Navy Seal To The Rescue

Rescued by the alpha SEAL

Tawny Weber debuts the stunning Aegis Security miniseries

Injured in the line of duty, navy SEAL Travis “Hawk” Hawkins retreats to paradise. But R & R takes a turn when he runs smack into a beautiful blonde who just witnessed a murder. Travis offers to help, only to find himself equally taunted and titillated by irresistible Lila Adrian. Can the wounded warrior protect Lila and take down a deadly crime ring?

TAWNY WEBER is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than forty books. She writes sassy, emotional romances with a dash of humour and believes that it all comes down to heroes. In fact, she’s made her career writing about heroes, most notably her popular navy SEALs series. Tawny credits her ex-military alpha husband for inspiration in her writing, and in her life. The recipient of numerous writing accolades, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, she has also hit number one on the Amazon and Barnes & Noble bestseller lists. A homeschooling mum, Tawny enjoys scrapbooking, gardening and spending time with her family and dogs in her Northern California home.

Visit Tawny on the web at www.tawnyweber.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads.

www.Facebook.com/TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor www.Twitter.com/TawnyWeber www.Pinterest.com/TawnyWeber www.Goodreads.com/author/show/513828.Tawny_Weber

Also by Tawny Weber

Nice & Naughty

Midnight Special

Naughty Christmas Nights

A SEAL’s Seduction

A SEAL’s Surrender

A SEAL’s Salvation

A SEAL’s Kiss

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Navy SEAL to the Rescue

Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09364-4

NAVY SEAL TO THE RESCUE

© 2019 Tawny Weber

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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To the amazing ladies at Mills & Boon Heroes.

Thanks so much for letting me join you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Publisher

Costa Rica, baby.

The small beachside town of Puerto Viejo de Talamanca was filled with character. The laid-back, mellow atmosphere was complemented by thatch-roofed buildings, colorful fabrics and hand-lettered signs.

Midstride down the deserted sidewalk, Lila Adrian stopped to close her eyes and take a deep breath of the rich, ocean-scented air. When she opened her big green eyes again, she was thrilled to see that yes, indeed, it was still gorgeous. What was it about the Caribbean that made everything just a little brighter?

God, she loved her job.

As the brains, brawn and chief headhunter of her own business, At Your Service, she was rocking it. She might be meeting clients in San Francisco one day, in London scouting for an art director the next, visiting a tiny village in Tuscany to woo a former prima ballerina the week after that. And now she was cruising Puerto Viejo for a chef.

Wherever the talent was, she went. And then, with charm, guile and a great deal of wit, she enticed that talent into the job of their dreams. Or into believing the job she wanted them to take was dream-worthy.

It’d all started with a few favors, helping a friend find an elite aromatherapy masseuse for her new spa, connecting a concierge doctor she’d once dated with an upscale hotel chain owned by a friend. But it had been introducing three of her father’s fired housekeepers to wealthy families who’d welcomed their services that made her realize she could turn it into a career.

Something she’d been desperate for. Not just to prove herself to family members who claimed she didn’t have any marketable skills, but to show herself that she was more than a pretty face. With the strings to her trust fund knotted tight, she’d spent most of At Your Service’s first three years living on ramen noodles and depending on the local coffeehouse’s free Wi-Fi.

But sheer stubbornness, a ton of charm and taking advantage of the varied connections she’d made over the years had finally done the trick.

That, and her family name.

Something she knew pissed her father off to no end.

Loving that small victory, Lila increased her pace to make her way around a pair of locals pedaling their bicycles, with baskets filled with produce.

Now she was in Costa Rica to add another feather to her cap. She didn’t figure it’d take an abundance of charm to convince Alberto Rodriguez, formerly of Miami, Florida, and currently the head chef of the aging Casa de Rico, that he’d like to travel the world as the personal chef to the Martins, a wealthy San Francisco banking family.

Mr. and Mrs. Martin—Joe and Mimi, respectively—had spent a week reveling in Rodriguez’s cuisine on their honeymoon. Food so delicious, they often claimed, that they could still taste it a decade later. Lila had followed up their praise with a little research, which assured her that Rodriguez had a great reputation as a chef who could handle upscale gourmet as well as fusion and regional cuisine. The man was wasted in a one-star restaurant that, from all accounts, was on the verge of bankruptcy. Since research turned up no reasons for him to want to stay, she figured he should be more than ready to make a move.

But just in case, Lila had the charm ready to pour on like syrup.

With that in mind, she pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her capris and opened the web browser to the hotel’s website. She’d already committed the details to memory, but she was a believer in double-checking.

Before she could scroll through the page, the phone rang.

Corinne Douglass. Socialite, diva and the best friend Lila had ever met.

“How’d you know I was holding my phone?” Lila answered with a laugh instead of a greeting.

“You’re always holding your phone,” her sometimes assistant-slash-roommate answered. “Even if it’s not in your hand, you’re still holding it in some form or other.”

“You have a point. What’s up?”

“How’s Costa Rica?” Corinne asked instead of answering.

Lila frowned at the sidestep, but looked around anyway.

“Gorgeous. The air is just humid enough to be sultry. The sun shining hot enough to sink into the bones. The people are friendly, the locale colorful and, so far, the job is on track.”

“Have you met with the chef yet? Is he interested? Are you coming home soon?”

“Not yet, but I’m on my way to the restaurant now. I’m sure he’ll be interested, once he hears the deal. And why?” Suspicion laced the last question, but Lila figured it was well deserved. She might be a card-carrying optimist, but she’d never be mistaken for Pollyanna. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, really,” Corinne hedged. “Just wondering when you’ll be back.”

“This shouldn’t take more than two or three days,” Lila estimated. Which she’d told Corinne when the other woman had dropped her at San Francisco International Airport. “Once again, I have to ask, why?”

“Can’t a friend check on a friend?” Corinne dismissed her with a light laugh that Lila knew she used only when she was nervous.

“What’s wrong? Did you hear from your dad?” Not only did the two women have a taste for designer heels and sappy chick flicks in common, but they also had wealthy families led by overbearing fathers. The only difference was, Corinne wanted her father’s attention while Lila wished hers would forget she existed.

“His secretary,” Corinne confirmed. Arthur Douglass rarely deigned to dial a phone himself. “Some things came up. He’s delayed.”

“So no visit to San Francisco?” “Visit” being friend-code for the man taking an extra half hour to have drinks with his daughter at the airport while his private jet refueled.

“No. I offered to meet him in Milan instead, but he has a full schedule. And, well, you know.”

She did know. Her friend couldn’t afford the trip or to take time off work at the art gallery. Yet another thing she and Corinne had in common was limited funds. Where they diverged was how they dealt with it. Poor Corinne let it bother her, while Lila, well, she didn’t. Much.

“Don’t let it get you down,” she advised. “I’ll be home in a few days and we’ll go out, hit the clubs, drink like crazy and dance our worries away.”

“Guys?”

“Of course.” Lila smiled at the two striding past. Tall, sporting swim trunks and surfboards, they grinned back. “It’s always more fun to dance with guys who know the moves.”

“I wouldn’t know. None of the guys I’ve danced with had much in the way of moves.”

“That’s because you’re always holding out for guys who remind you of your father,” Lila said under her breath.

“Yeah, yeah, you always say that,” Corinne shot back. But her laugh faded fast enough to send Lila’s smile into her toes.

“What else happened?” she asked.

“Well...”

Lila’s stomach clenched when Corinne hesitated. Oh, she knew that hesitation.

“It must be the day for fathers. Did mine leave a message when he called?” she asked quietly. Knowing she was going to need a few moments to get herself together before meeting Rodriguez, Lila dropped onto a vivid pink bench in front of a surf club and waited.

“Three, actually,” Corinne said, her words tight with discomfort. “He’d like for you to return his call.”

“Like me to?”

“Well, more like he demanded that you call. He’s arranged a party at the navy base he expects you to attend. Some sort of celebration for your brother.” Corinne cleared her throat, then blew out a breath. “He said something about your duty to play hostess, expectations to the family name and, um, maybe something about snits.”

Oh, how she’d like to tell her father just where he could shove his snit. Lila had to grind her teeth tight to keep the words from spewing. But the main drag in a small Costa Rican town was hardly the place to mouth off.

“I’ll deal with it later,” she promised instead. “Right now, I have me a chef to woo.”

With that and a goodbye, she tucked her phone away and turned the corner toward Casa de Rico. Lila grimaced when she stopped in front of the restaurant. Heaps of trash spilled out of the alley beside the building, which probably accounted for the smell. The windows were slicked with the same dingy grime as the once-white exterior, giving the whole place a gray coating of neglect. The hand-lettered sign propped into the window claimed that Casa de Rico was open for business, but the silence pouring from the open door didn’t indicate that there were many takers.

She’d take that as a sign of management issues and not the chef, she decided, lips quirking. Which would make convincing Rodriguez to change employers all that much easier.

Still, the beachfront location was ideal. But Lila was pretty sure location and the views were the only things the Casa had going for it. The roof was patched in places, and the railing along the balcony so rusted that it reminded her of a rickety old lady wearing black lace. The landscaping was limited to a few scrubby bushes and, again, that beach view.

Which couldn’t be discounted, she had to admit. It was a pretty gorgeous view.

Wanting—needing—to absorb it a little more before she went inside to scope out her target in his natural atmosphere, she stepped around the side of the building and started down the wooden walkway. When she reached the soft sand, she stopped to step out of her kitten-heeled slides.

In the act of slipping off the second shoe, she had to grab on to the bleached wooden railing to keep her balance.

Because the view just got a whole lot more interesting.

A man stepped out of the surf, water sluicing off muscles that made her want to raise her hands in praise.

Hello, gorgeous, was all she could think.

Gorgeous, hot and sexy, all rolled into one very muscular, very intense package.

The guy was ripped. From his broad shoulders to his lean calves, he epitomized manly perfection. She knew she was staring, but she’d been raised to believe that a work of art deserved appreciation.

And oh, boy did she appreciate him.

Enough to offer a big smile as he slowly made his way across the sand to his towel.

Her lips twitched when he glared in return.

She was too amused to take offense.

As a woman who’d garnered plenty of ogling over the years, she supposed she could understand his reaction. And while it wasn’t like she’d strolled down and grabbed herself a handful of his undeniably pinchable butt, she’d definitely fantasize about licking those drops of water off his flat belly.

But it was lunchtime, and as yummy as he looked, the guy obviously wasn’t on the menu. And she had a job to do.

But her gaze—as unwilling to leave as the rest of her—lingered for a few more seconds. She’d never seen a more visually appealing man. Or, she acknowledged, her eyes flicking over his scowl again, a more discouraging one.

Ah, well, she decided with a philosophical sigh.

At least she’d gotten to enjoy the view.

* * *

Sun, surf and sex.

Once upon a time, Travis Hawkins would have called that heaven.

Now?

Now, he was convinced it was hell.

He strode out of the silken warmth of the Caribbean, his feet sinking in the wet sand. Wincing, he adjusted his stride when the sand turned to powder, taking the weight off his throbbing knee.

He noted the sexy little blonde standing on the edge of the beach. She’d poured her petite curves into a pair of white pants that stopped short of her ankles and a silky red tank that fluttered intriguingly in the light breeze. With her hair clipped up and back, he couldn’t tell its length, but he was imagining it was long. Mostly because he had a thing for long blond hair.

Just like he had a thing for confident women. He could tell this one was just that from the way she stood there, dangling her shoes from one hand while the other shaded her eyes. The better to check him out, he supposed. No harm there. He was checking right back.

And what he saw was intriguing.

But he wasn’t in the market to be intrigued.

He was in the market to decompress. To make decisions. To figure out the rest of his damned life.

Once upon a time, he’d take the blonde up on the obvious interest on her pixie-like face. He’d have strode on over for a little conversation, a little flirtation. He’d gauge the ground, assess the heat level and if it felt right, he’d have swept her off her sexy little feet and into his bed.

But his sweeping days were over. Hell, all the fun was over. Despite the multiple offers he’d gotten from locals and tourists alike, he wasn’t in Puerto Viejo to score.

Travis shifted his weight, carefully balancing on his left foot to ensure he didn’t land on his face when he bent over to grab a towel. Pain exploded away, a lightning bolt of misery spearing out from his knee to his hip, down to his toes.

For twelve years, he’d served his country. For ten years, he’d been a SEAL. He’d served with distinction, with honor, with dedication. He’d been welcomed into two different SEAL teams, where he’d played an integral role of dozens of successful missions.

He’d served through pain, sweat, challenge and terror.

He’d freaking loved every minute of it.

He scrubbed the towel over his face, sopping up the moisture pouring off his too-long hair.

One nasty storm, one bad jump from a plane taking a flaming nosedive into the ocean, and his career was over. He was finished.

Freaking finished.

Travis’s jaw worked as he glared at the sexy reminder of what he’d lost still looking his way. He deliberately turned away from the blond temptation to stare out at the ocean.

Medical discharge.

Was it ironic or tragic that the ocean he loved, the sea he served, had ended the career he’d revered?

Probably both.

The biggest joke was that he, a man who thrived on contingency plans, had nothing. No backup career, no sideline jobs, not a single idea of what he wanted to do—or more to the point, could do—with the rest of his life once his measly savings ran out.

Once he’d gotten a handle on that, he decided, unable to resist glancing back at the blonde again, he’d be interested in enjoying the finer things in life again.

Because, damn, she really was fine.

* * *

Lila told herself she wasn’t thinking about the beach hunk as she stepped into the cool restaurant. But she knew he was there, hovering in the back of her mind. She’d figure out why, later. For now, she looked around the restaurant, assessing her quarry’s lair.

The place was empty but for one other couple, and the décor was enough to make her wince. Here they were in the Caribbean, and the owners had fitted this place out to look like an average bar in Anywhere, USA.

A long bar, complete with neon signs and shelves of bottles, covered the back wall. Posters—thumbtacked, not framed—advertised American beer and, for some reason she couldn’t figure out, a long-defunct sitcom. Three ceiling fans sent lazy shadows dancing over the dozen tables scattered around the room.

“Hola,” a woman from behind the bar greeted her, her black tee stating that Casa de Rico’s salsa was the hottest and her name tag reading Dory Parker. “Table for one?”

“Yes, please.”

“Have at it,” she said, waving one hand to indicate Lila’s varied choices before calling for service.

Lila slid behind the table closest to the kitchen with a nice view of the beach. Not the view of the sexy beach hunk, but that was just as well. The man had distraction written all over him.

“Hi,” she said as soon as the waitress came over. She was a pretty girl with dark skin and a lip piercing, dressed the same as the bartender except that her shirt proclaimed that their margaritas got you drunker. “I’d love a bottle of water and a menu.”

“Got the menu right here,” the girl said, handing over a laminated page. “I’ll be right back with that water.”

Lila glanced at the page only long enough to assure herself that it was the same as the one on their website.

“I’ve heard that your chef is wonderful,” she said as soon as the waitress came back. “Senor Rodriguez, right?”

“Sure, Chef Rodriguez is in the back, cooking up a storm,” the waitress said, her vigorous nod sending the bleached dreadlocks bouncing around her round face. “He’s good. You’ll see. You decide what you want?”

“What’s your favorite?” Lila asked, keeping it friendly.

Deciding to take the girl’s advice, and since early afternoon lent itself to tapas, Lila ordered a varied selection.

The menu was promising, but she wanted to see for herself if Rodriguez was as good as the Martins remembered. There was no point convincing them if he’d lost his touch.

An hour later—Casa de Rico obviously didn’t believe in rushing their diners—Lila had confirmed that Rodriguez was as good as advertised.

What she hadn’t figured out was why a chef of his caliber was working in a low-end restaurant like this one. According to her notes, he was in his midfifties, originally from Mexico City, single and childless. He’d worked in various high-end restaurants over the years, with excellent references from all of his previous employers.

It was definitely time to get a few more answers for her files.

“Everything was wonderful,” she told the dreadlocked girl when she came to take the last plate. “I’d love to personally thank the chef. Is that possible?”

From the look on her face, it was the first time she’d heard a request like that. But she shrugged and muttered something before heading back to the kitchen.

Since nobody else, including the bartender, was in the room, Lila took a moment to pull out a compact and check her makeup. She refreshed her lipstick, slid one hand over her tidy chignon to make sure no hair had escaped, and decided she’d hit the right note of professionalism. Not always easy when you looked like a blonde Kewpie doll.

“Hola,” called out a big voice. It matched the man, who lumbered through a door barely wider than he was and strode across the room. His thick black hair was sprinkled with the same gray that dusted his mustache. Instead of the traditional white chef’s attire, he wore blue with a white apron tucked under a gut that proclaimed him a man who loved to eat as much as cook.

“I’m Chef Rodriguez,” he greeted, his accent light and musical. “And you must be the woman of excellent taste who enjoyed my food, yes?”

“I am, Chef Rodriguez,” she said with a wide smile, rising from her seat to take his hand in hers. “The meal was delicious. I particularly enjoyed the ceviche tico.”