Hot SEAL, Vegas Nights Read online

  Hot SEAL, Vegas Nights

  Parker Kincade

  Hot SEAL, Vegas Nights

  SEALS IN PARADISE

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  PARKER KINCADE

  Copyright © 2019 by Parker Kincade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  To my SB family: Thank you for having my back when things (deadlines) get crazy. You guys are the best!

  To the SEALs in Paradise authors: Again and always, I am humbled and honored to be among you.

  And to Aidan. I’d bet on you. Every time.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  More SEAL’s in Paradise

  Excerpt from One Night Stand

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by Parker Kincade

  1

  As far as send-offs went, this one hadn’t been too bad.

  Aidan Stone and his seven teammates had taken over their usual corner of McP’s Pub—the Coronado bar favored by West Coast SEAL’s. Two of their own—Rio “Compass” North and Jace “Hawk” Hawkins were leaving the teams. Forever.

  Aidan struggled to wrap his head around the concept as he smiled, toasted, drank, and back-slapped. As he wished Compass and Hawk well in their new lives.

  He was happy for them. He was. But … damn. It hurt, deep within his ribs, to watch his teammates—his brothers—walk out of McP’s knowing he’d never work with them again. Knowing they wouldn’t be there to cover his back, or for him to cover theirs. Knowing, realistically, it could be years before he saw Compass and Hawk again.

  Aidan shook his head, not allowing that particular match to strike. Self-pity was for suckers. Instead, he did what he always did. He bucked up and counted his blessings. At least his friends were alive and well. After the cluster fuck in Djibouti, he would hit his knees every night in gratitude that they were all alive and well. Mostly well, anyway.

  The thought sparked a grin Aidan couldn’t contain. Dutch—Levi Van Der Hayden—took a bullet in the ass during an asset extraction in hostile territory, where they’d been out-gunned and out-manned.

  Aidan found humor in the situation because the wound hadn’t been serious. And come on. It wasn’t every day a SEAL had to drop trou—in front of an asset and all of his teammates—all while spread out on the floor of a helo. The guy would be fine, and now the rest of them had something to razz Dutch about … for the rest of his fucking life.

  Aidan’s grin turned into a chuckle at the memory.

  Justus Kirkland tossed a piece of ice at him, bringing him back to the present. “What’s so funny? It’s not a horrible idea.”

  “What?” Aidan flagged down their server and gave the universal signal for another round. Two beers for his buddies and a water for him. Her nod seemed frazzled, her smile less flirty and more forced than earlier in the evening.

  Aidan glanced around. When had the bar gotten so crowded? He checked his watch, surprised to see it was later than he thought. He should go.

  “I don’t think he’s paying attention,” Tony “Nitro” Gallo added.

  It was just the three of them now. The other guys bailed a while ago. Aidan was about to do the same. He had a long drive ahead of him. Hence the water.

  “Come on, Rocket,” Justus begged. “Fuck Vegas. It’s not too late to come with me to Australia. Think of the trouble we could get into.”

  Aidan—Rocket to his SEAL teammates—rolled his eyes. More like the women they could get into, knowing Justus. Under different circumstances, Aidan would be all in. Tonight though, he just wanted to go home. Wanted to get his hands dirty with something other than gun powder and sand. Wanted to eat something that didn’t come out of a pouch. Wanted to relax his guard and recharge his batteries. And he really wanted to avoid any situations that included the possibility of being shot.

  “We just got back from overseas. The last thing I want to do is put my ass back on a plane for eighteen fucking hours. If I want to get laid, I don’t need to travel across the world to do it.” He lifted his chin, indicating the direction of his stare. “Hell, I wouldn’t need to travel across this room.”

  Aidan tossed a wink toward the table of women who’d been not so subtly eyeballing him all night. One girl winked back and bit her lip, probably waiting for him to make the next move. It was a shame to pass up the blatant invitation, but since he wasn’t headed back to his place tonight—or hers—there was no point in taking it any further. He gave her a regretful sorry, not tonight shake of his head and turned back to his buddies.

  “See?”

  Justus snorted a laugh. “Dick. You won’t get on a plane, but you’ll put your ass on a motorcycle for a six hour ride to Las Vegas?”

  “Damn straight.” It was the kind of logic only a hardcore rider like himself would understand.

  “You’re trading one desert for another,” Nitro pointed out.

  “One is home. One is not,” Aidan explained. “Big difference.”

  They’d spent months in Djibouti. Some quality time on his bike was part of his reintegration process. Riding helped get his head straight. The guys knew that. They just loved to give him shit about it.

  “At least no one will be shooting at you in Vegas,” Justus said and clanked beer mugs with Nitro.

  “Amen to that.” Nitro cocked a questioning brow. “You riding the Harley or the Triumph?”

  Either would make for an awesome ride, but there was only one choice for the long trip. “The Harley. I picked it up from the dealership earlier today. They brushed the dust off and gave it a good once over.” And the guy at the shop cleared his storage bill, telling Aidan it was their pleasure to keep his bike safe and secure while he was deployed. A company-wide policy that ensured Aidan would always do business with them. “Rides like a dream.”

  “I heard the same could be said for Aussie women,” Justus said. “You sure you won’t reconsider?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need an itinerary right now. I need some down time.”

  Justus eyed him like he’d grown a second head. “Balls-to-the-wall Rocket? Relax? Since when?”

  Nitro laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Justus leaned in. “You got your spa days all planned out? Yoga? Meditation?” His asshole friends exchanged a glance, then busted into laughter. “Hey, Nitro. Maybe we should change his nickname to Turtle.”

  “You guys are hilarious. Call me Turtle and see what happens, motherfuckers,” Aidan joked, but with a dare in his gaze. He knew when it was time to slow down. Didn’t mean he was making a goddamned lifestyle change. “Could you really see me trying to fold my long-ass legs into some weird yoga pose?” Realizing he’d opened another can of worms, he held up a palm. “Don’t answer that.”

  The way his buddies were still cackling, they were probably trying to envision him becoming a human pretzel right now.

  “If you must know, I’m gonna help my dad in the shop, eat my weight in my mom’s pancakes, and get some fucking both-eyes-closed sleep. Other than that, I’m going to take advantage of each day as it comes
. No ready-made itinerary telling me where to go and what time to be there. I, we, get enough of that at work.”

  Nitro bumped Justus with his elbow. “Can’t fault that logic.”

  Aidan stood, itching to get on the road. The guys stood with him. He clapped palms with Justus and pulled him into a bro hug, then did the same with Nitro.

  “You guys travel safe.” While Justus was headed to Australia, Nitro would be heading to Rome. How these fuckers could get back on a plane right now was beyond him.

  “Enjoy your leave, Rocket,” Nitro told him. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Believe me, trouble is the last thing I’m looking for.”

  Aidan rolled into his parents’ driveway shortly after two in the morning. He followed the drive around to the back of the house and rolled to a stop on the house-sized cement slab next to the garage. He cut the engine with a deep sigh of relief.

  At thirty-one, it had been more than ten years since he lived under his parent’s roof, but the sense of being home was unmistakably strong. His chest felt lighter, his muscles a little less tense. There was something oddly soothing about knowing the people he loved the most were within reach.

  He climbed off the Harley and removed his helmet. He stretched his back, giving the rumble from hours on the bike time to fade from his legs. His parent’s house was dark, as expected. They were working a car show and would be staying in a hotel for most of his leave. His parents had argued, but Aidan insisted they not change their plans for him. And anyway, he’d still see them. He planned to meet up with his folks later in the day, after he caught some z’s. He was looking forward to hanging out in the family booth at the show.

  His family owned and operated Stone Customs, a custom car and bike shop located five miles from the Las Vegas Strip. His dad, Matthew Stone, started the business more than twenty years ago. After years of hard work—blood, sweat, and grease, his dad liked to say—Stone Customs was the shop for anyone who wanted a restoration or a custom ride.

  It was crazy to think about how far his parents had come. His dad had a tough start in life. Grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in nowhere, Virginia, with parents who were less than thrilled by his presence. In an effort to keep the peace, and his hide, his dad started hanging out at the local auto body shop at a very young age. Instead of shooing him away, the owner took him in, taught him everything he knew. What the guy didn’t know, Matt had figured out on his own.

  When his dad was fifteen, he met Helen—a woman of similar background who would become Aidan’s mom—at a local diner. Matt swore on the spot that he would marry her and together, they would get the hell out of Virginia and take the world by storm.

  Four kids, thirty-five years of marriage, and owning the most successful custom car shop in the west might not be considered taking the world by storm by some standards, but by Aidan’s, his parents were killing it.

  He hoped for the same for his own life, someday. If he ever met a woman who intrigued and challenged him enough to compel him to hang around for more than a night.

  On the flip side, he was no picnic. He could be stubborn and over-protective. He wasn’t one to veg out on the couch to binge watch some ridiculous TV show. He preferred the outdoors. What could he say? He was an active guy who didn’t do stagnant well.

  Even if he did meet a woman who could keep up with him, she’d have to accept the demands of his job. He had ten years before he was eligible for retirement, but he didn’t think he would leave even then. He was career military, through and through.

  Aidan scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair and trailed down to squeeze the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he standing in the driveway in the middle of the night contemplating life? Must be a combination of work-related stress and the bone-deep exhaustion he felt now that he was home.

  He had no control over the first one, but he was all over the second. The bed in his old room, now a guest room, was calling his name. One quick stop and then he’d be ready to crash for a few hours.

  All was quiet as Aidan grabbed a small box from his travel bag and headed across the driveway toward the house next door. He slipped through the gate of the wrought-iron fence separating the two properties. The soft lawn muffled the sound of his heavy boots as he made his way toward the back deck. Habit had him walking lightly up the steps and across the wooden surface toward the back door. He needn’t have bothered. The old guy couldn’t hear for shit.

  The house had belonged to Dwight “Boss” Parks for as long as Aidan could remember. Boss was—other than his dad—the man Aidan most respected. As a Navy veteran, Boss had been a big part of Aidan’s decision to join the military, and he was definitely the reason he’d chosen the Navy. Boss was like the grandfather Aidan never had—if grandfathers were snarky, gave unsolicited advice about a guy’s love life, and loved to tell stories about the past.

  According to the ritual he and Boss established years ago, Aidan would let himself into the house. Using SEAL stealth, he would leave a box of Boss’s favorite cigars on the counter—Aidan’s way of letting the old geezer know he was home and he was safe. Then, Aidan would help himself to a bottle of his favorite beer—which Boss always kept on hand—before locking up and heading to get some sleep. He would come back the next day for a proper visit.

  That’s how it happened. Every time. Without fail.

  Until tonight.

  Aidan selected a key from his ring and fit it into the lock. When he slipped through the door and entered the kitchen, he glared toward the alarm keypad, not at all happy at its silence when the thing should be beeping up a storm.

  That was his first indication something wasn’t right.

  He closed the door behind him and broke protocol. He flipped on the kitchen light.

  What the hell?

  Aidan’s temper rose as he glanced around the messy kitchen. He knew from his dad that Boss had hired a woman to take care of the daily cooking and housekeeping. Aidan made a mental note to get her name so he could fire her ass.

  Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The stove looked like it had lost a battle with what he hoped was some kind of tomato sauce. He didn’t even want to know what that was on the tile floor.

  The center island was covered with newspapers and unopened mail. Aidan stalked over to the counter and gathered everything into a single, neat stack. He set the papers to one side and placed the box of cigars in the center of the now-clean countertop.

  He turned and pulled open the refrigerator to grab a beer, only there wasn’t any beer to grab. There was a door full of condiments, a plethora of storage containers on the shelves, and … seriously? Aidan jerked out the four-pack of bottles and gave a disgusted snort. Fucking wine coolers?

  That was the last straw.

  Aidan shoved the offending carton back where he found it. He slammed the fridge door shut, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, right the hell now. The wee hour of the morning was not the time to be traipsing through Boss’s house. On some level, Aidan was aware of that. Didn’t stop him from storming out of the kitchen, though.

  He drew up short in the dining room. The table was covered with storage boxes. Aidan thumbed the cardboard flap on a box marked “donation” and glanced at the contents. Books. Another box marked the same was filled with men’s shoes.

  An uneasy feeling settled in Aidan’s gut as a flickering glow of light drew him toward the living room. He scanned the room. Boss wasn’t in the recliner, which meant the old guy had probably fallen asleep on the couch.

  Concern overshadowed his need for answers. Boss’s old bones wouldn’t appreciate a night on the couch come daylight. Since he’d come this far, he might as well wake the guy up and help him get to bed.

  Aidan rounded the couch and came to a dead stop.

  Unless he’d grown a mass of honey blonde hair, the person sleeping on Boss’s couch was definitely not Boss.

  The woman was cur
led on her side, with her fists tucked underneath her chin. From the glow of the TV, Aidan mapped her relaxed features. High, round cheeks. Slim, somewhat crooked nose. Full lips, slightly parted in sleep.

  A blanket was twisted around her hips, giving Aidan a front row seat to her tiny-strapped top and the expanse of smooth, tanned skin it left exposed. One of the thin straps had fallen off her shoulder, revealing the upper curve of a small, but perky-looking breast. And a sliver of nipple, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Jesus Christ.

  Aidan slammed his eyes shut. He should not be checking the woman out, perfect breasts or not. The fact she was hot made no difference. She was probably the help, the person he planned to fire as soon as he confirmed her identity.

  That’s when he heard the ear-piercing scream.

  2

  Zoe Parks kicked and fought against the blanket twisted around her legs. She screamed again—louder this time—when she realized she’d done little more than hogtie herself for the dangerous-looking stranger in her living room.

  “Hey!” Her would-be attacker’s hands rose, showing her the palm-side of his fingerless gloves. He darted a glance over his shoulder. “Are you trying to give the old man a heart attack? Simmer down, will you? I’m not here to hurt you, for fuck’s sake.” Those large, long-fingered hands disappeared into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “Jesus. You could wake the damn dead with those vocal chords.”

  Zoe froze. The man’s words cut through her panic and drove her straight into anger. The old man? If this was some kind of joke, Zoe wasn’t laughing.