Wed to a SEAL (Hot SEALs) (Volume 8) (2 page)

He was home. Drinking. Well fed. Single and carefree. Barracks room though it was, he was going to sleep in his own bed, after showering in his own bathroom. His bills were paid and his career was kick-ass.

His life—at least for tonight—was just about perfect except for the fact that as long as he was an active duty SEAL, a text from command could come at any time.

Rocky tracked the progress of one of his favorite girls as she crossed the stage. Jasmine.

He could finish his beer and then grab her for a private dance.
Then
the evening would be perfect. He smiled at the thought.

Life was good.

Lifting his beer, he downed the last of it and stood. He’d go outside and plug his phone into the charger in the dashboard. He could check for any messages from command. Then he could come back inside and leave the phone charging while he enjoyed some attention from sweet Jasmine for a little while.

Command could wait the twenty minutes or so it would take for him to check the cell again. He was right outside the gate. He could be back on base and in the meeting room in five minutes from here.

Happy with that plan, Rocky stood and headed for the door.

CHAPTER 2

Isabel Alvarez. Single mother. Illegal immigrant. Stripper.

Her bio wasn’t exactly stellar and not at all what she’d planned when she’d left Cuba as a starry eyed girl heading off to university in America.

How had this become her life?

Isabel stared into the mirror in the dressing room of the club, but the dark-haired woman with big brown frightened-looking eyes and tawny skin reflected back didn’t supply any answers.

“You leaving for the night already?” Jasmine reached for a towel and cut her gaze to Isabel.

“I have to. The babysitter can’t stay any later.”

Jasmine nodded. “I hear you. Thank God babysitters make far less an hour than I can earn here or I’d never make ends meet.”

As Isabel hung her costume in her locker, she watched Jasmine swipe on a layer of red lipstick. Even though the woman had worked as long a day shift as Isabel had, she apparently was staying for at least part of the night shift too. “You’re going back out on the floor?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You working a double?” As mentally and physically exhausting as this job could get, Isabel should be working double shifts herself. She needed the money, but she needed her babysitter to be able to work when she did and that wasn’t happening today.

“Nah, I’m not staying all night but I saw one of my best customers out there. It’ll be worth it to stay late for this guy. After being gone for a while, those Navy guys are more than willing to part with their money. SEALs especially. They work hard but let me tell you they play even harder. This one’s not too hard on the eyes either. Definitely won’t be a hardship showing him a little extra attention in the back room.” Jasmine’s red lips tipped up in a smile.

Isabel lifted a brow as she listened to Jasmine’s plan for the evening. “Didn’t you tell me the day I started that if a customer told me he was a SEAL, then he was a liar?”

Since that had been only a couple of months ago, she was sure she remembered the lecture correctly.

Jasmine nodded. “I did and it’s true.”

Confused, Isabel shook her head. “Then why—”

“He never told me what he does. Never told me anything but a nickname and believe me I asked. That right there would have told me he is what I think he is. But besides that, he’s got the SEAL insignia tattooed right there.” Jasmine rubbed her fingers high on the front of her thigh to indicate where this guy’s tattoo was.

“Oh.” Wide-eyed, Isabel didn’t question how her coworker had seen this man’s upper thigh or when. Some things were better unasked.

Though Jasmine’s cash earnings being so high made a lot more sense now.

“All right. I better get back out there before somebody else gets to him first. Have a good night, sweetie. I know I will.” Jasmine winked and turned on one high heel toward the door.

“’Night.” Isabel watched her coworker leave, as her own emotions roiled within her.

She couldn’t do this job. Not if working here meant that men expected her to do more than just dance. What Jasmine was obviously not only willing, but eager to do.

Of course, Isabel was no virgin or a saint. The fact she’d had a baby without the benefit of having a husband proved that. But to give a stranger anything more than the standard lap dance was beyond her.

At least right now it was. If things got any worse in her life who knew what desperate measures she’d resort to. Apparently she didn’t make the best decisions.

Her ex, Tito, and everything that had happened in Miami proved that. And even though Isabel loved her daughter beyond reason and would do anything for her, little Lola’s mere existence was proof of her bad decision making as well.

The whole course of events that led to Isabel being here—in Virginia, in this strip club—proved she needed to keep her head on straight and make better choices.

From now on, she would.

Resolute, she reached for the make-up remover. She had to get back to her apartment, but she wasn’t about to walk in looking like a stripper . . . even if that was exactly what she was.

The babysitter—her neighbor’s thirteen year old daughter Hannah—didn’t know the details about what Isabel did for work and she intended to keep it that way.

It took some time to get all the make-up, not to mention the glitter off. She made do with just making sure her face was not glistening with the telltale stripper adornment.

Her clothes would cover the rest of her skin so Isabel could wait until she got home to shower.

When she was finally presentable, she grabbed her bag and headed out the back door tonight. It meant a longer walk to where she’d parked her car, but she figured it was easier to leave through the back than to work her way across the club packed with customers to go out the front door the way she usually did.

It wasn’t very late at night, but sunset came early this time of year.

She stepped into the darkness and glanced around her. Habit, she supposed. Being on the run tended to make a person extra vigilant.

Though if she were really being careful she shouldn’t be back behind the club where it was pitch black and there was no one who would see her if she needed help.

Feeling uncomfortable being so alone in the dark, she made a decision. Next shift she’d deal with the crowd and exit through the front where there were plenty of people around. Safety in numbers.

She hustled a little faster through the darkness but breathed easier when she rounded the corner and was greeted by the warm glow of the parking lot lights overhead.

There were a couple of people hovering around the front entrance smoking cigarettes. The engine of a parked car rumbled to life as the headlights flipped on, while a pick-up truck pulled into the entrance and slowed to a stop, obviously waiting to take the car’s space in the crowded lot.

Blowing out a breath, she tried to calm her racing heart, the result of her frightened sprint from the back door to her car.

She’d gotten herself scared for nothing. Even so, she was definitely leaving by the front door from now on. No reason to take any chances.

As she dug in her bag for her key, which she realized should have been out and in her hand before she ever left the building, the owner of the truck was opening the front door of the club. As he held it, the two smokers ground out their cigarettes and followed him in.

She was alone again, but at least it wasn’t dark.

Grateful when she felt the key ring in her purse, she pulled it out.

All this stress couldn’t be good for her health. People had heart attacks even at only twenty-one, didn’t they?

Even if she didn’t fall over from cardiac arrest, her letting herself worry obsessively could probably dry up her milk. Not only would she have to deal with an unhappy three-month old, she’d also have to spend money on formula. Not to mention losing her best asset at the club—her double D-cups brought on by breastfeeding. Any reduction in her tips would be financially devastating.

She was being silly. Again. There’d be no heart attack. No drying up of milk. No getting attacked in the dark not far outside the gates of a US Naval base.

If anything defeated her, it would be her own mind and self-doubt. Isabel realized that. Now she just had to figure out what to do about it.

Sighing, she opened the car door and tossed her bag inside before sliding behind the steering wheel. Soon she’d be home. She’d kiss her baby, have a hot shower and a warm meal and feel a hundred percent better.

Turning the key in the ignition, she waited for the car to start but nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

No sputtering. No whining. No sounds of an engine trying to come to life.

Panic gripped her anew. What could be wrong?

How should she know? Cars were not her area of expertise. She’d been in school for biology. Pre-med to be exact. If she ever got the mess her life had become cleaned up, she wanted to be a doctor.

Even one year short of earning her undergraduate degree, healing a human body seemed far easier than fixing a combustion engine.

She could reason this out. She was a smart woman. She took the key out and checked the gear shift. It was in Park so that wasn’t it.

Pressing the brake pedal, she slid the key back in and turned.

Again, she wasn’t rewarded with the sound she desperately wanted to hear.

A knock on the window right next to her head had her jumping in the seat. She peered out and saw nothing but the broad torso of a man blocking her view of all else out the side window, until he bent low and made a motion for her to roll down the glass.

Afraid to open the window to the bearded stranger, she yelled, “The car won’t start.”

He nodded. “I know. If you let me take a look at the engine, maybe I can figure out why. Pop the hood.”

The whole situation had the feeling of enormity. As if the decision she made next could mean her own life or death.

The front door of the club swung wide and a single man stepped out. She saw the flash of a lighter as he leaned against the building and took a drag from the cigarette.

She was being foolish. This man obviously wasn’t trying to kill or kidnap her from the front of a busy club. He’d wanted her to roll down the window so they could talk about her car without yelling and he needed her to unlatch the hood so he could look for a problem.

All reasonable requests, and she’d met them with suspicion. But she was a woman alone and he was a man—a large man by the looks of him—so he’d just have to get over her suspicion.

She reached down and struggled to find the release for the hood beneath the dash. She finally had to give in and admit she couldn’t find it in the dark. All the while, he stood by, arms crossed, waiting.

He didn’t move except to step back when she unlocked the door so she could open it. Once she did, the dome light flashed on.

She didn’t have time to look for the latch before he’d already taken a step forward. He swung the door wider, reached down and pulled on the lever. The hood released with a loud
pop
.

“Don’t try to start it until I say. Okay?” He waited for her answer, probably starting to doubt her mental capacity since she was acting like an idiot.

“Okay.”

Once he seemed convinced he could trust her to follow instructions, he stepped around to the front of the car and she lost sight of him as he raised the hood.

Now that the fear of bodily harm was passing, the more real concern of what she’d do if her car was broken took over. She didn’t have any money saved for emergencies. Certainly not enough for a big repair bill from a service station.

“Okay, give it a go.”

Wanting to do the right thing, she decided it was best to confirm first. “You mean try to start it?”

He walked into view. “Yeah. Turn the key, but don’t pump the gas. You’ll flood it.”

She did as he’d asked and the car rumbled to life. Her eyes drifted closed as she said a silent prayer of thanks and let herself breathe again.