SEALed With a Twist

By Kiersten Hallie Krum

Debutante. Heiress. Lady.

Skylar Thornquist has been called them all. But when her family insisted she stand as bridesmaid at her sister's wedding to Skye's ex-fiancé, she rebelled, drowning her public humiliation in tequila and a one-night stand of carnal debauchery with Grant Sisti. To escape her family's iron grip, Skye now hides out cleaning toilets at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, masking her breeding and identity under a dye job, heavy makeup, and a smattering of fake tattoos while she tries to discover which label sticks to her best.

Doctor. Joker. Warrior.

Navy SEAL Grant "Twisted" Sisti has been them all. But since he failed to prevent the violent death of his teammate six months ago, Grant isn't sure he can be any of those men anymore. He's back at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa for his best friend's wedding, but Grant knows he's reaching the end of his rope. A state that isn't improved by finding the help swimming naked in his private villa's pool.

They never expected to find each other again on Barefoot Bay, both hiding from who there were, both wondering who they should be. Until Skye's identity is compromised and the Thornquist iron grip gets a stranglehold on her new life...only this time there's a Navy SEAL by her side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kiersten Hallie Krum
• Release date: Sep 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386804086

Book preview

Dedication

For The Mother

I miss you with every breath I take

And in all the empty spaces in between

A Message from Roxanne St. Claire

Dear Reader:

Welcome to Barefoot Bay World, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of SEALed With a Twist. This book is entirely the work of Kiersten Halle Krum, who is back by popular demand with another sexy, steamy, laugh out loud entertaining military romance set in Barefoot Bay. 

After meeting Navy SEAL Grant Twisted Sisti in Kiersten’s first Barefoot Bay World book, Wild on the Rocks, readers will be delighted to get more of this unforgettable character. But tragedy has changed him, and only love can save this troubled hero. Love and an enigmatic, compelling, and jaw droppingly hot woman who just happens to be swimming naked in his private pool...and hiding out from her own pack of problems. Pour a drink, add a twist, and have a blast with this one, readers!

Roxanne St. Claire

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Barefoot Bay Series

www.roxannestclaire.com

THIS STORY IS SET IN a world based on Roxanne St. Claire’s Barefoot Bay Series; it is published with the permission of Roxanne St. Claire, information about whose books are found at http://www.roxannestclaire.com/barefoot-bay-series/.

CHAPTER ONE

Barefoot Bay

Mimosa Key

Florida

LIEUTENANT GRANT TWISTED Sisti eyed the jellyfish swirling in the water off his port side and far too close to the groom’s ankle-deep feet.

If they didn’t finish this thing up quick, someone was going to get a helluva wedding gift.

I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.

Finally.

The warm, bay water swept over Grant’s shins, pulling the jellyfish out to sea. He watched his best friend and former commander, Captain Jasper Queen McQueen, take his new wife’s mouth in a kiss far too carnal for public consumption.

Not that Jasper would give one good damn.

Grant couldn’t blame him. Jasper fought a tough battle to get back with his once-again wife, Quinn, and wind up here, hitched for the second time. Worrying about onlookers probably wasn’t his top priority.

Grant applauded along with the small crowd of well-wishers who’d gathered on the edge of Barefoot Bay to witness the nuptials. He even whooped when Jasper bent a now-laughing Quinn back over his arm.

Let ‘er up for air, Queen, he called out when the kiss broke the second-minute mark. Jasper ignored him. Probably didn’t even hear his best man’s jibe, too intent on sealing the deal with his woman.

Grant’s toes dug for purchase as the tide rippled up the beach, splattering the legs of his off-white trousers with salty water. Jasper had insisted the vows be spoken with the bridal couple standing in the water rather than barefoot on the beach as did most couples who got married at the exclusive Casa Blanca Resort & Spa in Barefoot Bay on Mimosa Key island. Quinn had told this to an uninterested Grant when they’d taken their respective places during the rehearsal. Not that he’d needed an explanation. Grant got it. As Navy SEALs, he and Jasper were as much home in the water as out of it.

For both men, taking vows seaside was as holy a place as a cathedral.

Quinn finally broke free of her amorous husband only to throw her arms around his neck. He lifted her up and off her feet to swing her around in a circle. Grant grinned and sloshed back a few steps to avoid Quinn’s shapely legs as they flew out in a wide arc.

A wide smile creased Jasper’s hewn, usually taciturn face and something in Grant’s chest squeezed tight. Felt good to see his friend happy again with the love of his life, especially in light of what’d happened to them six months ago.

Happy wasn’t a state Grant expected to revisit anytime soon. Six months ago, he and Jasper had watched their teammate murder a civilian in a bar brawl and then commit suicide right before their eyes. Shit like that tended to slap the happy right out of a man. But seeing Jasper fight his way through that trauma to his own happily ever after didn’t give Grant hope for himself.

He’d seen and done a lot of dark and sometimes questionable things in his time, many of them under the justifiable umbrella of following orders. He’d long ago made peace with the sins he committed in the defense of his country. But nothing had affected him as acutely as Maverick’s murder/suicide. Like he’d left a piece of himself, maybe part of his soul, in that California roadhouse’s back lot.

Hard to find room for happy after that.

And then there was the shadow that lingered behind Maverick’s death, the one Grant had carefully ignored for seven years, sequestered in the far reaches of memory for unsuspecting dreams to randomly unlock.

Jesus, he was a fucking lousy best man.

Grant shook off the melancholy as Jasper set Quinn back on her feet and kissed her again—this one mercifully brief—before the wedding couple faced their few guests who waited on the beach. Quinn took her bouquet from the wedding planner—her name was something with a W. Whitney? Willow? He should know since she was married to a former SEAL teammate—who’d stood in as her matron of honor. Grant clasped Jasper’s outstretched hand and pulled his friend in for a one-armed, back-slapping hug. Pleased for you, Queen, he said low into Jasper’s ear. Try not to screw it up this time.

Jasper snorted. Thanks, man.

Grant leaned back but kept hold of his friend as he caught his gaze. Seriously, Jasper. Fucking overjoyed.

Jasper’s arm around his shoulders tightened at Grant’s unusual use of his real name. I know it, he returned with feeling. Their hands squeezed once before Jasper turned back to his bride.

Between them, no more needed to be said.

Together, bride and groom made their way out of the breakers and up to the resort.

Grant? He dragged his gaze from his friends to find the matron of honor waiting on him. Belatedly, he held out his arm and, with her hand in place, led her up the beach to her waiting husband.

He skipped the receiving line, small as the crowd was, only Jasper’s commanding officer from SOCOM and his wife along with the few men and women he’d bonded with during the short time in his new command. Some of the resort staff were there too as Quinn sometimes manned the bar at the resort’s restaurant when not off working jobs for her mixologist business. Quinn embraced the grizzled bar manager who’d given her the job at Casa Blanca as Grant slipped by on his way up to the resort’s restaurant.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but needed a moment before he could play his role again.

Almost from the moment he’d realized he was not going to get out of returning to Barefuck Bay and playing Jasper’s best man, an odd lethargy had plagued Grant. He was thrilled for the guy, obviously. He’d have to be a first class shit not to be, and Grant was a lot of things, but he hoped he hadn’t gone so low as to resent his best friend.

But he’d grown tired of being the one everyone counted on to keep spirits high. Today especially, he wasn’t feeling it.

Even he sometimes got sick of Twist.

Grant scanned the area as he walked, checking egress points and defensive options, instinctively cataloging the easiest places by which the resort could be breeched. He might be on leave, but some things never turned off and a lazy SEAL was a dead SEAL. As recent as last week, a suicide bomber had taken out a tourist hotel in Tangiers, putting all the spec ops community on alert. His team had shipped out hours before Grant left Coronado for Barefoot Bay.

Not being with his men was as good a reason as any to explain his disquiet. But Grant had spent too many hours in therapy—his and his patients’—to let that sorry excuse fly.

It was more than that.

On cue, as if summoned, his phone erupted with Kenny Loggins’ ode to the danger zone. He saw Jasper’s head jerk up, a conditioned alertness that even nuptials couldn’t suppress. His narrow gaze zeroed in on Grant with clear demand. Grant sent him a low, reassuring wave that loosened the tension in his friend’s neck. He glanced at the screen and scowled as he pushed the button to connect the call, ducking behind a bush of the huge, pink flowers that gave Mimosa Key its name. What the fuck do you want?

There was a brief pause. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Caleb Putter Titcher asked.

"Your mother had no complaints."

Asshole.

Dick. Grant’s mouth quirked since the other man wasn’t there to see it. We done with this meet cute?

Well, when you’re this warm and cuddly...

I’m at Queen’s wedding. You’re interrupting the releasing of the doves.

Soiled doves?

Only if you’re standing directly under them.

The other man snorted. Oughta thank me then.

Thankful doesn’t come to mind when we have these little chats.

The caller’s voice flattened abruptly. I get that, man. But serious shit’s goin’ down. Figured you’d want in the know.

Grant suppressed a wince. If Putter was calling him, it sure as shit was serious. He and Jasper had kept a tenuous connection with Putter ever since their teammate Maverick put a bullet through Putter’s biker brother during that roadhouse bar fight before offing himself. Theirs was an uncomfortable alliance that’d shifted to something else as time passed.

Losing men together did that. No matter the battlefield.

Grant didn’t need to be told their relationship did not go over well with Putter’s club, the Lords of Mayhem. Putter had told them he wasn’t Club Member of the Month after a brother was killed on his watch, no matter no one saw it coming until it was done. But despite his unswerving loyalty to his club, the biker had his own code and his connection to Grant and Jasper fell right into the don’t fuck with me over this slot.

Most of his crew respected that—and Putter—enough to cut him some slack. It was the few who didn’t who made Grant’s temples throb whenever Putter reached out.

Wrench, he muttered as one hand went to his forehead to rub at the ache.

Fucking Wrench, Putter confirmed. He was a pain in my ass before your man took him out. Now his brother and cousin are taking up that role in his memory, like some holy cause.

Talk.

Can’t, Putter admitted with regret. Club business. Shouldn’t have given you that much.

So this call is just to whisper sweet nothings in my ear?

"Fuck off. Vote’s been called. Can tell you that. Might go my way, might not. You might wanna stay out of California till I know one way or the other."

Hard to do that when I live and work there.

Go save the world from some shit for brains with a death wish. Or at least stick close to your base until you get an all clear from me.

Grant gave it a moment. That bad?

Might be. Putter paused, then added, Likely will.

Despite the fact that their first meeting was one of the worst moments of Grant’s life, he’d grown to like the biker. Grant would never admit it aloud, but Putter had filled in some of the hole left behind by Jasper’s defection to Tampa and the United States Special Operations Command.

Need backup? he asked with a casualness that belied his commitment.

Got my brothers, Putter reassured, not without gratitude in his voice. They got my back.

Sure? Grant asked with a thread of mock desperation.

Putter chuckled, easing the strain as Grant intended. You looking to ditch Barefuck Bay already?

Over shots of tequila at McP’s bar in Coronado (hardly neutral territory, but the one place no one Putter knew was likely to see them), Grant had filled the biker in on all that had happened the first time he and Jasper had landed at the island paradise that was Barefoot Bay.

Wedding planners. Worse than the Russian mob.

Fuck yeah. A wealth of relief colored Putter’s agreement.

You married?

Nah. Dodged it last minute years ago. No one worth the risk since.

Grant’s gaze caught on Jasper and Quinn, wrapped again in each other’s arms. He thought of the risks they’d taken to get their marriage back, some of which actually did involve thwarting a Russian mob hitman. Hear that.

Shit, man. Not like either of us are achin’ for it. Only a fool would ditch the groupies for a ball and chain.

Hear that too. Though he hadn’t been into the usual SEAL bunnies lately, not since he’d had a taste of a drunk debutante during his last stay at Barefoot Bay. She’d been sweet too, eager and up for anything so long as it made her forget whatever it was she was trying to purge in tequila, blues, and sex. Grant had only been too happy to sacrifice his body to her cause. Once he’d hauled her drunk ass out of the resort pool.

The wedding planner caught his eye again (Jesus, what was her name?), but then, she could probably catch a 747 with that wave and a few semaphore flags. Gotta go, he said, lifting his chin to the woman in acknowledgement.

Yeah. Best to Jasper and his bride.

Got it.

Like to meet the lady who managed to tie that badass down.

Yeah, but you might not survive it. Listen, your biker brethren slack off, I got a few guys who’d have your back in minutes. Me right behind them.

They won’t.

Offer stands.

Putter made a low, noncommittal noise. ’Preciate that.

Yeah. Nothing left to be said after that. See ya.

Semper fi, motherfucker.

Not a Marine, asshole.

Putter was still laughing when Grant disconnected. He was sliding the mobile into his back pocket when his eye caught on a woman stepping out of his blind spot.

He jerked around, cursing himself for letting Putter’s call lower his alert ready. Seeing her dressed in the resort’s shorts and golf shirt uniform gave him no relief—he knew better than most how that could be a ruse.

Her long, blond-streaked, dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that left a hank across her forehead long enough, she’d hooked it behind her ear. Too much makeup for his tastes, but it somehow amplified the admittedly tempting curve of her face. He caught a quick glimpse of brown eyes that lit a spark of interest until the flash of ink on her forearm squelched it. Not one to judge, but Grant wasn’t the kind of man who liked ink on his women. If there was any mark to be made, he’d be the one making it.

The tension in his gut eased some when he realized she couldn’t care less about him, too intent on carting her caddy of cleaning supplies down the path toward the high-end private villas stashed around the resort proper.

He kept eyes on her until she’d passed out of sight. A niggle of familiarity lingered after she was gone. Grant rubbed his neck and sighed. Eh, probably residual annoyance she got past his guard. His game was so off kilter, even the staff were getting by him. Did a number on his professional pride.

Though if his skills were really in jeopardy, pride would quickly become a luxury he couldn’t afford..

He stared off into the plush greenery that exploded all around the resort, bursts of color shooting through where Mimosa flowers, the island’s namesake, had been planted. But he didn’t see the pink hothouse blooms or the picture-perfect sunset reflected in the nearby pool. He saw what he always saw: Maverick in the back lot of a California roadhouse, dead on the ground at Grant’s feet.

That it, sailor? You ready to ring that bell?

Grant hissed. Fuck that shit. He was a SEAL. He didn’t ring no fucking bell, not in BUD/S training and not fucking now.

All right, freaky people! Let’s get all the beautiful single ladies out on the dance floor!

The DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling him back to his surroundings. Grant winced. Jesus, if they were throwing the bridal bouquet, he was seriously going to question Quinn’s cred. She might be all woman, but he’d never pegged her for this girlie shit.

Time for him to get back out there. Enter Twist, stage right, he muttered under his breath. He slapped a cocky smirk on his face and strolled out from the shadows, devil-may-care at the ready. He smiled at women and nodded at men, stopping to hold a meaningless conversation with an admiral’s aide, all while dark memories ran their slideshow through his mind.

After Maverick, he’d spent an uncomfortable month data mining the mental states of his team. Being relegated to running a desk for a month as a result of the internal inquiry had given him the time and the memory of Maverick’s blood splatter on his face the impetus to make sure none of the rest of his guys were headed to the same tragic end.

He’d managed to keep himself off the proverbial couch along the way.

As a trained therapist, he knew this depression—yes, he used the D word; no need to freak out—was, for the moment, high-functioning. But if something didn’t shift, and soon, he was gonna have to get someone else to shrink his head as a last resort.

But the Navy wouldn’t let a depressed SEAL stay active duty.

And no one was taking Grant away from his guys.

He was...okay. So okay, he felt empty, as though years of hearing other people’s problems had made him immune to feeling empathy and emotion.

He’d been coasting on a lot of Okays for a while, long enough for him to stop expecting to return to anything else, certainly not the kind of joy Jasper was displaying. He didn’t need to be happy to do his job, and do it damn well too. If okay was as good as he got, an okay SEAL was still ten times the warrior than most other men in his business.

An operator in this business had to be careful not to care too much. The other side of that coin was making sure you didn’t care too little. Both would kill a man faster than spit.

Problem was, Grant knew he was starting to slide onto the wrong side of that coin.

The admiral’s aide left him to dance with a pretty blonde. Grant grabbed a chair on the edge of the crowd. A lift of his hand had a waiter scurrying over. Tequila, he ordered. Bring the bottle. Minutes later, he had an empty shot glass in hand and the sharp burn of tequila in his throat. Not taking this walk down memory lane sober, that’s for sure.

He couldn’t lay any of this shit on the guys in his unit. To them, he had to be Twisted Sisti, there with a twisted joke or jibe to ease tensions and get them through the training or the op or whatever their day brought them. Men like Jasper led with strength and sacrifice, instilling in his men the devotion and loyalty that had them jumping out of perfectly good planes, sometimes under fire, to willingly follow their leader deeper into the hot zones.

Men like him kept those warriors sane through the aftermath. He’d left his lucrative therapist practice to join the Navy for that reason. It wasn’t good enough to pick up the pieces of broken soldiers and try to knit them back into whole men. Men who didn’t lunge for cover when a car backfired or dive into a bottle or a hypodermic when fireworks went off. It was all so fucking useless. What good could he do when they’d sunk so far as to have already cracked, sometimes violently? Much better to be in the muck and mire with them, to use his training and experience to reach those men before they hit the breaking point and, even worse, took others with them.

He’d joined up, against extreme opposition from colleagues and family alike, and pushed it ever farther by applying for Special Forces training. Dragging himself side by side through BUD/S with some of the men still in his unit, including Jasper, who’d been his swim buddy. Then on through SEAL Qualification Training and then another 18 months of training before being assigned to an active duty SEAL team. The Navy made you work for the privilege of being a SEAL. Three years altogether before he’d seen any action, years that honed him into a physical weapon that, for the first time in his life, surpassed the considerable abilities of his brain.

He liked it. He was damn good at it. After so many years doing what he should, he’d finally done what he wanted and in it, had found his calling. His place to make a difference.

Until Maverick.

He called up a sly grin as he approached the wedding planner (had to be Willow, right?). It was a sliver of his usual devil-may-care demeanor, but going by the dazed look in her eyes, it worked.

It was a point of that tattered pride that no one had yet guessed how much he’d had to force that humor these days, fake his usual demeanor like a classic farce. Helped Jasper had been in Florida wooing Quinn and not in Coronado reaming Grant’s ass.

And now he’d watched them take vows again, pulling forth the man Jasper needed to see to keep living this new life his brother had carved from their shared tragedy. Quinn might not have healed all the wounds Maverick’s death left in Jasper, but she sure as hell gave him something to keep fighting for. Sometimes, that’s all they needed, a reason to keep on fighting. A purpose. Hope that it made a difference to someone, somewhere.

Hope.

Grant was more and more worried he’d lost his for good.

CHAPTER TWO

D arn it, Skye Thornquist swore when the cleaning caddy whacked her