Navy SEAL Series Boxed Set Read online

  Matt called an hour before my shift was over.

  “Matt,” I said, stepping into an empty office.

  “So you met the infamous Jackson.”

  I pressed the phone to my ear, my voice low. “Why didn’t you tell me that you invited him to stay with us?”

  “It slipped my mind,” his voice instantly traced with defensiveness.

  “It’s fine,” I said hastily. Matt hated criticism. “I was just caught off guard.”

  “He’s not going to be a bother.”

  “I know,” I rushed. “I just…I mean, you never really mentioned him.”

  Silence crackled between us. “Jackson grew up with me.”

  That confused me. “What do you mean? He’s a childhood friend, right?”

  “No, I mean, he lived with my family.”

  I blinked in shock. Matt had always maintained that he was an only child. He had regaled countless stories about his family life, but he had never mentioned Jackson before. “What? For how long?”

  “For about 11 years. On and off.”

  “What? You never told me this!”

  “Just…” Matt paused. I could hear the strain in his voice. “Jackson is welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs to.”

  “Of course. Can you tell me…”

  Matt cut me off. “I don’t want to get into it right now, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  More silence between us.

  “Will you be home for dinner?”

  “Yes, Emily. I'll be home for dinner.” His tone sounded annoyed. Cutting.

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay. See you then.”

  He disconnected the line.

  I stood there for a long moment. Thinking. What exactly was going on here? Why was Matt so agitated? What did he mean that he and Jackson grew up together? None of this was making any sense. How could I date Matt an entire year and never know that someone else grew up with his family? In his home? Is that what he had told me? This whole thing was weird. I needed to know more.

  At the end of my shift, when I walked out of the gallery, my heart hitched when I saw the big black truck. Jackson moved with grace. A baseball hat adorned his head, pulled low over his eyes. Without speaking, we walked to the passenger side. He opened the door for me. The man had the most incredible forearms.

  “I can do it,” I lied, knowing full well that it would take a miracle to step up that far in this skirt.

  He ignored me. His big hands wrapped around my hips. My body went completely still while my heart hammered. He easily lifted me up onto the seat.

  I sounded breathless. “I'm never wearing this skirt again.”

  “That would be a shame,” he teased, a smile on his lips.

  I fumbled with my seatbelt. His flirtations meant nothing. He probably flirted as easy as he breathed. I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it. I remember that fateful day in university. I had been late for class and racing around the corner. I had slammed into a warm wall. Huge hands had grabbed me by the shoulders, and I could still remember that slow-motion moment of looking up and seeing the hockey player. His name was Seth, and he had the most beautiful eyes. I had walked around in a daze for weeks after that. Replaying the feeling of his hands on my arms.

  Yep. My therapist might have had a point on the unhealthy part of my crushes. She used to tell me that no good came from living in make-belief.

  Jackson started the truck. And even though I had mentally prepared myself for his driving, I was breathless within seconds. I stole a glance at him. He had changed into a navy t-shirt and jeans. His longish hair stuck out in tuffs from beneath his baseball cap. The man was sexy. Crush or not, I would give him that. And he probably knew that about himself. He emanated his big manly pheromones. I bet women within miles of him were lifting up their heads and sniffing the air like wild animals catching the scent of their prey. But even if he was near me, it gave me no license to indulge in any of my little fantasies. I had paid good money for therapy, and we had all moved well past the crushing stage of my life when I started dating Matt.

  “How was your shift?” Jackson’s question pulled me out of my thoughts.

  Green eyes looked at me when I didn’t answer.

  Think. Use your words.

  “We’re showcasing some new artists this month. They’re so grateful and enthusiastic that it makes it a lot of fun.”

  “Do you ever think you’d want to show off your paintings?”

  A snort escaped out of my nose. The thought was absurd. “No. I mean, my art isn’t even real art.”

  “Did some asshole tell you that?”

  I startled and looked over at him. He was giving me an intense look. Like he was willing to have a word with someone if they did tell me that. “No. I mean, I’ve never tried.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you know you're not good enough if you don’t try?”

  “I just know.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  My mouth dropped open. No one ever talked to me like that. How could I tell him that I feared rejection? I was happy with the dream of being an artist. What held me back was the fear of losing that dream when the art world rejected my work. It would take away one of my greatest joys. “I'm happy helping other artists.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  My eyes widened. I had no response to that. “It’s complicated.”

  “I can help you load up your paintings and carry them to your work.”

  The thought of Jackson carrying my art into the gallery and demanding they hang them up almost made me laugh. “I can’t.”

  He glanced over at me. “It’s up to you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lied.

  We pulled up to a stop in front of the loft. I yanked open the door and leaped out, not caring if I ripped the back seam out of my skirt. I had no intention of letting him touch me again. This guy, unlike all my other crushes, wasn’t even remotely safe.

  I stopped short. “Where’s my car?”

  “I pushed it into the garage.” He walked forward and pulled on the chain to open the door. I walked into the space that was Matt’s parking spot. The engine of my car lay in several pieces on the floor of the garage on a tarp.

  My eyes widened.

  “Sorry about this,” he said. “I got carried away.”

  I stood there in shock. My car had undergone an automotive autopsy, and now all its important little pieces were lying on the floor. How had this happened? A car bomb was the only thing that would’ve taken this car apart more efficiently. I worked to find the words to make him feel better. “That’s okay. I'm pretty sure we can find someone to put it back together.”

  Maybe. Maybe if I found a genius mechanic and paid him triple the rate he might be able to put it back together. But at this point it was doubtful.

  He laughed. “I can put it back together. Your alternator failed. The part isn’t going to be in until next week.”

  My heart tripped. Jackson had pulled my engine apart and had plans to fix it. “You can put my car back together?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought for a long moment. “You’re fixing my car?”

  “Hope that’s okay. I was bored.”

  I remained tongue-tied. No one had ever done something like this for me. “Thank-you.”

  He crossed his arms. “Any reason why you don’t park in the garage?”

  “Matt parks his car inside because his car is more valuable.”

  “But you have an entire bay here. You could get at least two more cars in here.”

  I pointed at the massive tractor tire that was lying in front of the other door. “That’s in the way.”

  “The tire?”

  “Yeah.”

  He tugged on his ear. “Why didn’t you just move it?”

  “Well, Matt ordered it because he was going to use it as part of his work out regime, but after it got dropped off, it was too heav
y to move. Matt tried.”

  He frowned. “Matt tried to move it?”

  “It’s the latest rage. I guess you're supposed to flip the tire as part of a workout. But that tire weighs over 600 pounds.” I informed him. “It’s way too heavy for one person.”

  “Where do you want it?”

  I cringed when I recalled Matt’s attempts to flip this tire. He had grunted and groaned and swore to no avail. I intended to call someone to take it away but had never gotten around to it. Jackson was a big man, one of the biggest men I had ever met in my life, but I was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be able to budge it.

  “It’s no big deal to park outside.”

  He walked over to the tire, crouched beside it and with seemingly minimal effort, flipped the tire. My mouth dropped open. He repeatedly flipped it further into the garage, before resting it up against the wall. He wasn’t even out of breath.

  He walked back to where I stood. “Mind if I use that to work out?”

  I envisioned him wearing only his runners and his shorts, flipping that tire. His muscular body would be covered in sweat. My mouth flooded with moisture. I swallowed hard. I opened my lips to speak. Our eyes met. He watched me with interest.

  I snapped my mouth shut and nodded.

  Fearing he could see my thoughts, without saying another word, I turned and headed for the stairs.

  Chapter 8

  “I'm home,” Matt announced his arrival. I looked up from the stove. Matt walked across the loft, into the kitchen and kissed me hard on the lips.

  “Something smells amazing in here.”

  Jackson appeared at the top of the stairs. Matt stood back, and the two men stared at each other. Jackson lightly jogged down the stairs.

  “Buddy, it’s been a long time,” Matt said, grinning, even though his voice sounded strained.

  “Too long.”

  “How long has it been?”

  Jackson glanced at me. “Dan’s wedding?”

  Matt frowned with a smile. “Can’t be. That wedding was over four years ago.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Good to see you.”

  They shook hands and continued to stare at each other.

  “Likewise.” Matt nodded, his grin wide. Too wide. “Shit man. You’re a brick shit house. What the hell are they feeding you in the navy anyway?”

  “Nothing good.”

  They both had variations of smiles on their faces. The air crackled with unexplained tension.

  “Have you tried any of Emily’s cooking yet?”

  Jackson’s gaze, wide and green, trapped mine. “She can cook.”

  I flushed.

  Matt stepped back and pointed at Jackson. “I'm just going to change. Grab some beers.”

  He pounded up the stairs and then his bedroom door shut.

  The silence settled between us. He stood on the other side of the island studying me.

  I walked to the fridge and set two cans of beer on the island between us. I took a deep breath. “Well, Matt’s finally home.”

  “Yes.”

  I couldn’t quite decipher the energy he was giving off. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was even more on guard than when it was just the two of us.

  “Matt said that you used to live together.”

  He cracked open a beer. “I used to live with Matt’s family.”

  I held my breath. “Matt just mentioned that to me today, but he didn’t say why.”

  Green eyes held my gaze with intense honesty. “Matt’s dad used to arrest Ted for being drunk and disorderly. And more often than not, I ended up at Matt’s house.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh.”

  He picked up his beer and took a long drink.

  I hesitated over my question. “Ted is your dad?”

  “Ted is the man I lived with after my mom died.”

  Questions flowed through my mind. When did Jackson's mom die? How old was Jackson when she passed on? Who was Ted? Did Ted have legal guardianship over Jackson? If he wasn’t Jackson’s birth father, then who was? I stood there looking up at him unsure what to ask next.

  He swallowed and pinned me with his gaze. “It was a long time ago.”

  His tone said the conversation was over. I stood there and watched him take another sip of his beer while I tried to keep the sympathy from showing on my face. I had a feeling that Jackson didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.

  Matt pounded down the stairs. Words flowed from him before he even hit the bottom step. He grabbed his beer, tasted something from the stove, kissed my neck and checked his phone. I secretly referred to Matt as a tornado in a bottle. His energy was explosive. He never slowed down. I watched as he fired questions at Jackson, talked about work and scrolled through his phone to show Jackson something. Matt moved a hundred miles a minute. Jackson revealed his intensity through his quiet demeanor and his stoic strength. Matt noticed nothing and Jackson observed everything.

  “Time to eat,” I said, carrying the last of the food to the table.

  They communicated like old friends, but their differences were stark. Matt talked nonstop. Jackson listened more than he spoke. Matt looked short and lanky. Jackson appeared to have DNA from some mythical Adonis. Matt appeared younger with his combed-back blond hair and a clean-shaven face. Jackson’s overgrown hair and stubble added years, giving him the appearance of being older. I needed to stop comparing these two men. I disliked where my thoughts were going.

  I abruptly stood up. Both men glanced up at me.

  Matt gave me a smirk. “You okay?”

  I looked down at my plate. It was still half full. “Yes.”

  “You’re as nervous as a cat,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down. “Relax.”

  I sat down and picked up my fork. They continued to talk. It was hard to believe these two guys had grown up together. What was the story? I was dying to get Matt alone so that I could pump him for information.

  Finally, they were done eating.

  I shot up again and started to pick up their plates.

  “I'll do dishes.” Jackson’s voice was low.

  No. That was a bad idea. I needed some space. To think and clear my head. “Don’t even think about it. You two should sit outside. It is a beautiful night.”

  Matt stood up. “That’s a great idea.”

  I carried plates into the kitchen. Matt followed me and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. “Great dinner, babe.”

  I smiled, looking up at his face. Matt ignored my expression and walked out to the patio. Matt’s brush off made me flush. Jackson observed all from where he sat.

  I wiped my hands on my skirt. “Would you like another beer?”

  “No thanks.”

  “When he hits five beers, shut him down. The last time he had six beers, he tried to take off his shirt at a work party.”

  He smiled a smile that I felt down in my toes. “Still a lightweight?”

  Seriously. This man needed to stop smiling at me. “Still a lightweight.”

  “Come join us. I can do the dishes later.”

  Who was this man? I decided that him being in the kitchen with me was more than a bad idea. I shook my head. “I think you two need man time.”

  “What exactly is man time?”

  “When you talk about women and sports and other secret topics that women don’t know about.”

  His eyebrows moved up in amusement, but he obeyed and followed Matt onto the patio.

  I washed the dishes, unable to stop myself from looking outside. Matt moved up and down from his chair. He regaled big stories with big gestures. I recognized this Matt. He wanted to impress. Jackson reclined in his chair, his long legs crossed in front of him, playing audience to Matt. As if sensing my gaze, Jackson turned his head and looked directly at me. I flushed and spun around, embarrassed that he caught me staring. Still, I lingered. I wiped a counter that was already clean. I swept a floor that had no crumbs. I wanted to walk out onto that patio, but I held myself back.

  Enou
gh. I needed to stop. Since he had arrived, Jackson had pushed his way into my thoughts far more than was acceptable. Yes, he was stupidly hot and extremely manly with his big muscles and broad shoulders, but it wasn’t even that. It was the way he talked to me. When I spoke, he listened. He paid attention. He encouraged me.

  Matt had become so busy at work and was so absent. It was normal to feel flattered that someone was noticing me as a human being. Right? Matt and I had a great relationship. Everyone said so. When we first started dating, he had been so attentive and fun. So life had gotten in the way a bit. He was rarely around. He seemed to work all the time. And did I need him hanging off my every word? That wasn’t a realistic expectation of a relationship, was it?

  I loved Matt. He was everything I needed. He had a respectable job. He enjoyed some of the same things I did. We rarely fought. Did it matter that sometimes it seemed like we were two roommates leading different lives? Things would become different after we got married. Matt was going to be my husband. And we would have a wonderful marriage. I had everything I wanted and needed right here.

  It was irresponsible to get distracted by this intense stranger who stared at me with those knowing green eyes. Just because he talked to me and seemed to see me, didn’t mean anything. That was just who he was. He was an intense person. You couldn’t misread someone’s intensity as interest. So, maybe he made my stomach flutter a bit. Anyone who still had a pulse would get a fluttery stomach around him. I was mature, and I could admit that he was attractive. So what if he made me a bit nervous when he was around. That was normal. He would make anyone nervous.

  But that didn’t mean I needed to read into anything. I wasn’t a college student anymore that daydreamed about hot men. I was the fiancée of a lawyer. And now, I just needed to refocus my energy on the wedding and Matt. Without looking back, I forced myself to climb the steps to my room.