Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set (12 page)

His legs started to cramp before he remembered not to lock them straight, so he hurt like a motherfucker as he tried to disengage and deal with the condom while still being the attentive boyfriend. Somehow he got rid of it and eased himself down into the water, then her, too.

“Mmmm,” she said, curling up against his side.

“Mel?”

“Yeah?” She kissed his arm, then his chest, and giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have no idea. What were you going to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you crazy tired and weirdly sex-drunk right now?”

“Yes!” He laughed as he pointed back toward the bed. “Come on. Let’s have a nap.”

She grinned at him. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

Mel shook her head at her boyfriend of nine months. “You are certifiably crazy.”

“Uh-huh. Come on. Jump with me.”

They were in Belize, standing near the edge of a rock overhang, above a turquoise pool of standing water. It was safe—Cade wouldn’t ask her to do anything that wasn’t. This was an authorized jump point, blah blah blah.

Her heart still thumped wildly in her chest and her feet wouldn’t move any closer to the edge of the precipice.

“You know,” Cade murmured, his voice warm and low and sexy in her ear. “Local legend has it that there are gemstones in that pool.”

“What?” Mel rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense. For one thing, there would be a long line of morons throwing themselves off this cliff, and for another, the gems wouldn’t last long.”

“Maybe they’re magical and they only appear for the right divers. Soul mates or long-lost lovers.” He winked at the last part, a tease about the pirate romance novel she’d been reading while they were on vacation. Their first getaway together since Hawaii.

She laughed and held out her hand. “Okay, crazy man. Let’s go find some gemstones.”

Cade wrapped his hand around hers, his thumb rocking over the knuckle on her ring finger. “We’ll probably only find one.”

Blood rushed through her ears—
whoosh
—and her knees sagged a bit as she pressed her hand to her chest. “You didn’t leave a diamond ring down there.”

He grinned at her as he dropped to one knee. “Nope. Thought about it. Couldn’t be sure a fish wouldn’t eat it while I was gone.”

“You’re…wow.” She laughed, her own smile spreading wide across her face. “You’re doing this. Here. That’s…spectacular.”

“You’re spectacular.” Even down on one knee, Cade was still pretty tall, given that she was in bare feet, and he was a giant. So his handsome, sculpted face was right there for her to see and touch and trust.

He held on to her left hand while she traced his jaw with her right, and he waited until she processed what he was about to do before continuing. “You have become my best friend and most trusted counselor. You make me want to be a better man, every single day. You make me laugh. Most importantly, you love me, unconditionally, for
me
. And I want to do the same for you, every day for the rest of our lives. I want to make you coffee in the morning and rub your feet at night. I want to hold you in the dark and share secrets nobody else knows. I want you to have my babies and shower them with all the love in your heart. Melissa Vincent, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

She’d been nodding since he’d said she was his best friend, but when he got to the babies part, she’d burst into tears, and now her head was doing this weird bobble thing she couldn’t stop. “Yes, yes, yes. A hundred times yes. I want all of that, every day.”

He held up a picture of a gorgeous ring. Diamonds, set in a circle around a bigger pink diamond. A platinum band. “This is waiting for you back at the hotel.”

“Wow. That is exceptionally girly,” she said, grinning through her tears.

“It’s beautiful, and it reminded me of you.” He stood up and cupped her face his hands, kissing her softly, then not-so-softly as she teased his lips with her tongue.

“More kisses,” she whispered, and he picked her up, holding her tight as he gave her exactly what she wanted.

“I love you,” he said when they broke apart, both breathless and happy.

“You are the best boyfriend in the entire world,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. Then she stopped and got serious, because the next thing she needed to say was the biggest of deals. “And I know you’re going to be a wonderful husband. I know that deep in my bones, Cade Duncan.”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Ready to jump?”

“With you? Absolutely.”

—THE END—

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Keep reading the SEALs Undone series! Short, hot, fun reads about sexy Navy SEALs and the women they fall in love with.

Fall Out - Drew and Annie

Fall Hard - Jared and Cassie

Fall Away - Trick and Gaby

Fall Deep - Miles and Piper

Fall Fast - Nathan and Emme

Fall Back - Cade and Mel

Fall Dark - Vince and Larken

And if you like military romance, check out
Pine Harbour:
small town military romance at its best! The first book in the series,
Love in a Small Town
, is free at all retailers.

Six years. Two break-ups. One divorce.

They should be over each other…

CLICK HERE TO READ LOVE IN A SMALL TOWN

Zoe York lives in London, Ontario with her young family. She’s currently chugging Americanos, wiping sticky fingers, and dreaming of heroes in and out of uniform.

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GENRE: Science Fiction Romance

DESCRIPTION: a Mandrake Company adventure

When firefighter and mercenary Marat Azarov rescues a beautiful slave woman from a life of certain torment, he gets more than he bargained for.

Turn the page to begin reading
The Pirate Captain's Daughter
, or
click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

The
Pirate Captain’s Daughter
is one of several adventures (and romances) revolving around the Mandrake Company mercenaries, a space-faring combat unit living in a distant future in another planetary system. This story is designed so that you can read it without any familiarity with the series. I hope you enjoy it!

Before you jump in, please allow me to thank my beta readers, Cindy Wilkinson and Sarah Engelke, and also Shelley Holloway, my editor. They’re a tremendous help with the books!

A man with a bloodied nose and puffy lip flew out the doorway of the Broken Bucket, hit the grubby gray floor, skidded several feet, and crashed into a kiosk. A robot rolled out of the kiosk and immediately tried to interest his supine visitor in bodyguard protection services. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped unconscious.

Sergeant Marat Azarov paused so he would not step on the fallen figure. He tapped his comm-patch. “Striker? Deck Sub 3? Are you
sure
this is the right place?”

“Of course, I’m sure,” came Sergeant Striker’s drawl over the patch. “You’re almost there. Take a right at the end of the corridor, go down the stairs, and swipe your chip so they know you have money. Come on, hurry. They’re about to start.”

“Have money?” Marat mouthed.

Striker had promised that this place where they were “sure to find women” was
not
a brothel.

Several men were crowding the doorway of the Broken Bucket, a bar with a charming wooden plaque hanging out front, making it look like a pub from medieval times on Old Earth. The laser scorch marks that charred the bottom half of the sign somewhat ruined the effect, as did the holographic displays of caterwauling announcers covering sports events from all over the system.

Two bystanders crept out and rifled through the fallen man’s pockets, eyeing Marat as they did so. He eyed them right back. Even if they didn’t see his Mandrake Company patch and think twice about targeting a mercenary, his six feet, broad shoulders, and muscular frame usually convinced thieves to look elsewhere.

The opportunists slunk away from Marat’s frank stare, or maybe the disapproving scowl he was still wearing after talking to Striker. He stepped over the downed man, waved away the pushy sales robot, and spotted the right turn his colleague had mentioned.

A laser weapon screeched at the other end of the corridor. A woman screamed, and alarms went off. Two security androids stomped out of an alcove, their electronic eyes not quite human, their skin even pastier than that of most of the sun-deprived station goers. “Illegal use of personal protection systems. Halt and prepare to be arrested.”

Marat ducked into the alley, stepped over a drunken man marinating in his own piss, and kept his hand close to his laser pistol as he headed for the stairs.

“Hell of a place to spend shore leave,” he grumbled, already wishing he had saved his days for a more appealing port. But when one made a living fighting wars for others, appealing destinations were infrequent stops.

The stairs were busy with men pushing and jockeying, trying to get into a room at the crowded bottom. The air stank of human sweat, alcohol, and at least three kinds of hallucinogenic drugs that one smoked. What had Striker found? Some sporting event? Marat used his elbows and shoulders to push his way through, scarcely feeling the return jabs that found his ribs. He had muscles enough to armor them, and he had battled scarier things than human beings in his life; it would take more than a crowd to make him falter.

He
almost
faltered when he reached the bottom and saw why the crowd was there. Eight naked women stood on raised platforms, each woman—
prisoner
—bound with energy chains to an eyelet in the middle. Marat would have turned right around if a meaty hand hadn’t reached out of the press of bodies to latch onto his arm.

He spun toward it, a fist readied. But the broad face and spiky brown hair that appeared out of the crowd were familiar. They belonged to Marat’s putative squad leader, Sergeant Striker, self-titled Chief of Boom aboard the
Albatross
. That almost wasn’t enough to make Marat lower his fist.

“A slave auction?” he growled. “
This
is your idea of a great place to find women?”

“Just one woman.” Striker winked. “Come here. Let me tell you the plan.”

Marat didn’t move his feet, but he found himself tugged deeper into the room. He might be strong, but Striker was even bigger and brawnier than he was, and Marat had been pulled over to a support post shimmering with holographic wanted posters before he thought to resist.

“Instead of renting some woman by the hour,” Striker said, “I figured we could get one for keeps.”

“
We
?”

What in all the worlds in the system made Striker think Marat would want to be a part of this scheme? Was this because of the time on Vasquelin that he’d gone to a brothel with Striker? That whole experience had been a nightmare, at least for Marat.

“Slaves aren’t cheap,” Striker said. “I can’t afford one on my own, but I figured we could go halfsies.”

“
Halfsies
?” Marat found his fingers tightening into a fist again. “You can’t be serious. Even if you
are
serious, the captain wouldn’t let you bring a slave onto the ship. The married men can’t even bring their wives. You’re either crew, or you’re not.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve been thinking.” Striker tapped his finger to his temple. Striker thinking. Now there was a scary thought. “The captain’s
business
partner—” he put special emphasis on the word, as if everyone didn’t already know the captain was sleeping with Ankari, “—says she’s not real fond of the rations we get most of the time. I heard her telling Mandrake that the ship needs a cook. You
know
how he listens to her.”

Yes, and Marat knew why. He had been stuck on a space station with the captain and Ankari when the mafia had been trying to take it over. He knew first-hand that Ankari was a capable ally, not simply some decorative piece of fluff, and that Mandrake had been smart to get her on his side. But Striker was right in that Ankari often lamented the lack of a cook on the ship. And she wasn’t the only one who curled a lip at the prepackaged “food logs” that passed for meals.

“So, we get us a nice slave here. I was eyeing that one.” Striker smiled and nodded toward a black woman that reminded Marat of a less muscular version of Sergeant Hazel, whom Striker had been known to try to seduce a few times. “She
cooks
.” He fished in a pocket and drew out a folding tablet. He opened it, and a holodisplay formed in the air, showing bios of all eight of the women, along with their talents.