Jagger's Moves Read online

  Table of Contents

  Jagger’s Moves

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press, Inc. publication.

  Jagger’s Moves

  by

  Allie Standifer

  SEALs On Fire Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Jagger’s Moves

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Allie Standifer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, January 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-773-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This one’s dedicated to the awesome,

  slightly insane ladies of the RHB loop.

  Wouldn't have half as much torturing people without you ladies. Thanks for making me laugh,

  kicking my butt when needed, and for loving my stories and characters as much as I do!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction

  acknowledges the following trademarks:

  World of Warcraft: Blizzard Entertainment, Inc.

  Viagra: Pfizer Inc. Corporation Delaware

  Chapter One

  "You've got to be the dumbest SOB alive, Jagger," Trip muttered from his sprawl in the lime green plastic chair. The man might look half-asleep, but Trip would know every marked exit, possible exits and have a memorized the passing individuals while sizing up their threat level.

  Yeah, tell him something he didn't know, but Jagger kept his expression bland as he turned to look at his teammate, BUD/S partner, and best friend, Garrett "Trip" Trippington. "You didn't have to play tag along."

  Tyler Jaggerstein regretted ever mentioning his leave to his mother. Because she just happened to tell her best friend. The same best friend who happened to be the mother of his childhood pen pal. A confusing relationship to be sure, but once the Westlake's moved away, the mothers were determined their children would grow up as friends even if distance separated them.

  Now thanks to the combined efforts of his mother's Catholic guilt and Mrs. Westlake's Jewish passive aggressive double speak, he and his buddy were waiting at the airport.

  "Shit, it's been fifteen years, man." Running a hand through his shaggy sun-bronzed hair Jagger paced the small arrival area in the Key West airport. "What the hell am I doing here wasting my—our—vacation time?"

  Finally lifting his dark head, Trip narrowed his pale blue eyes as the two SEAL’s gazes met. Alpha male to alpha male, knowing neither one would give or cry uncle. "Hell, yes, I did have to play tag a long. The other guys are never going to believe me when I tell them about your little imaginary friend come to life."

  "Trip, man, she's not imaginary. Hell, if she didn't exist, then why did our mothers set me up?" Again, Jagger pulled at the longer-than regulation length of his black hair. He thanked God his job allowed for something other than the buzz and brush most active members of the military suffered with.

  "Cause your mama is tired of her baby boy lookin' like a dumb fuck and this is her way of helping you locate your balls." Pulling the tip of his straw cowboy hat over his eyes, Trip smiled around the toothpick rolling between his teeth.

  "You're a moron," Jagger replied lamely as he lifted his watch for another time check. "She's a real woman, an author of some sort, and she's coming here for something to do with her books. I guess she'll try to pimp her books at that conference we saw the flyers to."

  "Pimp her books? You suck, my friend. What if this chick is actually successful? Maybe she doesn't have to 'pimp' herself anywhere." The lecture came from beneath his buddy's hat without Trip moving once.

  Damn, sometimes jealousy burned hot and bright at the ease the big Texan seemed to take in the world. It didn't matter if they were dropping out of a plane over enemy territory, playing World of Warcraft or driving through rush hour traffic on their way home from the Virginia base. Nothing shook Trip up to the point their C.O. ordered him through a complete physical after their last mission.

  Trip, it seemed, felt three bullets in his body was nothing more than a bump and hadn't bothered to mention the injuries as they bugged out over the Iraq border. Hours after their evac and subsequent debriefing, Jagger went in search of his swim buddy and found him prepped for surgery.

  The fuckin' dumbass, already high on happy juice, mumbled something about not holding back the team then passed out.

  When he blinked those freaky wolf blue eyes open in the recovery room, their C.O. reamed his buddy a new one. Then happily ordered a battery of tests for Trip. Since his 'cough and cup' testing, Trip did his best to play better with the rest of the team. But the Texan still kept to himself too often and way too easily. Something Jagger was having more and more trouble doing as the minutes ticked by on his watch.

  "She reeled you in faster than a bass on a hot Texas summer day," Trip drawled. The heavy sound of the South dragged out his voice even as he kept his head down and arms crossed over is broad T-shirt-covered chest.

  "Tell you what, Trip." Jagger turned on his best buddy and felt a smile forming on his lips. "You think I'm being a pussy? Well, let's head out." Jagger waved one hand in the direction of the terminal doors while he used his other to pull out the sleek cell phone from his back jean pocket. He tossed the black cased gadget straight at Trip. And wasn't the least surprised when the other man caught without looking.

  "What the hell, Jagger?" Trip actually moved to sit up while staring at the phone in his hand.

  "You wanna bug out? Fine with me, but you're the one whose ass will be explaining why we're leaving." He nodded to the number he'd brought up in his list of favorites. Yeah, he'd eat his favorite pair of boots if Trip actually took the dare and made the call.

  They might be big, mean, and had millions of dollars poured into their training, but no man remained immune from the all mighty power of the mother.

  Trip shook his long, messy blonde hat-covered head before Jagger even finished speaking. "Hell no, man," Trip tossed the phone back to Jagger faster than a grenade with a missing pin. "You are not getting me mixed up in your mommy issues."

  "Asshole"

  "Prick"

  The two men looked at each other and smiled in perfect understanding and harmony until reality announced the arrival of Alexa's flight from New Orleans.

  "I'm here. I'll pick her up, swing by the house, let you out, drop Alexa off then meet the rest of you at the bar. Just leave a few cold beers and hot women for me," he joked even as his stomach churned.

  Yep, that was the plan. Pick Alexa up, exchange a few token pleasantries, dump her off wherever she requested and hightail it back to his boys, beer and a few blondes.

  The small airport situated right outside the Key
catered to a few small private charters. Alexa must have some pull or money to arrange her own plane and pilot. They waited in the air-conditioned coolness, eyes squinted to the horizon.

  "This must be her plane." Trip broke into his thoughts.

  Sure enough a small twin-engine plane drew closer with each passing moment. Within minutes, the red and white Piper landed and taxied to a smooth stop while airport attendants scurried across the tarmac with a set of portable stairs and blocks for the wheels.

  "Half an hour, right, Jagger. Then you'll dump the word-nerd and meet us for drinks and dames."

  "Dames?" he snorted out the word. "Who the hell says dames anymore and with a Texas accent? Doesn't work well with you, my friend."

  "Oh, shut the fu—" Trip's word stuttered to a stop as his friend's gaze jerked to something over Jagger's shoulder.

  "Huh? What—"

  Jagger turned to follow his friend's gaze. What met his eyes had his mouth drying up even as his cock hardened behind the zipper of his fly. "Come to papa," he whispered as he visually striped the goddess exiting the plane.

  "I got dibs, Jagger. You're already called for, remember?" Without even looking at his friend, Jagger heard the smirk in Trip's voice.

  Shit, for a woman like this one, he'd call a cab for Alexa, toss her some cash, wish her the best, and deal with the moms combined anger. 'Cause a perfect slice of curvy heaven didn't walk into his world everyday. Long tanned legs he wanted wrapped around his waist. Silky sable hair pined up in a loose sexy bun framed a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full, lush glistening lips. Only a pair of oversized black sunglasses kept him from seeing the true beauty of her eyes.

  Blue? Brown? Green? Something truly extraordinary he was sure. Nothing ordinary would fit the Venus strutting toward him in a red sundress.

  "Looks like we're both out of luck, buddy. Our goddess seems to be taken." Trip's low spoken words pulled Jagger out of his visual inspection of the female only to notice the well-dressed companion tucked close to her side.

  An older gentleman, six foot, dark hair with gray at the temples, dressed in a fancy expensive suit complete with light green tie, tucked himself close to Garrett's woman's side.

  "That suit?" He snorted a laugh, already dismissing the older male as no threat. "I could take him out, drunk with both my hands broke. Besides, women everywhere love their military men. We're SEALs, man." He clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "Women have a thing for SEALs."

  "Might be true, bud, but some ladies aren't too much for the blood shed. They actually like men who know something about wine, art, and shit like that. What the fuck are you going to talk to her about? The twenty ways to use C-4 when exploding an enemy camp? How to field strip a 9mm?"

  "Those are damn important things to know," Jagger objected more from habit than passion. "They'll save your life more than knowing which fork to use at dinner. Which is probably the only thing pretty boy knows."

  A sharp elbow poked his ribs. "Here's your chance to find out one way or another, stud man."

  The smile his beauty shot the man at her side went straight to his groin. Shit, if he didn't get his head together, he'd lose the goddess to the three-piece suit. Never mind that Trip would rag Jagger about it for the rest of their lives.

  The goddess in the swirling red sundress closed the distance between them. Her head was turned in profile, speaking to the unworthy man at her side. The words flowing out in her husky voice weren't English. Sounded German to him. But his language skills sucked at best. He'd barely made it through his foreign language Navy courses.

  The other man smiled down at the woman on his arm, brimming with confidence, secure in his knowledge he had no other competition.

  Moron, Jagger thought with an inner snort of contempt. If he had this woman in his life, on his arm, he'd never stop looking out for her or the possible dangers to his female.

  "You gonna man up or should I start dying your camos a pretty pink?"

  "Bastard," Jagger snarled back at his friend good naturally. "She'll be in my bed before the night's out."

  "So sure of yourself?"

  "There's nothing women love more than honoring a military man."

  "Care to wager on that?"

  "Nope." Jagger shook his head. "My mama taught me to never bet on women, horses, or honest politicians."

  "Keep your money then, Jagger. I'd rather have the lady anyway."

  "In your dreams, brother man."

  "You'd know nothing about my dreams."

  The woman stopped a few feet away from him, a harassed look crossing her pretty face. The pompous man at her side whispered fast and low in her ear, but she was only paying him half her attention.

  In English, she replied flatly, "Really, Herr Hitzig, I assure you, I'll be fine. As much as I enjoyed our conversation on the plane, I really need to go."

  She tugged on her arm, but the German refused to budge. The thick mustache above his lip twitching as he responded in rapid German while a red flush of anger or desire mottled his face.

  "Ma'am?" Jagger interrupted their little gabfest when he noticed the man's hand tightening around her silky upper arm.

  "Tyler?" A soft husky feminine voice disrupted his mental smack down of her unworthy suitor. "Tyler Jaggerstein?"

  His head jerked up at the sound of his name on such luscious lips and all the moisture evaporated in his mouth. The goddess was talking to him? "Um...yeah? I mean…yes ma'am."

  Oh, and wasn't he brilliant. Couldn't tell the Navy spent over a million dollars educating and training him. Sure, the majority of it was learning to blow shit up, shoot people, jump out of planes and other fun things, but they did make his BUD/S class learn the proper etiquette in case of formal events.

  The muffled snort coming from slightly behind him had a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. And he thanked his higher power for the desert tan he'd received as a side bennie from their last mission.

  "Ty!" A smile worthy of poems, songs, and sonnet's curved her plush glossy lips even as she moved to untangle herself from her persistent suitor. In a move almost to fast for him to follow, the goddess hip checked the German dude, then in a move worthy of her title, sank her four inch heel into the older man's soft leather shoe.

  The next thing Jagger knew, he had a goddess dashing into his arms and pressing her soft moist lips to his.

  Softly she whispered against his mouth, "I'm so glad it's you. Missed you like crazy."

  Then all thoughts of words, explanations, the German, even Trip disappeared as his mouth opened beneath the pressure of her tongue, and Jagger lost himself in the taste of goddess.

  Chapter Two

  Alexa Westlake knew she was taking advantage of Tyler, but hello, a chance to make a fantasy come true. What woman in her right hetero mind would turn away from the chance to live out a teenage fantasy? Shocked to see the man of her dreams, literally, looking hotter than any mortal should, changed her plans in an instant. Screw the typical tourist plans she'd made. Time with Tyler put any sunset ocean dinner cruise to shame.

  The loose kaki cargo shorts, baggy white cotton T-shirt and beat up tennis shoes shouldn’t have her hands clenching to get him naked, but Lexa wanted in nothing but his sun kissed skin.

  To have some quality time in bed with the man of her dreams, to hopefully finally put the happily ever after fantasies out of her mind meant she could get on with the rest of her life. She desperately needed to get on with her life and find a real guy to settle down with. A man who didn't think blowing things up or jumping out of airplanes into war zones was a good time.

  Thanks to fate, the military, or even karma, Lexa finally had the chance to exorcise this man out of her system.

  Reality shamed even her dirtiest dreams. Tyler tasted like a man. No breath mints, no lingering taste of martinis or lip-gloss to complete with his natural taste. Breathing through her nose, Lexa pressed deeper into his embrace, hoping he would get the unspoken message. And God Bless soldiers every
where because her man followed orders perfectly as his strong arms slid around her waist to pull her tightly against his bulging arousal.

  Shit, the pressure stroked her swollen clit perfectly. A few more hard rubs and she'd leave more than an impression on Tyler. His pants would hold a wet spot from her juices. Instead of stumbling back in shame or embarrassment, Lexa moved closer. Damn, the man was built and knew how to use every inch to bring her pleasure.

  As Tyler teased her with his tongue, nibbled on her lips, and in general, did everything to make her knees shake and her pussy clench, Lexa was ready to rip this man's baggy clothes off and put herself on…him.

  Just as she reached the waist of his shorts, Tyler pulled back, his breath heaving as his muscle-ripped chest rose and fell at a fast rate. He pressed his damp lips to her forehead while his rough palms stroked up and down her spine in a soothing rhythm.

  "Shit, goddess…" His voice wasn't even as his breath tickled the tip of her ear. "We're in an airport." He gave a whole body shudder before slowly releasing his hold on her and stepping back.

  "No shit, Jagger," the other man who'd been standing with him spoke up. "Get your mind out of your pants and focus. You do have other plans, remember?"

  The emphasis the cowboy put on the last word let Lexa know another woman had to be involved. Only when two or more women came into the equation did men get that nervous oh shit look.

  The edgy happiness barely formed fizzled at the words. And her plans to keep Tyler busy in bed died just as quickly. Sure, it had seemed like one of her story plots come to life when she spied Tyler just as she needed a quick rescue. What were the chances of seeing her childhood buddy and teenage pen pal in an airport so far from home?

  Drawing on years of experience dealing and speaking in public, Lexa curved her lips in a vacuous smile. Taking a few steps back, she lifted her right arm and gave both men a casual wave. "It's been great seeing you again, Ty. Thanks for the rescue."

  A quick look around assured her Herr Asshole had disappeared into the crowd while she'd been busy with Ty. She gave a quick prayer of thanks, shot Tyler and his buddy another smile, then turned on her heels.