My Best Friend's Navy SEAL Dad: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  Part of me knows that’s what I should be doing this morning, instead of waiting for my daughter’s best friend.

  I should be working out, punishing my body, making it so all I can think about is how badly I’m aching.

  I could tell she thought I was joking when I agreed to come. It was in the sassiness of her expression, the challenge glinting in her eyes.

  Those eyes… they watched me in my dreams last night, glinting fiery one moment and turned away in shyness the next.

  I woke up rock hard, growling out angry, horny breaths.

  I shouldn’t want her this badly.

  I should leave.

  I swear the universe is playing games with me. Just as I think about leaving – even secretly knowing I never could – Tessa pulls into the parking lot in a rundown hunk of crap. The car makes cranking noises as it rattles over the rocks, pulling up next to my black SUV.

  A familiar feeling returns to me, the same anger that pricked me when she was worried about her boss finding out about the broken mug. My woman shouldn’t have to worry about broken mugs and a hunk of shit car.

  I stroll over to the car, unable to stop the smirk from rising to my lips as my eyes drink in the sight of her.

  She steps out wearing a military-green tank top and denim shorts, her calves shaped in walking boots.

  She must have some idea of how crazy this is going to make me, her big milky tits barely contained within the thin tank top, her thick thighs tempting me as she leans into the car and brings out her camera bag.

  I wish I had a camera as she does this, pushing her hips out to show me the fine shape of her ass, round and mouth-watering.

  She turns and hooks the camera strap over her shoulder. It cuts into her breasts, squashing them, causing my cock to harden and pulse with the need to do the same with my hands.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” she says, with that mixture of shyness and sassiness I noticed yesterday.

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “I guess you are, Mr. Tanner. It’s not too late to turn back.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Trent?” I growl, stepping forward.

  I keep walking until I’m almost pressed up against her, far too close for my daughter’s best friend.

  This is wrong. It’s the last thing I should be doing.

  But the scent of her – her just-Tessa allure – pulls me in. Her eyes widen and naive shock makes her features tremble. She’s wearing her hair in a tight ponytail, as though she knows how badly I want to grab it and guide her mouth to me.

  “Okay, Trent,” she says, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

  I force myself to step back, masking the pounding need with a gruff laugh. “I don’t. It’s just strange, Tess. You’ve known me for years.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve always called you Mr. Tanner.”

  She’s got me there.

  “But you’re not a kid anymore,” I say.

  She is so not a fucking kid anymore. She’s so much not a kid it’s hard to focus on the conversation, past the ache at the base of my manhood, past the hammering in my chest that turns into a war song, telling me to claim her, right this second.

  She stares at me for a long moment, as though she can sense the hunger moving through me.

  “Shall we get going?” she says, averting her gaze. “I’ve been looking forward to this walk for ages.”

  I nod and lead her toward the entrance.

  It’s a quiet day and there’s nobody else on the first stretch of the trail. We walk in silence except for the sounds of nature and the snap of Tessa’s camera.

  She bites her lips as she takes photos, her forehead furrowed in concentration. She’s so damn adorable. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to leap forward and grab her, and kiss her, and keep kissing her until it becomes something else, primal and possessive.

  If I don’t explode my seed between those fleshy thighs soon, I’ll die.

  “So what have you been doing since high school?” I ask. “You didn’t get a chance to answer before.”

  I remember how her expression changed, darkness passing across her face.

  I want to know everything about her, all the little pieces of her that make her who she is.

  It’s only fitting that a man should know everything about the mother of his children.

  A voice laughs bitterly within.

  I never felt this way about Angela’s mother.

  But I’ve also never felt this before, this all-consuming desire.

  She glances at me over the top of her camera.

  “Nothing exciting,” she says. “You heard about Mom’s issues, I guess?”

  “I want to hear it from you, Tess,” I tell her. “ I want to hear everything from you.”

  I silently curse, wishing I could yank the statement back. It’s far too forward considering this is supposed to be a casual walk with a family friend, nothing more.

  But she doesn’t flinch or react like I’ve said anything strange.

  It’s the opposite. A smile touches her kissable lips, and she nods like she understands.

  Does she feel the same?

  “Mom is schizophrenic,” she goes on, as we walk down the gravelly path, the pine trees casting hazy shadows. “She had a rare case. It struck when she was thirty-eight. That hardly ever happens. So I’ve spent the last few years supporting her as best as I can. And working on my photography blog.”

  I sense the pain in her voice, in her every gesture.

  My fingers twitch, trying to reach across and squeeze onto her shoulder, to offer her any support I can.

  “How is she doing now?”

  “Great. Much better.”

  “That’s good,” I say. “So what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With your life. What are you going to do with your life?”

  She giggles, a sound sweeter than the chirping of the birds and the light wind disturbing the pine trees.

  Her breasts shift around with the laughter, making my already-heavy balls somehow weightier.

  “That’s a big question, Trent.”

  I chuckle. “That’s not much of an answer, Tess.”

  I imitate her cadence, tilting my head her way.

  She giggles and mock-glares at me, her eyes lighting up captivatingly.

  I stare hard at her, moving close.

  We’ve come to a stop next to a bench carved from a tree stump, a tourist map sitting next to it.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” she murmurs.

  “Wait until the season really starts. It’ll be madness then.”

  “I know.” She nods. “It’s just… It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?”

  “Even with an old man tagging along, cramping your style?”

  She reaches over with her free hand, slapping my chest playfully. Her touch lingers, her fingernails clawing at my skin through my shirt. She holds her hand there as if she has no choice like I’m metal and she’s a magnet.

  Then she realizes what she’s doing and yanks it away.

  “Sorry.” She stares at the map, at the trees, at the ground, anywhere but at me. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “I told you a fact and you got all feisty.”

  I chuckle, the noise coming out strangled, lust shivering in my voice. Her touch lingers with a phantom warmth.

  “It wasn’t a fact. You’re not old. You’re fit. You’re strong. You’ve done so much and yet you’re ready to do so much more. You’re… you’re impressive, Trent.”

  Are those the words of a family friend to another, or is there something more going on here?

  I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. Whatever this is, whatever I feel, I have to remember Angela and how this would affect her.

  “Careful, you’ll give me a big head.”

  There’s a goddamn pun if there ever was one.

  She is giving me a big head… my ma
nhood, throbbing, seeming to get bigger with every passing moment.

  “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  I move closer, no longer in control, until I’m standing so close I could lean down and claim those pouting lips at any second.

  “What are you going to do with your life?”

  “Probably stay in Youngstone and work at the diner and go on nature walks and take photos,” she says.

  “No,” I growl passionately. “You’re too smart for that. You’re too talented.”

  She spins on me, her lips trembling, her eyes wide and filled with something I can’t quite read.

  Does she want this as badly as I do?

  Am I imagining the heat radiating from her body?

  It’s like I can scent her womb, a powerful odor calling to me, roaring at me to claim her. It reminds me of when I was at war. When nothing else existed but the battle and the blood and the focus.

  Now, nothing exists except for my woman.

  The trees drop away. The forest disappears. It’s just us.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask.

  I know what I want to do, what I need to do. I need to kiss her, taste those lips, listen to the quality of her breathing change as we crash our bodies together in a wild unleashing of all the pent-up pressure inside of us.

  “Take pictures and get paid for it.” She shrugs. “And maybe…”

  “Go on,” I urge when she trails off.

  “Find somebody. Start a family.”

  “You want children?”

  My throat feels tight. I feel like a damn little kid, experiencing everything for the first time.

  “Yes,” she says, staring right at me now, and I swear she knows. She fucking knows what she’s doing to me. “If I could find somebody who’d want me.”

  “What?” I growl. “That’s not what you need to worry about, Tessa.”

  “No?”

  “No. You need to worry about who wouldn’t want you. You’re—”

  “Yoo-hoo,” somebody cries, shattering the moment.

  Tessa flinches and takes a step away from me.

  I turn, rage making my body tight, my fists clenched, ready to end whatever bastard would dare to interrupt me and my lady.

  It’s Mrs. Pennyworth, an elderly woman who’s run the Youngstone library since I was a kid.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but do either of you have any water?” She wipes sweat from her forehead. Her white hair sticking out from beneath a red baseball cap. “I’d forgotten how taxing this walk could be.”

  What the fuck am I going to do, attack Mrs. Pennyworth?

  I almost laugh at the thought.

  “Of course,” I tell her, reaching into my bag.

  Tessa smiles over at the old lady, but I’m sure I can see tension moving through her the same way it barrels through me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tessa

  Was he going to call me beautiful before Mrs. Pennyworth interrupted us?

  I want to ask him as we continue to walk through the wooded trail, but Mrs. Pennyworth is notorious in Youngstone for her ability to talk and talk without any concern for her listeners.

  She rants about library regulations, late fees, her favorite pastries, all the while I turn inward and try to figure out what the heck happened between Trent and me before she appeared.

  He was standing so close, the heat of him so much hotter than the blazing sun. The day is warm, sweat pricking my body, and as he leaned in I was sure he was going to make a comment about how much I stink, about how repulsive I am.

  You’re…

  And then he was cut off.

  What the heck was he going to say?

  I almost heard the b of beautiful, but maybe that’s my imagination torturing me with impossible things.

  He was showing me so much interest, though, his leafy green eyes staring at me, into me like I was the only person who exists.

  Mrs. Pennyworth walks between us.

  I glance past her at Trent, trying to read the tension in his jaw, at the way his biceps tighten in his T-shirt. He’s wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants, every part of him throbbing and rock hard like he could tear out of his clothes at any second and walk naked through the forest.

  A scar trails down one bicep, zigzagging, and I remember he was wounded in his twenties.

  Shrapnel tore through his left side, luckily leaving him alive… And then he returned to battle.

  I remember how Angela cried about that, but Trent had been unwilling to leave his men.

  He’s brave. He’s strong. He’s exactly the sort of man I need to take care of my family.

  Why the heck would he ask me if I wanted to start a family if he didn’t want to be the father?

  A voice cackles within me, twisted and cruel.

  Because he’s making small talk, you dummy. He doesn’t want you like that. He doesn’t want you like anything. Don’t embarrass yourself.

  Maybe this is all in my head.

  It’s not like I can ask him, anyway.

  Firstly it would be too embarrassing, and secondly, Mrs. Pennyworth is too busy telling us all about the benefits of hardback dictionaries.

  Finally, we return to the parking lot.

  Mrs. Pennyworth takes off her red hat and runs a hand through her hair, grinning at both of us in turn before walking over to her Beetle.

  “It’s been nice talking with you both,” she calls over as she climbs into her car.

  I giggle once she’s pulled out, letting out a breath.

  “I know,” Trent says, watching me in that close way of his. “She can be a lot.”

  “Has she always been like that?”

  “Ever since I can remember.” He nods. “She’s set in her ways.”

  I stroll over to my car, my belly rumbling. It’s almost lunchtime and my body knows it, sending me angry signals to eat something.

  Anxiety wraps around me when I imagine Trent hearing the rumbling, saying nothing but silently finding me disgusting.

  I know he doesn’t want me. He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was just being nice.

  “Well, I guess I better head back into town. Sorry, our walk was hijacked.”

  He stands close to me again, almost trapping me against the car. I don’t move. I’m frozen, my heart hammering loudly in my chest, seemingly in my ears, moving through me and setting parts of me alight.

  He smells manly, musky, his steel hair flecked with sweat and making it shiny. I want to run my hand through the shininess and feel how soft it is.

  “Did you get some good photos?” he asks. “Maybe a few of Mrs. Pennyworth talking my head off?”

  I giggle, gazing up at him. He smirks down at me. He’s so tall, looming over me, and for a crazy moment, I think he’s going to wrap his arms around me and pull me into an embrace.

  It feels natural as we stare into each other’s eyes like it would be the most normal thing in the world for him to crush me against the car and paint my lips with his.

  “A few,” I say. “I need to edit them though. Even photos this beautiful need a little touching up.”

  “I can think of a few things that are beautiful without editing.”

  My heart quivers and anxiety and lust dance through me, joining hands, shimmering, singing that this is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

  He leans down. Time slows and it takes forever for him to bring his face closer to mine.

  His hand rests on the roof of the car, trapping me close to him, his lips twisted into a compelling smirk as he pins me in place with those captivating eyes.

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “No,” I whimper.

  I’m too afraid to voice those thoughts, because any second now he could break out in crazed laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. Did you really think I’d want you, you silly girl?

  “Don’t play games with me,” he snarls, bringing his face even close
r to mine, his hot breath shivering over my cheeks. “You know what I—”

  His cellphone blares and I let out a bemused giggle.

  Taylor Swift fills the air, her pop star voice seeming insanely out of place coming from Trent Tanner’s phone.

  He steps back violently, as though I’ve burnt him.

  “It’s Angela,” he explains quickly. “She made me set her personal ringtone as this, so I’d always pick up when she called.”

  Angie.

  Her name is like a bullet fired at me, shattering this moment, shattering any progress I was foolish enough to think we were making.

  He was going to kiss me then, wasn’t he?

  What other possible explanation could there be?

  “Hello,” he says, answering the phone. “Wait… slow down. Oh, wow. That’s amazing, sweetheart. Congratulations. Yeah, yeah. I’m so proud. Alright. I love you. Huh? Yeah, she’s here. We’re just leaving. Sure…”

  He holds the phone out to me, his hand trembling slightly, his jaw tight and his eyes averted like he can’t stand to look at me.

  And even now – even when his daughter and my best friend have interrupted our closeness – something deep inside of me quivers at his intensity. I find myself wanting to reach past the phone and claw my fingernails down his chest instead, dragging through the fabric of his shirt to feel the solid muscles beneath.

  “Hey, Angie,” I say, taking the phone and holding it to my ear.

  I hope she can’t hear the nervousness quivering in my voice.

  “I got the part,” she yells, voice brimming with excitement. “I know it’s just a silly TV advertisement, but there were like a hundred people there auditioning, and they picked me.”

  “Oh my God,” I yell, her excitement infectious. “That’s amazing, Angie. I’m so freaking proud of you.”

  Trent’s lips twitch as he watches me, clearly happy – or whatever passes for happy on his grim-set face – that I’m supporting his daughter.

  How messy can this possibly get?

  “We need to celebrate,” I say.

  “Uh, duh.” Angie laughs. “Why do you think I called you about fifty times?”