SEALed Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Includes bonus novel Jerked!) (2 page)

By the time I came up to breathe, it was already ten o’clock and I had a decision to make.

I could take what seemed like an impossibly lucky opportunity, suck it up, and go meet the man, or I could chalk this one up to a strange celebrity’s practical joke and decide to ignore it.

But I had already made up my mind hours ago. Really, I had made up my mind the second he’d invited me. When he’d looked at me with that intense stare, I had known I was going to do what he said.

Stomach flipping from nerves, I stood up and began to root through my closet for something appropriate to wear.

Something dressy and classy, but not too inviting for him.

This was strictly business, after all.

I had to keep telling myself that. With Nash Bell, everything had to be strictly business.

He was just too dangerous to get involved with.

Two Weeks Earlier

I
woke up, hangover pulsing through my skull.

Another fucking hangover. I could barely even remember the night before. I had a vague idea of some fucking club, loud music, plenty of sluts throwing themselves at me.

I looked across the sheets and, sure enough, some blond stranger was wrapped up in the comforter.

I groaned, rolling out of bed. What a fucking shit storm. I walked into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth out, and drank a cup of water.

“Baby?”

I looked back into the main room. The blond thing was sitting up, her thick hair spilling down around her shoulders, her bare tits standing firm and ripe.

“Not your baby,” I grunted at her.

“Whatever.” She smiled, crawling across the bed. “That was fun last night.”

“Sure,” I said. “I bet it was.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Eventually.” I looked at the time. “Got a fucking flight in a few hours.”

She stopped at the edge of the bed and motioned for me. I sighed, walking over to her.

She reached out and grabbed my cock through my thin boxers. “You have a few extra minutes, right?”

Another pussy, another city, another night. I stared at the girl and tried to remember her name, but I was drawing up a blank. Frankly, I couldn’t even remember what city I was in, let alone what club slut I had brought home the night before.

What the fuck was happening to my life? One day I was at the top of my game, killing fucking scumbag terrorists in one of the most dangerous places in the world, and the next I was rolling around the country getting my cock sucked by horny fans.

“Maybe another time,” I grunted to her, turning away.

“What?” she pouted. “Come on.”

I looked back at her. “Get your shit and get out.”

She stared at me, not sure if I was joking. “Come back here,” she said. “I’ll suck your cock, make you feel better.”

“Guess I wasn’t clear,” I said. “I’m taking a shower. Get the fuck out.”

I turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it.

I heard something thump against it. “Asshole!” she yelled.

Just another normal morning in my fucked up whirlwind of a life.

––––––––

“Y
ou’re late.”

I frowned at my watch. “Two minutes.”

“Still late.”

“What’d you sleep on, a fucking rock?”

“You know I like to be punctual, Nash.”

I grinned at her. “Yeah, I know that, Livy.”

She sighed and looked down at her phone’s calendar. Livy Green was my publicist and handler, and basically the bane of my fucking existence. If something was fun and felt good, Livy wanted to destroy it with fucking fire. The woman was a professional at keeping me on schedule and keeping me bored out of my fucking mind.

“Look,” she said, “we need to talk.”

“Can we talk on the way?”

She nodded and stalked off. I followed her, my skull pounding. I wasn’t looking forward to another lecture about my “conduct” and my “professionalism,” but it would be over soon enough.

Thing was, I didn’t exactly disagree with her. Yeah, I was partying too much, drinking too much, fucking too much. Yeah, I was enjoying the fucking fruits of my labor. Could anyone blame me? I had a thousand female fans that all wanted a piece of my cock and a thousand dollars in the bank begging to get blown on the next bullshit attraction.

I had just spent the better part of my life in the fucking desert, my balls owned by Uncle Sam. Didn’t the world owe me a tiny bit of fun?

This damn book. Truth was, I didn’t even write the thing. The stories were all more or less accurate, though some of them were fucked up a bit because of security reasons. I’d had a ghostwriter who actually did all the hard work, though. I told him what happened to me, the shit I did out there, and he made me look like some kind of fucking hero.

Which I wasn’t. I was just some asshole with a lot of particular skills that did his job. I wasn’t a hero, never asked to be one.

Didn’t matter anymore, though. Wasn’t like I could somehow go back in time and change things. The book was out, the world was fucking crazy for me, and I was stuck dealing with all the shit. Orders were fucking orders, even if they were some weird fucking orders.

I followed Livy outside. The guy working for the hotel out front wanted to take my bags, but I shrugged him off. I hated being treated like a celebrity. I could carry my own fucking luggage.

Soon we were in the back of a private car and speeding out toward Midway, one of Chicago’s airports.

“I spoke with Chuck this morning,” Livy said.

“Who?” I grunted.

“Chuck Davis. Your publisher.”

“Oh. Okay.” I stared out the window, barely listening.

“He’s the man that owns you now, Nash.”

That got my attention. I looked back at her. “What did you say?”

“Nash, I’ve been warning you for weeks now. I’ve been warning you that your behavior has been deplorable, that you couldn’t keep acting like a drunken idiot all the time.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What are you getting at?”

“You’re supposed to be the face of this war, Nash. You’re an all-American boy.”

“I never asked for any of that.”

“Too bad,” she said, sighing. “You’re supposed to be a moral, upstanding person.”

“And yet I’m the depraved asshole we both know and love.”

She smiled slightly. Livy wasn’t so bad looking. She was in her mid-thirties, incredibly tightly wound, with dark hair always kept in a bun, thin red lips, and a thin, tall body.

“Yes, exactly,” she said. She paused and sighed again, her smile disappearing. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Just say it, damn it,” I said. “Quit playing around.”

“Do you know what a morality clause is?”

“Not really.”

“It’s a clause in your contract. It basically means you have to be a moral, good person, the kind of hero the American people want and need. Otherwise, you’re in breach.”

“How the fuck can a contract control my actions?” I said, annoyed.

“It can’t. But if Chuck and the board decide that you’re antics are getting out of hand, they can invoke the morality clause and take everything away from you.”

I stared at her for a second as that sank in. “You’re fucking threatening me,” I said slowly.

“I’m not threatening,” she said. “This isn’t coming from me.”

“I know what a threat sounds like.”

She shook her head. “Listen to me, Nash. Threat or no threat, you have to get your shit together. Otherwise, Chuck is going to cut you out of any future deals regarding your book.”

“He can’t do that,” I said. “I’m the damn face of this whole fucking thing.”

“He can and he will.” She paused, looking at her phone again. “They’re optioning the book into a movie, you know. Lots of money you won’t get if you don’t get yourself together.”

I stared at her silently, raging on the inside. I wanted to smash something, scream in her face, but I knew that throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to fix shit.

Fact of the matter was, I was tied to these fucking corporate suits whether I liked it or not. I didn’t much care about their money, but I needed it anyway. I couldn’t let them cut me out, otherwise I’d be fucked on too many levels to count.

“Looks like I’m screwed,” I said.

“Just behave and you’ll be fine.” She looked back at her phone. “Now, let’s go over the itinerary.”

I half paid attention as she ran through what we were doing for the rest of the day. The book tour was still on-going, but I was ready to call it quits then and there. Suddenly, I had some assholes in a boardroom telling me how to act, telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I could break their spines with my bare hands, kill them all without blinking an eye, and yet I was supposed to be their proper little fucking American hero.

I hated that shit.

I was my own person, my own man. Maybe I’d gotten tangled up in this book business shit, but I’d never really asked for it.

Fucking bastards had me by the balls and they knew it.

I shook my head, staring out the window, plotting my next move.

I wasn’t going to be cowed, made to bow down.

I’d play their game. But I’d play it my way, and to fucking win.

I
climbed out of the Uber, feeling incredibly out of place.

It wasn’t often that I put on one of my most expensive dresses and went to meet a stranger at a nice bar. Actually, as far as I could remember, I hadn’t worn this dress since a wedding a few years earlier. It was short, black, and tight, showing off way too much cleavage, but it was the best I had on such short notice.

I frowned as I walked into the restaurant. Butcher And Singer was an upscale steak house, the sort of place where I couldn’t afford a drink, let alone an actual meal. The place was quiet inside, dimly lit and expensive looking. The woman standing at the hostess station looked like she could have been a model, all angular thin lines and tall legs.

“Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yes, hi. I’m supposed to meet someone here.”

“Name?”

“Nash.”

She glanced up at me, and I couldn’t help but notice the brief moment of surprise that crossed her face. She quickly looked back down at her book and nodded. “Right this way.”

I followed her into the main space. She led me through the main dining room, around a corner, and into a small private booth.

Sitting against the wall was Nash Bell. I stared at him, a little surprised that he was there. I had fully expected him to flake out and not show up as some stupid prank, but there he was, grinning at me and motioning for me to sit.

He was wearing an expensive-looking suit tailored perfectly to his body. He looked almost out of place wearing it, since he was normally in jeans and a tight T-shirt.

“Selena,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

“I was curious, I guess,” I said.

The waitress showed up a minute later. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just a glass of wine, please.”

The waitress looked at me. “We have a large selection of wines, miss, if you’d like to look at the menu?”

I blushed. “House white is fine.”

“Very good.” She disappeared.

“Snob,” Nash snorted.

I smiled at him. “She’s not a snob. Just doing her job.”

He shrugged, sipping his drink. I guessed it was whisky, but I couldn’t tell.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I could eat.”

He nodded at the menu. “Get whatever you want. It’s on the publishing house.”

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“Sure. They expense my meals. One perk of writing a fucking bestseller, I guess.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

He made a face. “Has its downsides, too.”

I nodded, taking my small notebook from my purse. “What kind of downsides?”

He stared at me and laughed. “You fucking kidding?”

I cocked my head to one side. “I thought this was an interview.”

“Put the notebook away,” he said, laughing and shaking his head.

“Okay.” I slipped it back into my purse. “If I’m not here to interview you, what am I here for?”

“We’ll get there.”