SEAL'd Fate (Brotherhood of SEAL'd Hearts) Read online

  SEAL’d Fate

  Brotherhood Of SEAL’d Hearts

  Gabi Moore

  Contents

  About the Author

  SEAL’d Fate

  Blurb

  1. Chapter 1 - Hugo

  2. Chapter 2 - Rebecca

  3. Chapter 3 - Hugo

  4. Chapter 4 - Rebecca

  5. Chapter 5 - Hugo

  6. Chapter 6 - Rebecca

  7. Chapter 7 - Hugo

  8. Chapter 8 - Rebecca

  9. Chapter 9 - Hugo

  10. Chapter 10 - Rebecca

  11. Chapter 11 - Hugo

  12. Chapter 12 - Rebecca

  13. Chapter 13 - Hugo

  14. Chapter 14 - Rebecca

  15. Chapter 15 - Hugo

  16. Chapter 16 - Rebecca

  17. Chapter 17 - Hugo

  18. Chapter 18 - Rebecca

  Back Page Confession: On Deciding to Make the Heroine …Fat

  SEAL’d Trust

  SEAL’d Legacy

  Mindfuck

  Against All Odds

  Never Look Back

  All Or Nothing

  Steamy Short Stories

  BAD BOYS AFTER DARK - The Complete Boxed Set

  MIND GAMES - The Complete Boxed Set

  Gabi’s Naughty Newsletter

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Gabi Moore. All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Cover photo licensed from Andrew England.

  Created with Vellum

  About the Author

  Hey there! I’m Gabi Moore and I’m on a mission to love like I’ve never been hurt, dance like nobody’s watching, and write sex scenes like my mother didn’t raise me right.

  I've been told that you need a few things before picking up any of my books, including, but not limited to, clean panties, a hot man and/or vibrator, and blocks of uninterrupted time.

  I write about some of the naughty things I’ve done, and some of the naughty things I still wish I could do. Some days, I forget which is which.

  I like coffee and men with accents. And lately, I’ve been trying to give up dirty puns …but it’s hard.

  So hard.

  To connect with me on a more intimate level, I suggest joining my Naughty Newsletter.

  Brace yourself for bad sex puns, pervy observations about innocent strangers in my real life (and yes, I’m a real, living, breathing woman) and whatever other raunchy things pop up in my day-to-day life as a secret undercover smut writer.

  I can’t promise that everything you read will be tasteful, but I hope at the very least it will be entertaining! ;)

  Gabi’s Naughty Newsletter

  Join me on Facebook:

  authorgabimoore

  One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it.

  - Proverb

  SEAL’d Fate

  Blurb

  REBECCA

  I had started this day as super confident, larger than life Becky Morris: fearless, fun and in charge of her exciting life.

  And now, I was ending it with torn clothes, a shredded backpack, wolves howling in the distance, and a thought I had valiantly resisted for the last five years: despite everything that had happened, I wanted Hugo.

  I wanted him badly.

  Now more than ever.

  And this time, I wasn't just afraid of my heart being broken - but that it would stop beating altogether...

  HUGO

  I’m the one and only, Hugo Turner: ex-Navy SEAL, free man and grand master in the seductive arts.

  I used to think I was in control, but…

  do you ever get the feeling that life is just messing with you sometimes? That you’re being moved around by something you can’t see or understand, but it’s working behind the scenes anyway?

  I couldn’t explain it, but I just knew I had to go and find her.

  Right now.

  Maybe it was something supernatural. Maybe it was fate, I don’t know. But my instincts told me that she needed me now, and I always trust my instincts.

  I wasn’t about to let her down again...

  Chapter 1 - Hugo

  We were both a little tipsy. Ok, maybe a lot tipsy. She was in green – she always looked amazing in green – and it was New Year’s and we were doing this thing where I joked that I’d have to kiss her if she kept lingering around me by the time they did the countdown. She loved it. We had only met that night but she was flirting back hard, disappearing for a while but always coming back. It was almost twelve and then there she was, and all the lights were reflecting in her eyes, and her hair smelt like coconut, and she giggled and shrugged and I kissed her. It had started as a joke but then it was real. And then everyone stopped screaming “Happy New Year!” but we kept on kissing. I kissed her all that night, and all the next day too. We were just kids. I told her my resolution was to kiss her every day that year.

  A good night out is a lot like a well-coordinated mission. You have to know your enemy, and your squad has to be sharp. It all starts with nailing down the perfect location. My wingman and I would default to The Pits if it was a Friday night, or Cal’s Place if it was Saturday. When you’re out on a raid, you can’t Rambo it up, barge in and blow up the place. I mean, you can, but you have to do it sneaky-peaky like, you have to use a light touch. You twinkle in there with grace and a smile… and then you blow up the place.

  My old SEAL cronies are excellent marksman, decorated soldiers, all that jazz. But when it comes to charm? That’s my MO, baby. If you needed strings pulled, if you needed some shifty eyed official to soften up and turn off the CCTV, hell, if you needed to schmooz an old village doctor to get him to part ways with that secret box he had in his medicine cabinet… then I was your guy. And that’s why I was every lady’s guy, too.

  The trick to getting people to give you what you want is making them think that they’re getting what they want from you. Women are the simplest beings in creation. They want to be told they’re beautiful, they want to believe they’re unlike any other women you’ve met, and that you feel ways about them that you’ve never felt before. That’s it. There isn’t a woman alive I haven’t told those three things to that didn’t beg me to fuck her eventually. Sneaky peaky like at first, then you blow up the place, see? Easy.

  So, you have the location nailed down, you’ve got your game honed down to an art, you’re looking good and now with a little bit of luck, the night can unfold. One of two things happens. You find a chick who’s down for it. She’ll want to play a little, tease a little, make sure everyone knows it’s you who seduced her. I call this the Easy Target and for the most part, you just have to play up how surprised you are that a nice girl like her can be so damn naughty and how she’s the boss. Oh, and of course that she’s beautiful, unlike any other, and you’ve never quite felt like this before.

  An Easy Target isn’t common, though. I’ve sometimes walked away from one just because I wanted a challenge. And nothing is more challenging than a Fence Sitter. You’ll know her when you see her. She’s come out with her girlfriends, she’s dressed up pretty but this whole scene isn’t really her thing. She’s conflicted, right? Let her hair down or behave? Let go or be responsible? I step in and help her, uh, decide. I love Fence Sitters. See, the thing is that she wants to be coaxed. She’s the one waiting for an asshole like me to
come along and make being bad look good. Here, the strategy is crucial: you have to go in hard.

  You ease the Fence Sitter in one drink, one flirty glance at a time. You stick with her all night, letting her know that as slow as she wants to go, she will give it up eventually, and you’ll be there when she does. Seduction? Not really. Nobody is ever convinced to do something they don’t secretly want to do already. Find the right girl; look into her naughty little eyes, lean in close, right up close… and then push. She comes off that fence in a hurry, believe me.

  Then there are the Cold Bitches, too, and the only thing they want you stroking is their ego. You can always tell them a mile away: they dress up, whip out the push up bras and heels, but have this kind of disdainful look in their eyes for all the fools that dare to look at any of it. I say fools because the quickest way to end a good night is to get tangled up with a Cold Bitch.

  Years in the field have taught me to spot these girls. I don’t want to get too philosophical about it, but it’s all in the eyes. It’s all in the small movements of their hands, in their posture. On deployment, you learn to distinguish between civilians and… everyone else. Terrorists, assassins, guerillas, they all seem like ordinary people, but look into their eyes and you’ll see it right there. I can’t explain it but it’s a little like that with a Cold Bitch. You don’t need to know the details, but you feel in the pit of your stomach that she’s equivalent of an explosive vest under that tight cocktail dress, and if you come too close, she’ll detonate and blow you both to kingdom come. Or something. Like I said, it’s more of a gut thing. And I always trust my gut. I run on intuition, and that’s why if I head out on the hunt, I always, and I mean always, get what I want. You have to understand your mark… and nobody understands women like I do.

  I peeled my eyes open in the dim light and let them adjust. I gave my brain a few moments but it wasn’t come up with any memories beyond around 3am the night before. I was on a bed, in an unfamiliar room that smelled vaguely of vanilla. But this in itself was a pretty familiar part of my life. I stretched out long and turned to see a tumble of blonde hair on the pillow next to me.

  Ah, so that’s what happened.

  And still sleeping.

  Good.

  I realized I was naked. Without moving, I scanned the room to locate my clothing. Great. I’d grab my underpants, hoist those on and move out pronto. I scanned the rest of the room. It was nice. Too nice for a girl as young as… well, whoever was in the bed beside me right now. It couldn’t be a parents’ home, I vaguely remember making her scream last night. Loudly. So, possibly a rich kid or a housemate situation. She was definitely an Easy Target, but something in my gut told me she’d also be the kind to get all emotional in the morning, and try to weasel some croissants and coffee out of me. A pro knows when a mission is over. And if you let things go on until the coffee and croissants stage, you’ve fucked up somewhere along the line.

  I took a deep breath, looked over at her once more and wished I could remember more about last night. Kylie? Carla? Oh well. I oozed slowly out of bed, carefully so as not to squeak the bedsprings under me. Bedsprings. Oh yes, now I remembered. We gave those fucking bedsprings hell. I had her on her hands and knees and she had her little ass straight up in the air. In my memory, her head was smooshed down into the sheets, and her blond hair was tumbling all over her face, just as it was now. Damn. The thought of getting some more of that had me thinking that maybe I could make an exception and sit through coffee and croissants…

  Nope. Mission was over.

  I sat up and my feet found the ground, then I silently slinked on my underpants and grabbed my shirt and trousers, feeling the weight of my wallet and phone in the pocket. I accidentally stood on the sleeve of her sequined dress, which was half crumpled under a stiletto on the floor. The door was ajar and I slipped sideways through it, like a cat. Brevity is the soul of wit, you know, and a short morning after is the best way to end a good night before.

  Without so much as a moaning floorboard I dashed free and tried to find the front door. The house was even nicer than I had guessed. High ceilings. Fancy art on the walls. I had to get out before little miss back there woke up. Then I saw it: the front door was at the end of a long corridor. Bingo.

  I made for it, still in my underwear, ninja-footed with clothes bundled in my arms. I silently swiveled the door lock open and was about to step outside.

  “Hugo?”

  On deployment, I’d hear a lot of guys say how the really traumatic shit, the really scary moments always felt like they happened in slow motion. That whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing? Well, it’s real. Distress sharpens the brain and for a few milliseconds, you’re thinking so fast that everything around you slows right down almost to a standstill. That red hair. That plump little fold of the top lip. Those big, watery blue eyes. It was a face I had seen in my memories almost every day, but now, seeing it here, in this house… she might as well have been a ghost.

  “Re… Rebecca?”

  We stared stupidly at one another for what could have been two seconds or twenty minutes. Her eyebrows tilted and she looked me up and down, mouth hanging open. She seemed on the verge of saying something but couldn’t quite spit it out. I stood there like an idiot, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding last night’s shameful, smoky clothing, cowering a little. I struggled to figure out what to say myself. It had been a long time? I was sorry? I had missed her? I began to wonder if it would be rude to ask her what the hell she was doing here, when she spoke.

  “Oh, I see. You’re here because of… wait, is Kirsten still sleeping?” she said and glanced quickly over her shoulder to the other room.

  It was remarkable how much judgment she was able to cram into that short sentence. I half shrugged, trying to hold my clothing out in front of me to cover my nearly naked ass self. She was in casual pajamas, her hair was loose, and everything about her was exactly how I remembered it. Well, everything except for that murderous expression she now had on her face.

  “She’s…” I began, but Rebecca took a step towards me and raised her voice.

  “You’re unbelievable. I’m waking her up,” she hissed.

  My heart pounded in my chest. Fuck. The only thing worse in this world than a woman who thought you’d fucked up was two women who thought you’d fucked up. This was bound to happen eventually, right? Was I the handsome lovable Casanova finally getting his comeuppance? Oh fuck.

  “Rebecca, please, I was just leaving,” I whispered.

  She smirked at me.

  “Leaving? Nice. I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “No, Becky, look, I know this looks bad… I didn’t expect to… Jesus, how long has it been? I’ll um… I have to go now but let’s catch up soon, ok? I’ll call you,” I said, then I flew out that front door like my feet had grown wings and I tumbled away, stepping into my pants and pulling on my shirt as I hightailed it out of there.

  It took almost three blocks for my heart to stop pounding. For me to stop seeing that mocking twist in her lips as she looked at me, that shock in her eyes. I’m a pro. I’ve been in dicey situations before and you’d better believe I knew how to handle a pissed off girl. But Rebecca? Of all the women in the world to bump into on a walk of shame, it had to be her? I wandered around the neighborhood for a while, still shaking, like a man who’s had a near death experience. I found a little café and sat down, trying to gather my thoughts.

  The last time I had seen her was before I joined the military. A lifetime ago. It was a weird sensation, knowing that she was still out there in the world. That those blue eyes of hers were real, and not just something my memory had made up for all these years. And what was even more real was the raw disappointment I’d seen in them. Fuck. Rebecca was a case I thought I’d closed years ago. How dare she waltz back into my life like this now, especially when I was on a role, in the prime of my life? Obviously, she caught me on my good side, and I don’t mind saying that many lesser women have
lost their minds when faced with the prospect of my bare chest. But still. I felt like shit.

  The waitress ambled over to my table and took a look at me.

  “Sir? Just to make you aware, we do have a dress code.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She was pretty. An eight, easily, probably a college student, cute, kind of skinny though, and a haircut that just screamed I have a boyfriend.

  “Your shoes, sir. I mean, your feet.”

  I looked down and then back up at her, blushing. I gave her my best, most foolproof superstar smile and shrugged.

  “Huh, look at that. Must be one of those mornings, huh?” I said, and wiggled my bare toes with all the charm you’d expect from a guy who was not even hungover, but possibly still a little drunk.

  “Are you, like, ordering something?”

  “Come on, don’t be mad. I’ll tell you what happened if you promise not to be too shocked, ok? I was out last night…”

  “Sir, it’s kind of busy here today,” she blurted.

  Definitely had a boyfriend then. Fine. I ordered a coffee and a croissant and ate it, still smarting, and then mentally catalogued all the reasons that Becky was wrong. I was a superstar. I totally had my life together.

  Chapter 2 - Rebecca

  It was our morning ritual, every Saturday. We’d wake up slow, fuck for hours, then go get coffee and breakfast at this little French café on the corner. It was an expensive habit for a couple of 19 year olds, but it was the best part of the week for me. You were always joking, always wise-cracking. But sometimes, if it was early enough and we’d had enough sex, you’d soften up a bit and tell me things. Sure, I liked that you were goofy and light hearted about everything, but I cherished your serious side, too. It was our special morning ritual. The time when we were allowed to forget that what we were doing couldn’t last forever...