Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (13 page)

Rob immediately smacks him upside the head. “If you ever call my wife a cock warmer again, I will beat the fucking shit out of you,” he warns with a stern tone. And then…
he smiles
.

This kind of banter among Black Mamba is par for the course. Out of uniform, they’re constantly teasing the hell out of each other, but once they put on their military fatigues and suit up for battle, they’re one hundred percent in the zone—the ultimate Team.

“God damn, I’m hungry. I hope the Navy shelled out some cash to serve us something worth my time,” Julian announces as he runs a hand over his buzzed head. He’s the most intense-looking of Black Mamba. His green eyes urge every woman in a fifty-mile radius to flock towards him just to get a chance to have that emerald gaze flashed in their direction.

He’s never short of opportunities with the opposite sex—that’s for sure.

“Yeah, I’m here for the food, and the Navy better step up to the plate tonight,” Nix announces to his brothers.

He supports the charity this event is promoting, but he honestly couldn’t care less about events like this. He’s a SEAL—his top priority revolves around his job. He’d much rather be skydiving from a plane with his weapon strapped around his shoulders than sit around in his dress blues drinking champagne and listening to speeches. Some might call him an asshole for thinking this way, but he knows that this mindset is what got him through BUD/S training, and it’s most definitely what made him the SEAL he is today.

AN ANNOUNCEMENT IS MADE FROM the podium that stands front and center in the room, encouraging everyone to take their seats. “Dinner will be served shortly and our planned speakers for the evening will soon take the stage.”

Nix orders another Guinness from the bar before following Julian and Slade back to their assigned table. Out of all of the guys of his platoon, Julian and Slade are his closest buddies. They went through BUD/S training together and formed a bond that will last a lifetime.

BUD/S is the grueling six-month-long SEAL training course held in Coronado, California. It distinguishes the men from the boys.
The real fucking deal.
Only a select few manage to come out of BUD/S without ringing the bell three times and still be ready to continue on as a Navy SEAL.

They sit down at the table, surrounded by a few of the Navy’s finest officers.

The three of them are undoubtedly an interesting sight among the normal clean-cut attendants. And still, the only one looking remotely close to the preferred military style is Julian. But despite his presentable buzzed head, he still sports a nice three-day-old scruff on his well-chiseled jaw. Slade has the most striking looks of the group. His full, tousled, jet-black hair and indistinguishable dark gaze is highlighted by the dark facial hair that adorns his face. Nix isn’t lacking in the looks department either. He’s undeniably handsome, with an edge of strength. His deep-blue gaze exudes an alpha dominance only he could manage with such finesse.

Outside of their capacity as Navy SEALs—when they’re living a normal day-to-day life at home—all three of them stand out without even trying. And the attention they receive from the opposite sex is nothing short of overzealous. Not many women could deny the sexual attraction—the magnetic pull—that men like Nix, Julian, and Slade emanate.

“No way. I guaran-fuckin-tee that Irish put on at least six pounds during our two-week hiatus. No doubt Momma Stratton kept his ass well-fed,” Slade adds to the current topic of conversation.

“I can’t deny that, if I had a wife who possessed cooking skills that rivaled Mary Stratton’s, I’d probably put on some weight too. Have you ever had that woman’s chicken fettuccine Alfredo? Shit, she can cook,” Julian throws out as his mouth practically salivates at the mere idea of Momma Stratton’s undeniable cooking talents.

Nix chuckles and nods his head in agreement. “I’m not disagreeing, but by the slow pace Irish managed today on the run, I’m thinking that she might have outdone herself.”

Rob was the last guy to complete the six-mile run and intense swim the guys of Black Mamba participated in earlier in the day. Although a six-minute-mile pace isn’t slacking, it’s not considered stellar by men who’ve completed some of the most intense workouts known to man. The training they’ve been through over the years would make the men who finish the notoriously challenging Ironman Triathlon look like amateurs.

Their conversation stops when they hear the emcee for the evening announce the first speaker of the night. A nice introduction about the accomplishments Dr. Felicia Santora has achieved with the charitable organization known as Project Smiles is revealed and the crowd gives a welcoming round of applause as she takes the stage.

Nix lazily watches a woman stand up from a table towards the front of the room. She elegantly walks up the stairs that lead to the main stage. Her olive skin is revealed beautifully from the tasteful gown she wears.

Damn, she has a fantastic body
, he immediately thinks to himself as his gaze takes in the perfect curve of her toned ass.

Her hair sways gently against her back as she makes her way to the center of the stage. She reaches the podium, shakes the emcee’s hand, and then turns to face the crowd.

Once Nix’s eyes take in the presence of this woman, his entire body goes ramrod straight. His breath catches in his throat and the beat of his heart comes to an abrupt halt before starting back up at a furiously wild rhythm. Every cell in his body is acutely aware of her familiarity.

What. The. Fuck.

He blinks his eyes several times in absolute confusion as his retinas frantically scan her up and down, trying to make sense of the situation. His brain must be deceiving him. He surreptitiously glances down at the glass of Guinness that sits before him, silently questioning if someone slipped hallucinogenics in his drink.

None of this is making sense.

There is no fucking way it’s her—Sloan Walker. My Sloan.

Adrenaline courses through his blood stream and his entire equilibrium is overwhelmed by the woman who stands before him, front and center in this very conference room. His hand goes to his chest, rubbing gently at the very spot that’s a constant reminder of the past. The last time he touched that spot was a little over a week ago when he was faced with a terrible nightmare of her—when he let himself remember her, remember the time they’d shared together.

He tries to focus on the present.

The emcee introduced her as Dr. Felicia Santora, but Nix knows that face. He knows those brown eyes and that perfect smile. His fingers have traced every inch of that silky, smooth, olive skin.

She smiles warmly towards the crowd as she adjusts the mic at the podium. “Good evening, everyone. I am very humbled to be up here…”

The sound of her voice and the shock of her presence spark electricity in his veins.
Her voice
. Yes, it’s been over fourteen goddamn years, but he knows that voice
.
He’d still know that voice anywhere.

Is it really her?

His mind races through a million questions, desperately searching for logical explanations. But nothing seems logical. His entire being is tangled up in chaotic confusion. Once he realizes the ridiculous placement of his hand, he quickly sets it down in his lap, his focus still gawking at the stage in complete misperception.

Julian nudges him and Nix catches his sly grin from his periphery, but he’s too dumbfounded to respond to his friend’s knowing look—a look that says, “This woman is smoking hot.”

Fuck, he’s right. She is beautiful.
She is just as painstakingly beautiful as he remembers.

He’s rooted to his seat as he watches in stunned fascination. His gut instinct says,
It has to be her.
A woman he never thought he’d see again continues to talk about her travels to third-world countries and surgical deeds for the organization Project Smiles and under the name Dr. Felicia Santora. There’s no explanation other than the possibility that she’s using a different persona—some sort of alias. The ache in his chest reassures his brain that his eyes are not misleading him. Feelings of confusion and frustration and indisputable anger course through his bloodstream. Every cell inside his body knows that it’s her
.

The woman who is standing at the podium
is
Sloan Walker.

Why in the hell is she going under a different name?

He’s skeptical and curious and acutely aware of every question that races through his mind. So many questions. He needs to know everything. He wants to know more about this woman who is familiar yet so unfamiliar at the same time. He wants to know what she has been up to. He wants to know what she’s hiding from.

There are secrets behind her chocolate eyes. Those eyes used to be an open book. Nix used to know exactly what they were saying, what they were thinking with just a single glance, but now, those eyes are different—harder, sharper, and undeniably
secretive
. There is an edge to those eyes that he has never seen.

So many years have passed since he’s seen her—since he received the last and final letter.

A letter he’s saved and hasn’t had the heart to get rid of.

He spent the early part of his twenties trying to track her down but obviously had no luck. It was like she had just disappeared. A piercing pain shoots across his chest as he thinks back on the past.

Why did she give up? Why did she just disappear? Why didn’t she ever want to contact me?

A large part of him is angry at her. Angry that something so perfect was tossed aside like it had never meant anything. He thought they’d had a love that could withstand anything, but obviously, he was wrong.
Dead fucking wrong.
The first year he went without hearing from Sloan, he told himself that it wasn’t because she hadn’t wanted to keep in touch with him. He convinced himself that something had prevented her from reaching out to him. Something had happened and he was sure they would eventually find each other again. But then time continued to pass…and not a word from her. Not a single call or letter…
Nothing
.

As the days and months and years went by, Nix finally let himself come to the realization that she wasn’t going to make a reappearance in his life. He spent his mid-twenties trying to find her replacement through one-night stands and fleeting affairs. But deep down, his soul still longed for her. Subconsciously, he knew she was the type of girl who could never be replaced, and eventually, he began to accept the fact that he would probably never experience that type of love again.

He spent the last several years focusing his priorities on his career. And finding that purpose saved him from going crazy over a woman he had only had the opportunity of spending one year with during his teenage youth. Nix has never shared the story of Sloan with anyone. Most of his buddies would laugh or call him a pussy, and if Nix was honest with himself, he would admit that it still hurts too damn much to remember.

But now she stands before him and he’s remembering again…