SEALed With a Twist Read online

  He’d smelled the desperation on her, like the orange tang of her cleaning supplies even a dip in the pool couldn’t totally wash away. Grant was an expert in interrogation, be it a windowless room or a sunny office. He’d easily targeted her goals and tactics before she knew them herself. Frustrated by the easy game and eager to send her on her way even as he refused to let her go.

  Because Skylark Thorn was a mystery. And he hadn’t unpacked a decent one in a damn long time.

  She was classy, but cleaning toilets in an island resort. Her fingernails were short and spilt, but her hands lacked the reddened, worn skin of a woman who cleaned for a living. This was a new gig, a society girl slumming for what? Get back at Daddy? Punishment for soiling the family name with some sordid affair?

  Grant snorted. No, his nymph was too awkward at the game, too fresh and readable to be a practiced coquette, though she had a flawless veneer he began to enjoy trying to crack, working to rile a response from her. Every time her back went visibly up, he wanted to grin, but that would’ve spoiled his grumpy ’tude.

  She’d framed her words to her advantage, verbal shots that hit right on target even as she didn’t know she was firing at him. “Paper bullets of the brain,” he quoted with wry respect for her aim. His mother could do that, bring a person down to trembling inadequacy with a few well place jibes. More proof that Skye likely came from the same self-exalted realms in which he’d been raised.

  He had ample experience with aroused women. He knew how they looked, felt, smelled. But beneath the confidence of that naked girl on the edge of the pool, Grant sensed this night was entirely out of character for Skye. A suspicion reinforced when he’d touched her and felt every tremble she no doubt thought masked from him, the hitch in her breath when he got too close. The thump of her heartbeat when he’d kissed her. The greed in her eyes when she reached for his mouth for another.

  He exhaled hard at the memory. “Shit.” Yeah, he’d wanted a taste. He scratched at this scalp, digging deep into the sore grooves left behind by his nightmare, and thought about Skye’s flavor. She’d had something fruity to eat or drink. The sweet residue of it on her lips so he’d surreptitiously licked it from his while she’d been collecting her supplies. He was absolutely sure the rest of her would be equally sweet. He didn’t know why he’d restrained himself, why he didn’t take her willing mouth and find out how friendly he could get without crossing a line. Instead, he’d kissed her closed mouthed, surprised at how exciting such a chaste thing could be.

  It made him crave her more.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. He deserved a goddamn reward for not taking advantage of her. That should mean something. And he never let a mystery go unsolved, especially not one as intriguing as Skye. Figuring her out might be the distraction he needed to get through this weekend.

  He wasn’t done with his blue-blood, mystery nymph. Not by a long shot.

  Pushing to his feet, Grant dropped to the floor for the morning calisthenics that were as automatic to him as waking up. He powered through sit-ups and combination push-ups before striding for the French doors to the patio. Using the framework, he modified a double set of pull-ups, then stripped off his boxer briefs and dove into the pool.

  A good swim would clear out the lingering cobwebs of the flashback and let him get on with his torturous vacation in paradise.

  He pulled up after his fiftieth lap to find he had not-unwelcomed visitors. Standing hip-deep, he sluiced back his wet hair and studied his best friend. “It’s oh-seven hundred. If there’s one morning to let your wife sleep in, this is it.”

  Jasper’s granite face cracked enough for a rare smile. “Feel free to tell her that yourself once your pants are back on. She’s inside waiting to lay into you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Ah, bail on my wedding?”

  “Not like it’s your first time, pal. Didja remember how to do it?”

  “I’ve forgotten more maneuvers in that arena than you’ve experienced, puppy.”

  “Oh ho! Who’s the big man now?”

  “He is,” Quinn called from inside. “Trust me on this. Now get your fine ass in here.”

  A rush of water spilled over the edge as he heaved himself out of the pool. “Stop looking at my ass. You’ll make Quinn cranky.” He got slapped in the face by a towel for that one. Grant grinned behind it then scrubbed water from his hair before locking the towel around his hips.

  He padded inside ahead of his friend and decided to ignore the sense of being herded. Quinn was in the kitchen, cutting up fruit from the basket with sharp, confident motions. “Huh. Figured that was all plastic.”

  “In Casa Blanca? Lacey would never be so tacky.”

  “Nothing but the best for the resort’s owner, huh?” Quinn glanced tellingly around the high-class villa in which he currently resided. “Not that I don’t appreciate such a gorgeous wake-up, but you have got to have better things to do on your first day of married bliss.”

  “This is a true statement. Maybe keep that in mind next time you skip out on best man duties.” She slammed the knife into the cutting board with enough force for Grant to be glad he wasn’t in reach.

  “You’re pissed at me?”

  “Not really.” She split the fruit into three bowls, adding plops of yogurt before digging a spoon into the bag of granola at her elbow and sprinkling it generously over the mix. “I’m hungry. Jasper dragged me over here before breakfast and I was looking forward to room service.”

  Grant crossed his arms and transferred his narrow gaze to his best friend. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Unintimidated, Jasper matched Grant’s stance and, he’d grudgingly admit if only to himself, did it much better. Being a 6’4” hulk of a soldier came with more than one advantage. “How ‘bout being a punk ass? That one always works.”

  “Boys,” Quinn scolded. “Play nice.”

  “We’re good until the guns come out,” Grant said, only half-joking.

  “Like this one?” Jasper produced Grant’s pistol and placed it on the kitchen bar. Quinn visibly flinched, but for once, kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t a fan of weaponry, so for Jasper to lay it out in her presence meant Grant was in deeper shit than he’d figured.

  “You digging through my drawers now, Captain?”

  “No digging required when it’s lying flat out in view, right next to your bed. Any fool could’ve found it there. You’re damn lucky the cleaning crew didn’t swing by while you were in the pool.”

  “Probably would’ve joined me,” Grant muttered. He wondered where he’d find his water nymph. He couldn’t shake the nagging sense that he knew her and not being able to place how was starting to really crank him.

  It was the weighted silence that brought him back into the room. With a jolt, Grant realized he’d been staring at his gun while musing about last night’s guest. His gaze shifted to a frowning Jasper, hard face awash with concern. Well, he looked like a pissed-off commando, but knowing him as well as Grant did, he could see the genuine worry in that furrowed brow. Worry that was bordering on an uncomfortable level of emotion even for a shrink.

  Especially for this shrink.

  Quinn’s eyes were fixed on her husband. She looked torn between soothing the wild beast and setting him loose to sort Grant out.

  “You’re pissed my weapon wasn’t secured?”

  “What are you doing with a gun?” Jasper asked.

  “I’m a soldier? Part of the job description.” They stared at one another for a few tense moments. Tenser moments. Grant caved first. “I am licensed,” he reminded.

  “Not in the state of Florida, you’re not.”

  Now Grant was getting pissed. “That didn’t bother you when we armed up to find Quinn last year.”

  “Things change,” Jasper snapped. “Back then, I wasn’t worried you were going to eat your gun.”

  Grant rocked back on his heels. Dimly he heard the murmur of Quinn’s voice, but her husband held his han
d up in her direction and she held her tongue. Grant didn’t waste time being amazed she didn’t cut that imperious hand off with her knife.

  “What the fuck?” he breathed instead. “You honestly believe I’d do that? After what we—” He cut off, emotion clogging his throat so he couldn’t speak. Not about that. Not again.

  With a sigh, Jasper unlocked his arms. One hand went back to rub his neck. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Twist. I don’t expect heartfelt chick movie chats every phone call, but dammit, man, I could at least trust you to give me a heads-up when things are fucked. Now when I hear from you, if I hear from you, it’s all bullshit gossip about the team!”

  It messed with Grant’s head—messed more with Grant’s head—to know how easily Jasper had seen through his act. But then, he always had, right from the beginning of BUD/S. And after so many years serving together, Jasper’s radar for Twist bullshit was honed and acute.

  Cornered, Grant lashed out. “Don’t like how I communicate? You’re the one who moved ‘cross the whole country. Gotta give you props; when you bail, you do not fuck around.”

  Jasper’s formidable expression darkened. “Seriously?”

  “When you guys have kids, you’re gonna scare the crap outta them with that face.”

  “Twist,” Jasper growled, hands now on his hips.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “This isn’t a joke, Twist!” Jasper suddenly shouted, patience gone. “Was I supposed to stay in Coronado and hold your hand for the rest of our lives?”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Then stop talking like a whiny bitch.”

  “Bite me. You’re the one upset we’re not communicating. Jeez, it’s like couple’s therapy without the benefit of angry sex afterwards.”

  “Guys,” Quinn interjected. “We’re getting off topic.” She nudged a bowl in Grant’s direction. “Sit. Eat,” she ordered, handing a second bowl and utensils to Jasper. “And I’ll warn you now, you spill blood, you clean it up.”

  Grant wanted to sling the bowl across the room. Instead, he yanked out a stool and sat, glaring up at the other two as he dug into the food. Quinn laid a calming hand on Jasper’s forearm. Some tension eased from his shoulders before he took the bowl from her hand.

  For more than a few moments, all that could be heard was the clink of their silverware against the white, porcelain cereal bowls. Grant focused on his bowl and tried to calm down, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when Quinn snagged his wrist mid-scoop. She gave him a small smile when his gaze finally met hers.

  “He misses you, yeah? No one wins in the choice between wife and best friend. Cut him some slack.” Her head canted toward her husband. “He’s your best friend,” she reminded him “Stop barking like he’s still under your command and talk to him.”

  Jasper’s arm hooked her ‘round the neck to pull her close so he could nuzzle the top of her head. “Aye, aye, babe. Stand down.” She kissed the hinge of his jaw then broke away to take her bowl into the main room, giving the men a semblance of privacy.

  As had happened countless times before, the men settled in to eat, silently refueling for the next fight. Only this one was a battle of words Grant was beginning to wish he wouldn’t win.

  “I lost Quinn the first time because I was too much of a bastard to talk to her about what split us apart,” Jasper said between bites.

  “I seem to remember giving you some advice along those lines.”

  “You did. You even left a hot bridesmaid in your bed to have my back.”

  Holy shit. The spoon froze midway to Grant’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he swore under his breath. “The maid is the debutante.”

  Goddamn, he knew he’d recognized her! But that night six months ago had been wild. He’d been strung out on jet lag, trying to work the security gig while juggling Queen’s rapid descent into caveman fury after finding his ex-wife unexpectedly manning the bar. Fishing that girl from the pool had been one more crazy moment in a night of them.

  He’d split early the next morning to run interference on Jasper. When he’d returned to his room, she’d rabbited. He’d seen her from afar during the wedding the next day, standing up next to the bride, looking miserable and very hung over, but she’d never even glanced his way. He figured she was eager to forget her night of slumming.

  That was the last he’d seen of her till her Venus di Milo impression last night.

  “Yo, Twist? You with me?”

  “Yeah.” Grant shook it off and came back into the room. He’d deal with his water nymph once he survived intervention the SEAL way. “I’m here.”

  “You’re pissed I left the team,” Jasper said, going right to the heart of it. “You’re pissed I left you.”

  Grant took a minute to study his friend, the man he’d die for, the man he knew would kill and die for him too. They’d had each other’s backs in combat too many times to count. But it was Quinn who’d sorted out Jasper’s head after Maverick. Not Grant.

  “Next rung in your career. Well-deserved promotion. Hot as fuck wife. I’d have to be a first-class asshole to resent you moving on to such a happy and fulfilling life. No one deserves it more.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Color me asshole.” He downed another scoop of fruit and granola. “The fancy letters after my name mean I know why I’m pissed and that it’s perfectly natural. Don’t give a shit about that either.”

  “We’ve been at each other’s side through a lot of shit,” Jasper acknowledged after more silence. “After Mav—” He cleared his throat and looked at Quinn over Grant’s shoulder. Grant could actually see it settle his friend to simply look on his wife. “Quinn’s helped me sort some things about Maverick,” he said, and it was clear the words cost him. “Figure out why his death was screwing with my head.”

  Well, at least one of us has.

  “I shouldn’t have left you to deal with that shit on your own,” he added.

  “Man, you’ve got to stop feeling responsible for the whole damn world. Yeah, you’re leaving sucked, but I’ll get over it. As for the other, I know what I’m doing. It’s all good.”

  “It fucking is not,” Jasper snarled with no warning. “I was there, Twist. I saw Maverick’s face before he pulled the trigger. Brother, he was gone. Done. And let me tell you, I have zero desire to wipe another’s friend’s blood and brain matter off my shirt because I didn’t act on the blinking, neon warning signs in time.”

  “I’m not gonna off myself, Jasper.” Grant said, words strangling with renewed frustration. “I’m—” He paused to gather the tatters of his temper. “I’m—” Nope. Not there yet. His jaw clenched and he took a hard, audible breath through his nose. “I’m not Maverick. And fuck you for thinking it,” he spat as his emotions slipped their flimsy tether.

  Jasper’s fist crashed down on the granite-topped bar. “Don’t,” he said, low and tight. “Don’t spin this back on me. You say the right things. You joke and play your role like always. But I know you. I know you. I saw you sneaking off to hide last night when you thought no one was looking. And then last night with those bullshit texts...” Exasperated, he leaned both arms on the bar and got right up in Grant’s face.

  “You think you’re super shrink, keeping yourself to yourself even as you plunge deep into the dark spots in everyone else’s head.” He jabbed a finger at Grant, who had to work not to reach out and rip it off. “You are not pulling the wool on me, brother. You think I don’t talk to anyone on the team ‘cept you? You’re fooling no one—not anyone who cares about you and bothers to look. And I’m looking, Twist. You can goddamn well count on that.”

  Grant grappled with the need to leap over the counter and pummel his best friend. “Back,” he said through his teeth. “The fuck. Off.”

  Jasper didn’t move. “That is not gonna happen. Ever.” His eyes flickered to Grant’s clenched fist. “You bend that spoon this place will double bill you for it.”

  Grant took a breath. Then another. With slow, deliberate motions, he placed th
e nearly mangled spoon on the counter between them.

  Jasper was worried. He meant well, Grant knew that. And unlike him, Jasper hadn’t once done this talking shit for a living. That he was making this effort, especially here, especially now, proved how much he cared. Grant would be a crap friend to make light of that. Hell, he was already the asshole who’d made Jasper feel he had to corner Grant like this in the first place.

  But he was not going to drag Jasper back into this hot mess, especially not now that he knew how hard was the battle his friend had fought to deal with Maverick’s death. Jasper had always taken things too deeply to heart. He’d shoulder the weight of the whole world if he could. It was Grant’s job to relieve that burden, not add to it.

  Not any more than he already had.

  “Does Maverick dick with my head? Daily. Nightly. But unlike you, I’m a trained professional. I’ve got a handle on it. I promise.”

  “I don’t sign off on your combat clearance anymore. You’ve no need to play me. You can tell me the truth.”

  Like Grant would know the truth if it shot him in the head. Bad analogy.

  He shook his head, faintly amused. “You’re not letting go of this, are you? We need to find you a new bone. I’m handling it,” he repeated when Jasper look ready to lay back into him. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Jasper studied him, close enough to make Grant have to work not to squirm. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can’t help you with that either.” He held up a hand to block Jasper’s automatic protest. “What I can do is promise to communicate better. No games. No bullshit.” Jasper’s eyes narrowed with doubt. “That’s all you’re gonna get today, Queen. Cut your losses.”

  “Swear to me that you’ll reach out more,” Jasper demanded, “And I’ll consider believing you.”

  “Every damn day if you want. I’ll What’s App you like a mo fo.” He worked to pull up the ‘ole carefree Twist ‘tude. “But don’t come crying to me when Quinn gets cranky about our cozy confabs.”