looks like we're both out of luck, buddy. Our goddess seems to be taken." Trip's low spoken words pulled Jagger out of his visual inspection of the female only to notice the well-dressed companion tucked close to her side.
An older gentleman, six foot, dark hair with gray at the temples, dressed in a fancy expensive suit complete with light green tie, tucked himself close to Garrett's woman's side.
"That suit?" He snorted a laugh, already dismissing the older male as no threat. "I could take him out, drunk with both my hands broke. Besides, women everywhere love their military men. We're SEALs, man." He clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "Women have a thing for SEALs."
"Might be true, bud, but some ladies aren't too much for the blood shed. They actually like men who know something about wine, art, and shit like that. What the fuck are you going to talk to her about? The twenty ways to use C-4 when exploding an enemy camp? How to field strip a 9mm?"
"Those are damn important things to know," Jagger objected more from habit than passion. "They'll save your life more than knowing which fork to use at dinner. Which is probably the only thing pretty boy knows."
A sharp elbow poked his ribs. "Here's your chance to find out one way or another, stud man."
The smile his beauty shot the man at her side went straight to his groin. Shit, if he didn't get his head together, he'd lose the goddess to the three-piece suit. Never mind that Trip would rag Jagger about it for the rest of their lives.
The goddess in the swirling red sundress closed the distance between them. Her head was turned in profile, speaking to the unworthy man at her side. The words flowing out in her husky voice weren't English. Sounded German to him. But his language skills sucked at best. He'd barely made it through his foreign language Navy courses.
The other man smiled down at the woman on his arm, brimming with confidence, secure in his knowledge he had no other competition.
Moron
, Jagger thought with an inner snort of contempt. If he had this woman in his life, on his arm, he'd never stop looking out for her or the possible dangers to his female.
"You gonna man up or should I start dying your camos a pretty pink?"
"Bastard," Jagger snarled back at his friend good naturally. "She'll be in my bed before the night's out."
"So sure of yourself?"
"There's nothing women love more than honoring a military man."
"Care to wager on that?"
"Nope." Jagger shook his head. "My mama taught me to never bet on women, horses, or honest politicians."
"Keep your money then, Jagger. I'd rather have the lady anyway."
"In your dreams, brother man."
"You'd know nothing about my dreams."
The woman stopped a few feet away from him, a harassed look crossing her pretty face. The pompous man at her side whispered fast and low in her ear, but she was only paying him half her attention.
In English, she replied flatly, "Really,
Herr
Hitzig, I assure you, I'll be fine. As much as I enjoyed our conversation on the plane, I really need to go."
She tugged on her arm, but the German refused to budge. The thick mustache above his lip twitching as he responded in rapid German while a red flush of anger or desire mottled his face.
"Ma'am?" Jagger interrupted their little gabfest when he noticed the man's hand tightening around her silky upper arm.
