Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs
Read Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs Online
Authors: Sharon Hamilton
Tags: #Romance, #military, #SEALs, #Fiction
A Novella
Sharon Hamilton
Copyright © 2015 by Sharon Hamilton
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. In many cases, liberties and intentional inaccuracies have been taken with rank, description of duties, locations and aspects of the SEAL community.
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
One of the greatest joys of my writing career has been the successful collaboration with my narrator, former Nashville singer/songwriter, and now award-winning actor and narrator/voiceover talent, J.D. Hart. The fun stories of his years as a single CW star, and of those artists he was fortunate to play with and for, have wound their way into this story. Remember, this is a work of fiction, and I create things that never happened, hopefully with enough kernels of truth sprinkled in to make it believable.
But let me be clear, any resemblance to anyone either living or formerly living is purely coincidence, or a form of my own active imagination.
I’d also like to point out that I support two main charities: Navy SEAL/UDT Museum in Ft. Pierce, Florida. Please learn about this wonderful museum, all run by active and former SEALs and their friends and families, and who rely on public support, not that of the U.S. Government.
I also support Wounded Warriors, who tirelessly bring together the warrior as well as the family members who are just learning to deal with their soldier’s condition and have nowhere to turn. It is a long path to becoming well, but I’ve seen first-hand what this organization does for its warriors and the families who love them. Please give what your heart tells you is right. If you cannot give, volunteer at one of the many service centers all over the United States. Get involved. Do something meaningful for someone who gave so much of themselves, to families who have paid the price for your freedom. You’ll find a family there unlike any other on the planet.
Other Books by Sharon Hamilton
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T
he bright stage
lights always set Jameson Daniels’ nerves on edge, until he began to feel the music in his bones. He covered up his shyness, closing his eyes and falling into the rhythm of his music. Then he felt comfortable enough looking out into the crowd he knew to be mostly women, about twenty deep, standing as close to the stage as his security would allow. Though he wore his Transitions shades, in time his eyes adjusted so he could see their gleaming faces. Flashing cameras still made him jump.
The music always playing their warmup when he walked out with his guitar, his rum and coke discreetly placed close by. But as he stepped up to the microphone, the band would quit treading water and begin some serious groove on. He preferred the heat level hot to begin with. The slow sexy songs came after he was good and sweaty, his voice becoming raspy. That’s what the crowd wanted. He always aimed to please.
Playing at Halfway to Heaven was a trophy experience for him, as it was for thousands of other up-and-coming Nashville stars who would sacrifice their right leg to have a gig here. If need be, they’d hobble around on stage, just as the old timers did who now drank too much. Drunk or sober, the audience loved them.
At twenty-five, he was perhaps starting late, and he was new to Nashville. But playing at Halfway to Heaven did two things, in order of importance. First, it gave him the chance to meet up with a producer who might buy his songs, or, better yet, offer him a record deal. Second, as the name implied, his social life and sexual needs were satisfied every night with a hot girl who would boost his confidence and stroke his ego, as well as a very important body part. He thought the venue name was well-chosen.
The bright faces of the lovelies cheered him up just as the band gave him that kick of confidence. He began his theme song,
Bring, bring it on, baby,
The night is still young…
He smiled, seeing his old friend, Thomas Becker, bellying up to the bar and raising his drink to him. Thomas had told him, “Shoot, Jameson, any little lady in the audience who didn’t have the idea of going home with you tonight sure had one after hearing that song. That’s your fuckin’ siren song. ‘
Come fuck me!’
”
Thomas had been right here, his cowboy boots standing where Jameson’s were now. And he’d lived in the limelight, basked in the shadow of Jameson’s light. He was Jameson’sometimes warmup act, a friend who didn’t want to steal from him, just envied and liked him, and didn’t expect a handout. And as fast as Thomas’ sunk, Jameson’s star was on the rise.
Jameson tipped his hat to Thomas, the gesture returned. Then the girls started to scream, arms in the air, as he continued.
We were made for lovin’
We’re gonna have it all.
He didn’t look for a single face in particular as the sets played on. The band was having a good night, laughing and improvising with each other. The crowd was especially loud and responsive. He tried to take a short break, and they kept begging him to stay on stage, so he accepted someone’s shirt, wiped the sweat from his brow and chest, threw it back, and continued.
His break came twenty minutes late. Back in his dressing room, he set his guitar in the stand, removed his hat, and lifted his rum and coke—already prepared for him—to his forehead, as he sat back and propped up his feet.
Music filtered in through the dressing room door as it opened a crack. She had on impossibly tight jeans and red cowboy boots. Her white shirt was wet, sticking to a noteworthy chest. When she gave him that shy smile he could see the courage it took to sneak into his dressing room and admired her boldness, but remained seated.
Arlen Strickland, Jameson’s head of security, barged into the room behind the little blonde. “Sorry, Jameson. She slipped past me.” He had a hand on her forearm as the girl frowned and tented her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Daniels. Just wanted an autograph. That’s all.” Her big eyes flashed up to him in what he knew to be an obvious lie. It tickled him. He was attracted to ladies on the forward side because it masked some of his own shyness.
“Nah, let her stay. She’s not bothering me. Go ahead, I’ll bring her out in a bit, Arlen.”
Jameson stood, pressing his palm against the door as his guard left the little alcove. He caught her admiring the posters of past concerts and other legendary stars plastered over all the walls. It wasn’t a glamorous place, but it held so much history Jameson felt as if the music was coming from deep within the walls of the place.
At last she was done with her perusal and focused on him.
“Well?” he asked, towering over her and seeing her shake. She had bucked up her courage and now was considering whether it was a good thing. He always enjoyed playing with them a little, so he didn’t speak and let her nervousness take over.
“Oh, gosh. I never thought I could actually sneak into your dressing room. I mean, my friend told me she’d hid out in—I can’t remember now who it was. Someone big. And I just thought I’d give it a try.”
Jameson didn’t care for the comment about “someone big” but let it slide. She was here, and he only had a few minutes.
“So you were in luck. Normally Arlen doesn’t let anyone this close. I guess you were a little too fast for him.”
She swallowed hard. Her cheeks blushed, and she was having a hard time looking him in the eyes.
“And what did you come here for, missy?” He held her chin with his thumb and forefinger, raising it up so their eyes could meet. Hers were darting all over the place and then finally landed on his lips. She inhaled, and for a second, he thought she’d back up. He tilted his head to the side. “Hmmm? I’m waiting.”
“Could…” She swallowed again, let her eyes close for a second, and then pressed through her comment. “Could you sign my shirt?”
“I’d love to.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened.
“Of course. Now, just where do you want me to sign it?”
“Um.” She didn’t move as his fingers left her chin. “Right here?” She placed her palm over her right breast.
“Right there.”
“Yessir, Mr. Daniels.”
He growled. “Now that’s not a very nice thing to say. You ever hear them announce me as Mr. Daniels? That would be my daddy, if I had one, that is.”
He stepped closer, mostly to see if she would shrink away, but she stood firm, which allowed the front of his thighs to touch hers. He enjoyed the heat and the shaking he felt there. “Since I’m gonna kiss a very intimate body part of yours, don’t you think you should call me Jameson?”