To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs), page 2
With a backup singer who’d probably fit in better on a Taylor Swift tour wearing sequins instead of a Stetson.
But she didn’t have the time or money to waste on finding the perfect cowboy for her shoot. By eight o’clock tonight, she needed to be ready to walk onstage for the second performance of her Vegas tour stop.
“Some of country music is about those things,” she conceded.
“And maybe tractors,” he added. “But not the other stuff.”
She pressed her lips together. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was right. He didn’t know a thing about country music.
“Country comes from the heart,” she said. “Sure, maybe there are a few cowboys out there who sing about their favorite tractor. And I bet their heart is in it. But my—”
He cocked his head and studied her.
“My singer, the one I work for,” she continued, stumbling over the words. “His songs are about love and loss and…”
“Sex?” he said dryly.
She nodded and then looked past him to Jared. “Let’s try that again. We want to get it right—”
“He’s not going to try anything again.” Her mystery man stepped in front of Jared.
“Look,” she said, no longer bothering with her fake smile. “I need to nail this music video. It might seem silly to you, but this is my job. So unless you know how to stage a make-out scene against a rock, I’ll have to ask you to move on and let us work.”
“I don’t know about staging.” His arms moved to his sides as if he were preparing to pounce. His dark eyes met hers. “But I’ve had some experience kissing against this wall of rock.”
Then kiss me.
Her lips parted as if she’d said those words out loud. She wouldn’t ask the man who looked like he’d walked out of her fantasies for a kiss. It was tempting… But she never gave in to desire. She’d fought the lure of the doughnuts on the catering table for the past year.
But his kiss might be better than a chocolate doughnut.
Still…she didn’t have a lot of experience with alpha males or kisses. She’d gone from helping her family make ends meet by working as a cashier, to a twenty-three-year-old country star. And she’d been too focused on her music during her grocery store checkout days to pay much attention to boys.
“And honey,” the mystery man continued, his voice a low growl. “I know how to seduce a woman, how to kiss her until she’s breathless. Without knocking the wind out of her.”
Temptation, here I come!
“If you’re such an expert,” she shot back before her common sense locked the impulsive desire behind a door labeled “do not open.” “Then show me.”
…
Dante had thought he’d hit rock bottom in the weeks following his surgery. His SEAL team had left California for a training exercise. His ex-wife had remarried, promising to love and cherish his former plumber. And his Italian mother had invaded his home. He’d never felt so damn useless.
Until he’d rushed over to rescue the freaking backup singer who didn’t need saving. Shit, the only thing the spitfire in the butt-ugly wig needed was a man who knew how to kiss.
And I sure as hell didn’t lose that skill when I tore up my knee.
He could do this. Whether he should…that was another question. And one he didn’t want to contemplate right now. He’d rather focus on his self-assigned mission—kiss the woman in the weird wig.
Dante took a step forward and watched as her lips parted. She pressed her palms against the red rock and arched her back. His gaze dropped to her chest. Those breasts—hell, she put every dancer in Vegas to shame.
He closed the space between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. Keeping his touch featherlight, he ran his palms down her arms. He reached her hands and intertwined his fingers with hers. Slowly, he drew her arms up and pinned her hands over her head.
She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide with wonder. She looked so damn innocent. His gaze skimmed over her mouth, down her neck, to the swells visible above her sports bra.
“Show me more,” she murmured.
He was tempted. His hard-on pressed against his shorts.
“Your hands stay here,” he ordered. “Understood?”
She nodded.
He released her and ran his palms down her arms. So damn soft. He reached her shoulders and headed south, allowing his fingers to roam her curves. His thumbs skimmed the sides of her breasts as his palms slid down her sides. When he came to her slim, yet firm, thighs, he drew her legs up until he was nestled between her limbs.
Hooyah. His dick hadn’t been this happy in months. And yeah, tempting didn’t begin to cover what he felt, what he wanted. But…
This was insane. This wasn’t a mission. And he didn’t know this woman. Hell, she could be playing some twisted game with him. He’d kiss her and the next thing he knew, her boyfriend would jump him from behind.
He released her and stepped back. He glanced over his shoulder at the shirtless man still kneeling in the dust and…
What the hell? Staring at his ass?
Dante didn’t know what to believe. The story about the country music video—shot in Vegas of all places—seemed like a bold-faced lie. Sure, he was in town to meet up with a country starlet. But as far as he knew, she wasn’t shooting a video like the dude who sang about love and sex.
Logic told him to walk away. And yeah, another part of him tried to redirect his thinking and kiss the girl. Maybe he’d knock her crazy wig off in the process and see her true hair color.
Or maybe he’d let passion lead him into another crash and burn. One failed marriage and a series of meaningless flings proved there were two organs he couldn’t trust when it came to women—his heart and his dick.
He released her hands and stepped back. “That should help you with your video shoot.”
She nodded. “It’s a start. But—”
“I need to head out,” he cut in before she asked for a kiss and his erection vetoed his common sense. “I’m meeting someone. But before I go, I’d like to walk you back to your car.”
“You’re sweet.” She wrapped her arms around her bare stomach. It was strange, but he swore she looked more shaken by his touch, and the way he hadn’t kissed her, than the man who’d slammed her into a freaking canyon wall.
“Not sweet,” he said. “But I know that if a woman is about to pass out while I’m kissing her, I’m doing something that should land me in a jail cell.” He shot another hard look at the man on the ground. He was 95 percent certain the other man wouldn’t hurt her. But still, he wasn’t willing to risk her safety. “If you won’t let me call the police, I’ll have to insist on escorting you to your car.”
“But Jared isn’t going to hurt me,” she continued. “And we really do need to rehearse.”
“Not here,” he said firmly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone with him.”
“Please, Ms. Ta—”
“Fine,” she said, cutting the other man off. “We’ll go.”
She picked up a red hiking backpack and stormed away to the parking area, calling over her shoulder. “Come on, Jared. Thanks to your performance, you just might get a nap in before the hair and makeup call.”
The shirtless man scrambled to his feet and followed the woman whose backside rivaled her front. Dante stared, memorizing the way her jeans hugged her ass. Her body reminded him of Britney Spears. Not that he’d ever listened to her music. But his kid sister had put up a poster in her room of the blond pop star in a schoolgirl’s outfit.
The woman wearing the wig was older than the classic teenage Britney. Probably in her twenties. But hell, he’d love to see her trade in her jeans for that skirt. Toss in a pair of thigh-high stockings…
Fuck me.
Dante turned away. Yeah, he’d reached a new low, all right. He should be focused on his knee, not some strange chick who wore a wig to a damn canyon.
He glanced over his shoulder and watched as the black hair disappeared into a blue car that looked nothing like a rental. His jaw tightened. He had a bad feeling she hadn’t been telling him the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But at least she’d climbed into the car alone. The guy she claimed to be working with headed for a nondescript white sedan. And yeah, that one screamed rental.
He started walking down the path and then picked up the pace. He pushed past the pain. At least the aching sensations gave him something to focus on beyond the fact that he still wanted to kiss the woman, even though he was fairly certain she was a crazy liar.
Like my ex-wife in a wig.
Except his ex had wanted the plumber all to herself. She’d never tried to involve Dante in her sex games with the man he’d hired to fix the pipes while he was out ridding the world of terrorists.
“What did you do?” Ronan called as he ran up to Dante’s side and slowed his pace. “Walk in circles? You’re about where I left you.”
“I stopped to take a phone call,” Dante lied. There was no way he was telling his teammate that he’d tried to rescue a damsel who wasn’t exactly in distress. Though she had been fighting for breath. But maybe that was how she got her kicks.
“Your mom?” Ronan asked. “Is she still worried about you? You know if she wants to come out and share the hotel suite, I wouldn’t object to a homemade lasagna.”
Aw hell, could this day get any worse?
“We’re not inviting my mom to Vegas.” Dante turned and headed for the parking area. His knee, and his pride, had taken enough abuse for one morning. At this point, the only thing keeping him going was the fantasy of what it would have been like to press that singer’s lips against his.
Chapter Three
Dante stepped into the hotel’s hospitality suite…and his day spiraled into clusterfuck territory. Sure, the men in suits appeared unarmed. And yeah, boxes of pastries and doughnuts lined the folding table in the corner, filling the room with an intoxicating scent that beat his usual doom-and-gloom scenario. But the woman he’d “saved” this morning stood in the center of the room.
She’d ditched the long black wig. And an I Heart Nashville T-shirt now covered her sports bra. Still, he’d memorized her curves earlier. Now, he had a pretty good guess which music video the backup singer was shooting.
“His” video my ass. I knew she was lying.
The woman he’d attempted to rescue didn’t work for some cowboy who sang love songs. She worked for Chrissie Tate. Hell, she probably knew Casey, Ronan’s girlfriend.
“Ms. Tate.” A man in a three-piece suit that seemed at odds with his shoulder-length hair stood and headed for the center of the room. “I’d like to introduce you to the soldiers who have offered their leave from the army—”
“We’re with the Navy, sir,” Ronan cut in. “The SEAL teams.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dante saw eyes widening. A young lady wearing a hotel uniform just about dropped the pastries she was unloading.
“Of course,” the suit said as he stopped beside the woman Dante had almost kissed in the canyon. “These Navy SEALs will be keeping an eye on you while we’re in Vegas.”
Dante’s gaze narrowed. He studied the blonde who’d flat-out lied to him this morning. She didn’t work for a country star. She was the freaking star! Miss Chrissie Tate, America’s current country sweetheart.
“It’s nice to meet you gentlemen,” she said with a cursory nod in their direction.
Look at me dammit!
“But I don’t need bodyguards. I’ve been careful to wear different wigs when I go out. It’s not like I’m a Kardashian. No one’s recognized me so far.”
“Ms. Tate,” the suit said carefully. “You found a fan in your trailer in Phoenix.”
“One crazed fan,” she said firmly. “Plus the venue here is providing security. On their dime. Not ours.”
The suit shook his head. “Your safety comes first. I’ll rework the budget, but we both know you can afford a little added muscle. And these soldiers—”
“They’re sailors, Mason,” the starlet said. “And what kind of manager are you? You’re supposed to help me make money, not spend it all.”
“Ms. Tate,” Ronan said, stepping forward. “I served with your brother. And I can’t think of a better way to honor his memory than to keep you safe, ma’am.”
Her tough-as-nails expression vanished as she turned to Dante’s redheaded teammate. “You knew Joe?”
“Not well. And I wasn’t with him on his last deployment. I’d joined the SEAL teams by then. But I know he’d want me to look out for his little sister.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ronan.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I still don’t think I need two Navy SEALs to watch over me. But you’re welcome to stay for tonight’s show.”
“How about you let us do our job, Ms. Tate,” Ronan said.
“Call me Chrissie, please,” she murmured.
“We won’t be in your way.”
“Yes, but—”
“Dante Raske, my teammate here, is still recovering from an injury he received while saving a hostage from the bad guys. If you don’t let him work for you, he’s probably going to die of boredom waiting for his knee to heal.”
Ah hell, make her think I’m half a SEAL why don’t you?
Dante assumed a parade rest position, his hands behind his back and his gaze on a point behind the starlet’s head. Just this morning, he’d been tempted to kiss her. He’d walked out of the canyon still fantasizing about her in a sinfully short skirt.
And now he had to work for her.
“You’re injured?” She turned to him and placed her hands on her hips. “And you were still able to—”
Lift you up, wrap your legs around my waist, and thrust my rock-hard dick against you.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said before she revealed to the room filled with suits on her payroll—not to mention Ronan—that he’d beat up her backup singer. Although she might have been lying about that guy’s identity, too.
Why the hell was he always attracted to women who spun the truth to suit themselves?
Her blue eyes remained locked with his. He swore he saw a hint of admiration. But damn if it wasn’t riding on the back of the same primal interest he’d felt when he’d pressed her up against the rock. He knew what it looked like, because it mirrored his desire to finish what they’d started in the canyon.
But she wasn’t the backup singer. She was the star he needed to protect. And even if she wasn’t his boss, he was done playing fast and loose with his heart. He didn’t need a Vegas fling with a side of complications.
“I’ll give you one night,” she said. “But in the morning, I think we’ll all agree that I don’t need around-the-clock bodyguards.”
Without another glance in his direction, Ms. Chrissie Tate pushed through the door that separated the greenroom from the casino.
“Ma’am,” Dante said, moving to follow her.
“Quick trip to the ladies’.” She waved them off. “You don’t need to follow me there, do you?”
The door slammed behind her.
Dante shook his head. “Yeah, actually we do.”
“Give her some space,” Ronan said. “Until she’s comfortable with having us watch her six.” His teammate glanced at the suits. “Watch her back,” he clarified for the businessmen.
Dante nodded. He planned on keeping his distance. Even though he had a list of reasons to steer clear of complications, he still wanted to claim that kiss.
But that was why he’d been hired to protect her. He’d bet half her fans took one look at the All-American country star with a body that would make most Vegas strippers weep with envy, and those fans wanted a piece of her, too.
Not on my watch.
This time, he would keep the girl safe without landing himself on the sidelines.
…
“This is all your fault, Mr. SEAL.”
Chrissie placed her hands on her hips and waited for the overqualified bodyguard—whom she didn’t want or need—to respond. Sarcasm, anger, maybe a smile, she’d take any response that offered a hint of emotion. She’d been waiting for a few choice words about her deception this morning since he followed her to the ladies’ room earlier.
So far he’d been professional. Period.
And he appeared determined to stick to the employer/employee routine. Her bodyguard scanned the music video set as if programmed on autopilot. Observe the surroundings. Calculate the risk factors. Eliminate danger. And repeat.
She doubted that he’d found a threat. The only person he seemed likely to attack, Jared, the backup singer who was supposed to be out here suffering under the afternoon desert sun, had called in sick.
“Jared bailed because of you,” she continued. “And now, Mr. SEAL, I’m paying a crew to stand around.”
“Dante,” he said, his gaze landing on her for a brief second before returning to the open space. “Please call me Dante.”
She cocked her head and examined the wall of muscle. “Named after the author who wrote about the layers of hell?”
“After my Neapolitan grandfather.”
The corner of his mouth twitching upward. Finally, a reaction from Mr. No Nonsense SEAL.
“That explains the Italian features,” she muttered, studying his profile. His dark Patrick Dempsey locks would probably look great on-camera. And he was 100 percent alpha male.
But he wasn’t a cowboy. She needed the all-American look for her video love interest.
She turned and glanced back at the crew. Mason, her manager, was on his phone, trying to find a replacement for Jared.
Some people probably considered a Navy SEAL as all-American as a cowboy. And women might forgive the Italian features for a glimpse at those muscles…
Me! Me! Me!
“Seeing as this is your fault,” she began, her tone professional. Businesslike even. Because she was about to ask for a favor that had nothing to do with wanting to feel his body up against hers one more time.
“That’s a matter of opinion, Ms. Tate,” he said blandly.
“Seeing as I feel this is your fault, you could offer to fill in for Jared.”
