Body Talk: An Ex-Navy SEAL Billionaire Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

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  Personal Note from Ashlee

  Hello there, I’m Ashlee Price. Thank you so much for downloading my book. I’m not just an author of steamy contemporary romance books…I’m an avid reader too!

  After the main book, Body Talk, you’ll find a steamy deleted scene and the epilogue.

  Happy Reading!

  Ashlee

  xo

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  BODY TALK STEAMY DELETED SCENE

  MORE FROM ASHLEE PRICE

  COPYRIGHT & DISCLAIMER

  BODY TALK

  An Ex-Navy Seal Billionaire Romance

  By: Ashlee Price

  PROLOGUE

  Dagger

  “Hey, buddy.” Tim caught me by the strap of my tank. “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he said, his light blue eyes uncertain. I was taken aback. Tim, although not the brains of our small group, had never lacked for courage. I’d have him at my back any time.

  “It’s just nerves, Tim. You know how this goes.”

  “Nah, this is different. Can’t explain it.”

  “You gotta go—you know the rules. You back out and the mission is off.”

  We were in a midnight black Cyclone-class patrol ship, under covert mission status and untracked by marine authorities, having launched on a moonless night off the coast of Columbia.

  We were Navy SEALs under the direction of the DEA, and our destination was roughly a hundred million dollars’ worth of cocaine and heroin. Operatives had communicated intel that a Columbian cartel had unearthed a World War II U-boat. It was rumored to have been the escape transportation for some of the Nazi elite who’d fled to South America at the end of that war. The cartel had managed to bring it out of mothballs and loaded it with white powder, bound for the U.S. Their crew was an assortment of ragtag seamen, captained by an ancient German U-boat captain who’d found it convenient to relocate to Columbia.

  Almost immediately after being put to sea, the poorly maintained vessel had malfunctioned and become unnavigable. It had been all hands to the surface as they abandoned ship in shallow waters near shore. Word was that the cartel was assembling a salvage mission to extract the still-viable drugs from their watertight containers. Our job was to get there first and plant explosives we could later trigger to destroy their secondary crew, the white powder and the vessel in one blow. It would only be plugging one small hole in the dike, but every blow we struck against the drug trade saved a few more kids’ lives.

  Malchevsky, an anti-social ass who had somehow found his way into the SEALs, sat opposite me, a smirk on his face as he listened in on Tim’s concerns. “Coward,” he sneered aloud.

  “Shut it, Malchevsky!” I growled as Tim drew back into the shadows, embarrassed. Malchevsky was a salty newcomer who had not made much effort to fit himself into our existing camaraderie. He was quiet, except for when he injected snide comments that seemed to give him sadistic pleasure. That said, SEALs were chosen and trained for their quiet, efficient and often deadly skills in effecting a mission, not their ability to sing Kumbaya.

  A signal from the helm prompted us to don last-minute gear and to make for the boat’s side in readiness. I slapped Tim on the shoulder before I masked up. “Buck up, I’ve got your back.” His head nodded and we were over and into the water.

  The U-boat was listing into a sand bar, only a few meters below the silver-capped waves crowding the shore. At low tide, its tower was visible above them. It had been easy to pick out from the satellite imagery. This was an in-and-out deal. Enter the flooded control compartment, plant the explosives that could be remotely detonated when our intel reported the salvagers aboard, and then get out.

  Possible dangers included being spotted by the cartel shore watch and the fact that tide and waves could suddenly shift the U-boat’s list. We could be trapped inside—another reason there would only be the three of us entering, while two others would hang back on standby. Quarters would be tight, and we needed maneuver space if a sudden escape became necessary.

  Diver propulsion vehicles advanced us to the scene. Malchevsky took the lead, his squat but powerful body leaning into his DPV before the rest of us were in place. I let him go, choosing to keep my focus on Tim. I’d given him my word, and I respected his little warning voice. We all had that little voice on occasion, and on occasion it saved our asses.

  I got the all-clear signal in my earpiece and we followed Malchevsky. We used a low-level sonar to locate the vessel, and as two of the team hung back, Tim and I abandoned our DPVs and swam across the intervening water. Malchevsky was already through the hatch, but I signaled him to get out. It was Tim’s role to recon the compartment and show Malchevsky and me where to place the explosives. I gave Tim an ‘okay’ gesture, and he hesitated a moment but headed in.

  I turned to see that Malchevsky had finally fallen into his assigned position behind me. I swallowed my anger at his deviation from orders, knowing it would only cloud my focus.

  I felt a concussion in the water, and then all hell broke loose as the U-boat compartment blew apart, debris fighting against the water pressure outside its hull. In horror, I could see the vessel was moving, shifting its angle on the sand bar—and the only point of entry, the opened hatch, was rolling toward the bottom. Tim was inside!

  I stroked hard against the pressure to get to the hatch. When I looked in, Tim’s face was in front of mine, his blue eyes closed behind his mask. Summoning every bit of strength, I reached for him and managed to catch his forearm, yanking him toward me just as the boat rolled again, forcing the hatch closed.

  My training abandoned me as I did the only thing that instinct allowed. I headed for the surface, Tim in tow. We broke through into a plane of flame floating on the waves. I could feel the heat through my suit and gear, but I held Tim as though he was welde
d to me. As I tried to swim out of it, the fire burned away my suit and began eating my skin. Instinct took over again as I pushed through the flames in the direction of the two reserve team members.

  Then the heat was gone and there was no more need to fight the waves. Everything was cool and white, and I surrendered without a fight.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Whitney

  Chicago was another planet compared to Ann Arbor, and right now I wanted to go home.

  The University of Michigan was Ann Arbor, redolent with burning leaves as the fall semester came around. A well-stocked kitchen meant a freezer filled with pizza, and coffee was served as both social symbol and the stimulant of choice during nights when studying could not include sleep.

  I missed impromptu gatherings of students to talk about current events or just gossip. I always came away with more friends than I’d had an hour earlier. Classes stimulated your mind, and it was a world where youth wasn’t held against you. We were at the top in sports, and there was never an empty seat at any university event.

  I missed my parents and my room. But probably most of all, I missed the illusion that I’d finally earned my place as an adult. A fresh bachelor’s degree in hand, I was in Chicago now. Here, it was only a stepping stone to something worthwhile. I wasn’t there quite yet.

  So, there I was, pretending I was jogging, when in reality, I was trying not to be homesick or to feel crushed that no one seemed as impressed with my credentials as I was. That’s a tough moment in anyone’s life—to realize you’re not the center of anyone’s universe but your own.

  Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but at least I wanted to believe I had everything it took. I’d spotted a Chicago Tribune abandoned on a bench as I was running past. I circled around and took a break. The sports section was facing out, but I paged through to find the Help Wanted ads. There were more openings than I’d expected, as long as I was willing to bag fries or do telemarketing. I wasn’t. I had to set some standards for myself.

  “What are you doing?” Tiffany asked as she ended her jog in front of my bench, huffing.

  “Geez, don’t you use deodorant?” I pulled away as evidence that she didn’t filled my anxiety-ridden fresh air.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  I slapped the paper down. “I’m homesick and I don’t like it here.”

  “Don’t be such a baby, Whit. How did you ever get through college? Oh, that’s right. You had Mom and Dad a few blocks away. You never really left home, did you?”

  “That’s kind of a bitchy thing to say. I lived in the dorms, you know.”

  “Oh, I remember. Mom and Dad’s great waste of money so you could have the ‘full college experience.’” She drew air quotes around the last three words and I looked away. I was used to her sarcasm, but at that moment, I didn’t want any.

  Tiffany, my older sister by two years, believed she was wiser by at least ten. She had always seemed to delight in anything that made me uncomfortable, herself included. I was staying with her by necessity. She’d been in Chicago for two years, had an apartment, a job… in short, she had a life. I didn’t.

  I frowned, disappointed that I wasn’t getting the sympathy I needed at the moment. I considered stopping a total stranger and pouring out my woes. It might at least get me an ‘awww…’ Tiffany was as sympathetic as the snake that had just bitten you.

  “Tiff, you’re different from me.”

  “What are you bitching about?” Her green eyes were scanning the passersby for something in a size 6’1” or taller male, broad shoulders and deep pockets. He didn’t happen to be jogging past at the moment, so I got a stray look of aggravation. I knew I’d been staying with her too long. She’d half-heartedly convinced me to come to Chicago, but I think it was just so she could show off what she’d accomplished. Once I’d admired her adequately, I was in the way and certainly cramping her dating style. I shuddered to think of the men who might have been on the couch that currently served as my bed.

  Tiff had never been picky. She was so unlike me. One of us must have been adopted. I was still a virgin, and proud of it. Not that I didn’t have chances; oh, there were plenty of those. But for the most part, men bored me. They were sex fiends whose interest died as soon as they’d had their fill. I looked at Tiff then and suddenly realized why she’d had so many men. She was just like them.

  I looked out over Lake Michigan and sighed. “Never mind,” I told her.

  “Okay.” Tiff was at her best when she wasn’t being asked to volunteer, donate, hold your hand or give any shred of motherly companionship. Yup, she was definitely like a guy. “Well,” she said as she stood up and stretched her arms over her head, “I’ll see you back at the apartment. I’m in the mood for a latte.” Without a glance or hug, she was gone, disappearing into the throng of joggers pretending they were alone on some rugged mountain path as they clashed elbows on the lakeshore sidewalk. It was all about the inner illusion.

  I turned back to the want ads. I wasn’t sure Tiff had even noticed I was holding them. Then I felt the weight shift on my bench and looked to my right to see a short, out-of-shape guy with little hair watching me from the side. I caught his eye and he smiled and gave a bashful wave. I smiled back and nodded, turning back to my paper.

  I felt the weight shift again, and I could see from the corner of my eye that he was scooting closer to me. What was he doing?

  “Hi,” he said, now only a foot or so away.

  “Hello,” I answered without looking at him. I pretended intense fascination with my paper.

  “The name’s Phil,” he told me, as though I might be interested in the information.

  I opted to say nothing, so he tried again. “I can’t help but notice you’re reading the job classifieds.”

  I was afraid if I didn’t say something, he might move closer, thinking I couldn’t hear him. I opted to nod slowly but still said nothing.

  “What do you do?” he prompted me.

  I decided I might as well get it over with. “Psychology.”

  “You a shrink?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Long story.” I folded the paper, ready to leave, when his next sentence stopped me.

  “I happen to know of an opening that would suit you.”

  His words were like those ripe, red berries you’d come across in the forest. They looked good, but for all you knew they were poison, and you hesitated, deciding how hungry you were. “What sort of job?”

  He knew he had me, so he sat back, putting one arm over the back of the bench, his fingertips nearly caressing my shoulder. I should have known then, but hey, I was from Ann Arbor.

  “Executive assistant.” He threw the title out there to impress me, and God help me, I couldn’t let it go.

  “Doing what?”

  He leaned closer, as though what he was about to impart was top secret. “All kinds of things. I’ve got this little book, you see. It’s filled with pictures, but I need a woman like you to act them out with me.” His finger motioned toward me, and this was followed by a wink.

  “What does the job pay?” I asked him calmly.

  His eyebrows shot up, surprised that I was interested. He rubbed his thigh over and over, as though considering what to offer, but I could see that he’d gotten hard and was trying to pet himself.

  “Well… let’s see… what would you say to free room and board and two hundred a week for pocket money?”

  I spotted the spittle in the corner of his mouth. He was drooling.

  “Hmmm…” I paused as though giving it serious thought. “I’ll have to go ask my boyfriend first. Naturally, he’ll be moving in with me. You’ll like him. He’s on leave from the Chicago PD, but he’s done with therapy and they say they might let him go back to a desk job. Then there are my pets. You don’t mind boa constrictors, do you? Mine are pregnant. Did you know they rarely breed in captivity? I might get as many as a hundred babies, and I can sell them for a couple hun
dred bucks apiece. Of course, that’s a lot of feeding; they eat live mice and rats, you know. I buy them in bulk from a laboratory. Oh, don’t worry, I only buy a few hundred at a time.”

  I felt the weight shift again, and this time, he was gone. I had to smile. Maybe psychology would do me more good in Chicago than I’d realized.

  Turning back to the paper, I used my cell phone to take a picture of each ad that caught my attention. The bench was far too public to conduct conversations. I wanted somewhere more isolated, but it wasn’t going to be at Tiff’s apartment. She’d be all over me, making snide comments.

  I found a spot down by the water where the sand was natural, filled with stones, dead fish and plastic debris that had washed ashore. It sickened me to be there; my environmental sensibilities were being attacked. That said, no one else wanted to sit there either, so it was ideal.

  The first ad was for a therapist’s receptionist. I thought that might provide a good environment and perhaps some future connections once I got my master’s. I called and explained I was interested in the advertised job.

  “Do you have any experience?” asked the woman.

  “I have a degree in psychology from U of M.”

  “We’re not hiring therapists,” she said rudely and hung up the phone.

  The next was a daycare. I really wasn’t great with kids, but I knew that I’d have some as patients when I eventually went into practice.

  “Have you worked daycare before?”

  “I have a degree in psychology.”

  “Does that mean yes or no?”

  “Well, technically, no, but my education should come in handy in childcare.”

  “Let me ask you something. Have you ever changed a dirty diaper?”

  I shook my head even though the interviewer couldn’t see me. “No, but it can’t be that hard.”

  “Well, Miss Psychology Degree, until you’ve diapered three babies at the same time, I suggest you look elsewhere.” The phone went dead.

  People here are so rude. I went through three waitressing positions; two with restaurants and one with a questionable corner bar in a distant part of town. I was getting very disillusioned. I couldn’t believe there was a shortage of jobs in a town that huge, and especially with a fresh U of M degree in my hand.