To Dare a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (3 page)

Chapter Three

M
onday night had threatened to drive her crazy between Jack’s brothers and that stupid bet. But Tuesday’s shift just might break her.

She turned her back to the bar and wrapped her hand around the Jack that promised comfort—and nothing more—for the weeping sailor at the far end of the bar.

Her grip tightened around the bottle as she glanced over her shoulder at her crying customer. Jack Daniels’ brand of comfort would leave the young man with a wicked hangover, and in the morning, he’d still have the pain of losing his best friend.

She quietly set the bottle in front of the young man and his friend perched on the barstool beside him mainlining water. But the crying sailor’s designated driver eyed the Jack Daniels.

“Have a drink with your friend,” she said. “And I’ll call you a cab at the end of the night.”

The sober sailor gave a curt nod. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Natalie,” she corrected as someone at the far end of the bar called her name. She left the young men, turned toward the familiar voice, and braced for a melt-your-panties-off smile from the Jack that left her weaker than a whole bottle of liquor.

Jack Barnes—the Jack in her life who’d made a bet that he could claim a place in her bed—waved to her as he claimed a stool. She headed for the opposite end of the long, wooden bar. She stopped directly in front of him and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t start with me tonight, Jack. You’re not going to win. But if you try…”

Her thoughts traveled down the length of the bar to the crying sailor. When the sailor first dissolved into tears, the former designated driver had whispered an explanation. The weeping sailor had flown back from the Middle East with one hand on his best friend’s casket. They’d enlisted together, fought together, but only one of them had come home.

“Not tonight,” she said, fighting to hide the tremor in her voice.

“How about a beer?” he asked, his smile fading. “While I cheer you up.”

She shook her head and turned to the taps to pour his usual. She doubted Prince Charming could remove the weight resting on her shoulders. She knew grief and loss. The crying sailor’s pain wouldn’t vanish after a long visit with Jack Daniels. It would be there tomorrow when he woke up.

She pressed the lever and stopped the flow of beer before Prince Charming’s cup overflowed. Glancing down the bar, she watched the teary-eyed sailor down another shot. She should probably cut the kid off and send him home now. Lessen the headache in the morning even if she couldn’t fix the heartache of losing his best friend.

“One more shot, kid,” she murmured. And then she turned to the other side of the bar—and bit back a growl.

A woman who looked like she’d walked off the set of a country music video and headed for Bottom’s Up went for the empty stool beside Jack. The click of her cowgirl boots on the bar’s wooden floor announced her approach. And Jack gave the woman his full attention. Natalie could practically see him running through a mental checklist.

Cutoff jean shorts that bordered on indecent? Yes.

Fitted white T-shirt over her red, white, and blue bikini top? Uh-huh.

Warm, welcoming, I’ll-hand-you-my-panties-after-one-drink smile?

Natalie cocked her head and studied the red-haired, green-eyed beauty as she removed her cowboy hat and claimed the empty stool. The woman’s smile was shy but guarded, almost like she’d selected that particular stool in spite of Jack, not because of him.

A handful of her regulars glanced at the newcomer too, and for a second Natalie wondered if the woman might be someone slightly famous. Thanks to her lack of cable TV, all the housewives in Orange County could parade through her bar and Natalie wouldn’t have a clue.

She headed over to deliver Jack’s drink and watched as the woman’s shy veneer vanished. The redhead’s lips parted and her eyes widened.

Natalie froze, still holding Jack’s beer. She could deliver it, turn, and walk away. Or—

“Oh, wow, you’re a Navy SEAL. Your job must be so
hard
,” the woman said.

Or she could listen to Jack pick up the newcomer. Her jaw tightened. That was just what this night needed.

“Some days it’s tough,” Jack admitted. “Today gave me a headache. But I hear sex cures headaches. Want to give it a shot?”

She walked over and slammed his beer down on the bar, interrupting before the California Cowgirl could offer a breathy “yes” and drag Jack out the door. She didn’t want Prince Charming driving her crazy from one end of the bar while the sad, miserable sailor at the other end left her wishing she could escape to the back for a long, hard cry—but she hated the thought of him “curing” his headache with the redhead.

“I’ll take your money now if you’re headed out,” Natalie said, trying for a matter-of-fact, I-don’t-care-if-you-bang-the-cowgirl tone. She failed. But damn if something that felt an awful lot like jealousy was nipping at her heels.

Because twenty-four hours ago, U.S. Navy SEAL Jack Barnes had kissed
her
. He’d bet on
her
. She refused to let him win. But still—

“We’re not going anywhere just yet,” Jack said. “Miss Casey, would you like a beer?”

Casey the Cowgirl shook her head. “A shot of tequila, please. I think I need to start tonight off with something strong.”

Natalie spun around, not waiting until the redhead’s gaze lingered over Jack’s powerful biceps. She should probably do them both a favor and tell Casey that subtlety wasn’t necessary with Mr. Sex Cures Headaches. They didn’t need to hang out at her bar and get smashed before they left together. And dammit, the last thing Natalie needed on her final shift before heading to Vegas was a bar full of drunks.

She pressed her lips together as she poured the shot, trying to beat back the green-eyed, jealous monster. Slim chance. When had fate ever given her what she needed?

“T
hank you,” Jack said to the young woman who looked like she’d taken a detour on the road to Nashville. “For playing along.”

“My pleasure,” Casey said, toying with her cowgirl hat. “But I’m not sure jealousy is the way to go. She looks angry.”

“Yup,” he agreed, raising his glass and taking a sip. He kept his gaze fixed on Natalie, watching her abrupt movements as she poured the tequila. No doubt about it, the bartender was pissed at him. But he’d rather see her spitting mad at him than looking like she was on the verge of tears.

And when he’d sat down tonight, the woman who defined feisty 364 days of the year looked as if her dog had died. Shit, Jack had been tempted to text Cade and ask if Mufasa, the dog his teammate co-owned with Natalie, was all right. He could have pressed Natalie for details, but he suspected she’d pour his drink over his head before having a heart-to-heart with him.

“Trying to win the bet before we hit Vegas?” Ronan’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“No.” Jack set his beer down on the bar. He wasn’t “winning” anything tonight. Natalie had been clear on that, and judging from the rowdy Tuesday night crowd, she was in for a long shift.

She picked up the tequila shot and rushed over. She set it down in front of Casey and glanced at his teammate. “The usual, Ronan?”

“When you get a chance,” his teammate said.

She nodded and turned to the lineup of people calling her name and shouting out drink orders. But instead of pointing to one and saying,
You’re first, what are you having
, she glanced toward the end of the bar.

“Hold your horses,” she called to the crowd as she headed for the young man balling his eyes out over a shot glass. A bottle of the hard stuff sat in front of him.

“She’s not having a good night,” Jack said. And then he watched as she covered the crying man’s hand with her own. She leaned across the bar until her forehead was practically touching the man bent over his shot glass.

“I think you might have a better chance if you pretend to cry,” Casey said. She raised her tequila to her lips and took a sip. “Might work better than trying to make her angry and jealous.”

Behind his left shoulder, Ronan let out a loud laugh. “Jack doesn’t need to try to make Natalie angry. He’s a natural. But jealous? I wish I’d seen that.”

Casey glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of Jack’s teammate. “I love your accent,” she murmured.

“Ronan, take my stool.” Jack stood, abandoning the beer he’d barely touched. “I’m going to see if Natalie needs a hand.”

Knowing the wandering cowgirl would enjoy his replacement far more—even though the chances of the SEAL officer taking Casey home were slim to none due to his no one-night stands rule—Jack headed for the opposite end of the bar.

Natalie had slipped away to serve her demanding customers, but the man whose hand she’d been holding was silently shaking as tears rolled down his face. His friend sat beside him, equally grim.

“Hey man,” Jack said to the stone-faced friend. “Everything all right?”

The guy glanced at him. “He’s taking the loss hard.”

Jack assumed a parade rest position, hands clasped behind his back as the whole story poured out.

“Jack, leave them alone,” Natalie said, her voice breathless from rushing around the bar and filling orders. She placed her palms flat on the bar.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not harassing the kid. I’m going to take them home.”

Her eyes widened. “What about your new friend?”

“She’s in good hands.” He helped the drunken sailor off the stool, holding the man close to his side to keep him from falling down. “I wasn’t interested in her, Natalie.” He looked up and saw the blatant disbelief in Natalie’s sharp gaze.

“But—”

“I want you, Natalie. And I have the entire weekend to prove it to you.”

Chapter Four

“I
s this your idea of revenge?” Natalie demanded, her cell pressed to her ear as she stared at the fuchsia abomination hanging on the door to her bedroom closet.

“Cade dropped off the dress?” her little sister asked mildly.

“Your fiancé dropped off the dress and ran away before I unzipped the enormous garment bag,” Natalie said. “Coward.”

Lucia laughed. “You don’t like it?”

“No.” Natalie eyed the fluffy pink dress that looked like something a ballerina would wear to play the part of the wedding cake, not the maid of honor. Having never set foot in a ballet class, Natalie had never been this close to so much tulle. It felt ominous and threatening. And she wondered if the hideous dress just might eat her alive.

“But that was the point, wasn’t it?” Natalie continued. “You wanted revenge.”

Fourteen months ago, Lucia had gone to Vegas to pick up a stranger at a masquerade party. Natalie’s little sister had planned on one wild night with a man who would never glimpse beneath her mask and see the jagged, awful scars left by their third and final foster father. Of course, the scars wouldn’t be a part of Lucia’s life if Natalie hadn’t defied their foster parents’ authority and slipped away from the house.

Natalie closed her eyes as the familiar guilt washed over her. She should have been there to protect Lucia. When she received an email from her sister about her Vegas plans, Natalie had stepped in, determined to keep her sister safe. She’d failed the last time. But she would do everything she could to keep Lucia from being hacked to pieces and left in the desert by an ax murderer.

Not that all men looking for a wild night in Vegas were ax murderers. Just like most foster parents would never hurt the children placed in their care, most of the men interested in a single woman probably wanted a night of no-strings-attached sex. But when it came to her sister, Natalie refused to leave Lucia’s safety to chance. Because Lucia’s scars proved that if you gambled and lost, you could end up with the drunken jerk that would take a knife to a teenager’s face.

So she’d asked her best friend Cade, who was planning to visit his dad in Vegas anyway, to look out for Lucia. And he’d done exactly that from a very close proximity—Lucia’s bed. And because Cade had his own issues, he hadn’t told Lucia that he’d gone to Vegas to find her.

In the end, Lucia forgave Natalie. But her little sister had promised she’d seek revenge—and Natalie was looking right at it.

“Lucia, are you sure that you want me to stand at the altar in this dress?” Natalie said. “There are ways to get revenge that won’t distract the guests’ attention from you in your wedding gown.”

Her sister laughed again, driving home the fact that her newfound happiness bubbled over at the drop of a hat. If she didn’t love Lucia more than anyone on earth, or have an up close and personal understanding of what her sister had gone through prior to landing in Happily Ever After Land, Natalie might feel a bit jealous.

But when Natalie closed her eyes, she saw the fresh wounds on her sister’s face. And guilt sent the green-eyed monster running for the hills.

“It’s a friends and family Vegas wedding,” Lucia said as her laughter faded. “The entire event promises to be a little wild and crazy. Plus, I don’t care if everyone else stares at you. Cade will be looking at me. And that’s all that matters.”

“Okay. But after this we’re even, right?”

“Maybe,” Lucia said. “I also have one small favor to ask you.”

“Favor?” Natalie ran her hand over the tutu on steroids, which puffed out from the fitted strapless and satin bodice. “I’m not sure you’re in any position to ask for a favor.”

“They make the dress in this weird sherbet orange color. I could order—”

“Maid of honor reporting for duty,” Natalie said quickly. Any favor was preferable to a sherbet orange dress. “How can I help you?”

“Jack’s truck broke down. He was planning to drive to Vegas today, too. Can you give him a ride?”

Natalie closed her eyes. Five, maybe six hours in a car with Texas’s very own Prince Charming, the man hell-bent on talking his way into her bed. The man who kissed like a god…

“No. My poor little compact car is already full. I’ll have Mufasa in the backseat,” she said, referring to the Great Pyrenees she co-owned with Cade. “And this dress has to hang somewhere. I don’t have room for six feet plus of Navy SEAL.”

“He’s not a big guy,” Lucia said. “Sure, he’s tall. But he’s lean and trim. I’m sure parts of him are small.”

Not his cock.

Her cheeks heated at the memory of Jack’s very long, hard, and most definitely
big
length pressed against her hand.

“Parts of who are small?” Natalie heard Cade’s deep voice in the background, followed by the sound of a door closing.

“Please say yes,” Lucia said, ignoring her fiancé. “I need to go. Cade and I have something we need to do. Wedding things.”

More like practice for the wedding night.

Natalie shook her head, trying to dislodge that thought. “Fine. I’ll drive him. But I’m leaving at noon today. If he’s not here, I’m hitting the road without him. He pays for half the gas.”

And if he thinks for even a second that this brings him closer to winning the bet, he’s wrong.

She didn’t dare say the words out loud. Lucia didn’t know about the bet. Natalie had promised Cade she’d tell her sister, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Not now. Not yet.

If she breathed a word about Jack’s challenge, Lucia would step in and put a stop to the bet before Natalie could see Jack struggle. And Natalie didn’t want that. She was going to beat him at his own game.

Cade hated keeping secrets from his fiancée, but Natalie would tell her after the wedding, after Jack had lost, and after he’d shipped out again.

Natalie ended the call and stared at the Terrible Tutu as a plan formed in her mind. Maybe she could use this drive to crush Jack’s plans before they reached the state line.

W
ith his rucksack over one shoulder, Jack stood on the sidewalk outside Natalie’s apartment complex and watched as she wrestled a bright pink monster into her trunk.

“You know, the moment I first saw you behind the bar, I knew you would be fun,” he drawled. “But I never pictured you in pink.”

Natalie glanced over her shoulder, both hands still buried in the pink thing. If that was her idea of a dress…shit, he’d take her shopping when they hit Vegas. And visiting women’s clothing stores was possibly the last item on his list of Things To Do With Natalie. Or next to last, right above shoe shopping. But that pink thing—

“Your idea of fun is staring at my back while I ignore you?” she said.

“Yes.” His gaze shifted to her ass. If they were alone, out of sight of her neighbors and the possibility that a cop could drive by and arrest them for indecent exposure, he would order her to spread her legs and keep her hands planted. He pictured moving behind her and pressing up against her. He would lean forward and draw her shirt up, exposing her bra. Then he’d run his hands over her bare skin until he reached her skirt. He would draw the fabric up, revealing her panties inch by inch. Then he would leave the bunched-up material decorating her hips. He’d run his hands up her butt and explore every inch of her. And she wouldn’t move without his permission.

Another woman would follow his orders. But not Natalie. Not yet. And he didn’t want anyone else.

“We have different ideas of fun,” she said.

“Oh, I think we’d agree on some things. Give me a chance and I’ll prove it.”

“No.” She quickly released the pink monster and slammed the trunk. A small piece of the skirt had slipped out and was now dangling over her bumper. “Your bag will have to ride in the backseat with Mufasa,” she added.

Jack nodded as he approached the compact black car. He opened the rear passenger side door and slid his rucksack along the floor. The Great Pyrenees lying across the seat lifted his head and glanced at the bag.

He gently closed the door, leaving the giant dog to mourn his fate—a long drive in a small, overfilled car. He moved to the passenger side door and opened it. “Hop in, Natalie, and I promise to drive you wild.”

“No, you won’t.” She headed for the driver’s side. “My car. I’m driving. And I brought earphones.”

“Worried I’ll seduce you on the highway?” He settled into the passenger seat, trying to recall the last time he rode shotgun. As a rule, he drove. His teammates all respected the fact that he’d excelled at defense driving/race car school. And he liked being in control of the vehicle.

“No, but I have a feeling you’ll give me a headache with all of your stupid pick-up lines.” She turned the key and slipped the car in reverse.

“I’ve heard sex cures headaches.”

Natalie kept her gaze focused on the road. “I heard you use that one last night, Jack.”

“Not on you.”

“Oh, wow, you’re a Navy SEAL. Your job must be so
hard
,” she said, raising her voice an octave in a decent imitation of the redhead he’d met at Bottom’s Up yesterday. “Some days it’s tough,” she continued, lowering her voice. But shit, he didn’t sound like that. Not even close. “Today gave me a headache. But I hear sex cures headaches. Want to give it a shot?”

“It worked,” he pointed out. “If I hadn’t turned her attention to Ronan, she would have volunteered to help with my headache.”

Natalie laughed as she merged onto the highway. “Most women see your smile and tumble into your bed. They’re not even listening when you deliver your lines comparing them to aspirin.”

“But you’re listening,” he said. “Even when you’re pretending to ignore me.”

“It’s part of the job.” She shifted in her seat, her skirt riding up her thighs. “I pay attention to everything that happens in my bar.”

Jack fought the urge to reach over and rest his hand on her thigh. She’d probably swerve into the breakdown lane and slam on the brakes. Then she’d demand that he get out of the car and walk to Sin City.

“Stop staring at my legs, Jack.”

“It’s a nice skirt,” he said. “Can I talk you out of it?”

“Sure.” She glanced over her left shoulder and moved into the passing lane.

He coughed, his eyes widening.

Well shit, that was easy
.
Too easy—

“I’ll change into jeans at the next rest stop,” she added.

He laughed and glanced out the window. They sped past a semi and a driver who’d mistaken the highway bypassing Los Angeles for a two-lane road in a school zone. But Natalie didn’t move back into the right-hand lane.

“In a hurry to get there?” he asked.

“Lucia put me in charge of the bachelorette party. I have a long to-do list. And before you ask, no, having sex with you in your bed, my bed, or anywhere else is not on that list. You’re not getting laid tonight, so you can stop with the lines.”

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow,” he sang, not bothering to match the high pitch of the little girl who’d made the lyrics famous. “You’re only—”

“Please,” she said, her tone raw and rough, nothing like the I’m-pretending-to-be-annoyed tone she’d used since they left Coronado. “I hate that song.”

He shut up and studied her profile. The corner of her full lips dipped into a frown. He wished he could erase the sorrow from her expression. But shit, he’d caused it by not making the connection between little orphan Annie and the woman who’d lost her parents to a car accident. “Sorry.”

“Tomorrow isn’t always better,” she said, her hands clutching the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “But I still try to hold on to that hope. Because looking back at the past? That sucks, too.”

She slammed on the brakes, and his gaze snapped to the red lights stretching on and on in front of them. Sirens sounded, the noise growing closer. Seconds later, emergency vehicles sped past them in the breakdown lane.

Shit. Perfect timing for a freaking accident. Not that there was a good time for a car crash—

“There’s an accident ahead,” she murmured as the vehicle in front of them moved an inch and stopped.

“It just happened,” he said. “This place is like a parking lot. And we still have hours to go.”

Accidents sucked. And sitting in traffic wasn’t at the top of his list of fun things to do, but…

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” he added with a playful smile, turning to her.

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes as though she wished to block out the scene in front of them.

His smile vanished. Shit, was she envisioning the turned over cars? Was her mind traveling back in time to the accident that killed her parents? He reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Are you all right, Natalie?”

She opened her eyes. “I’m just… I’m…”

The giant dog whimpered from the backseat, shifting his massive weight. And her gaze narrowed as if she’d just returned to here and now inside her compact car. She shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

“I’m just worried about Mufusa,” she said. She lifted her hips and reached her right arm back to pet her four-legged friend. The move caused her skirt to slide up her legs.

Jack stared at the bare, smooth skin. It would be a while before she changed into those jeans.

“Jack,” she said, her tone heavy with warning as she settled back into her seat.

“I know, I know.” He turned to look out the window and grinned. He’d rather have her sparring with him than lost in the past. “I’ll stop looking. But every time I close my eyes, I’ll picture running my hands and lips over your smooth skin. Touching you. Tasting you—”

“I’ve been sitting in this hot car with you and a dog for the past hour,” she shot back. “I’m sweaty. I wouldn’t taste good.”

“Yes, Natalie. You would. Trust me.” Just thinking about what she would feel like against his tongue, the sounds she would make when she finally surrendered to pleasure—hell, his imagination might drive him crazy before they reached Nevada.