A grumpy Navy SEAL who wants seclusion. A sunshiny diva who craves the spotlight. The deal they make could give them both what they need... if they don't kill each other.
Navy SEAL Clay "Dirtman" Hagan's retirement plans are simple. Buy the dilapidated beachfront cottage he found listed for a song, fix it up, and live out his days in solitude. Everything is set until an anonymous bidder drives up the price of his future paradise.
TV talk show host Tasha Jones is flying high, until one word--CANCELED--sends her crashing down. Now she's looking to resurrect her career with a new home renovation show, if they can get around the obnoxious buyer standing between her and the perfect property.
When her competition turns out to be none other than the a-hole from her embarrassing drunken one-night stand, the battle for the property really heats up as the insults--and the sparks--fly. The producer notices the chemistry between them and decides the viewers will too and the concept for "Hot House" is born.
If Clay agrees to have the self-centered star and her cameras in his house for the duration of the show, he gets to walk away with the property in the end. If Tasha can put up with living in the house with the Neanderthal control-freak during the construction, she gets a hit show and her career back.
It shouldn't be hard since the director loves when they argue on camera, which is good since they agree on nothing. Well, almost nothing. They do agree they hate each other and neither wants a repeat of their one night together . . . So why does it keep happening?
Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini is an enemies-to-lovers spicy rom com with a grumpy hero and a sunshiny heroine.
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“Tasha! Open the door.”
What the hell was going on? Was the house on fire? Was a tsunami on the way? Those were the only two reasons she could come up with as she spun in a circle, searching for a place to hide B.O.B..
“Hold on a sec,” she yelled back as she shoved the vibrator under the towel and then scooped up her pajama bottoms from the floor.
READ MOREShe nearly fell putting them on when her foot got caught in the fabric.
When she was finally dressed, but not happy, she unlocked the door and yanked it open.
“What’s wr—” She never finished her question.
Clay, wild-eyed and panting as if he’d run a marathon, leaned with both hands braced against the doorframe.
He looked crazed. Why?
“What’s wrong?” This time she got the question out, genuinely concerned for both of their safety—until she swept her gaze down his body and noticed the massive tent in his shorts.
Oh, my.
She swallowed and brought her focus back to his face. “Clay?”
“Why are you doing this when I’m right here?” His nostrils flared as he drew in quick breaths.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He pushed into the room, forcing her to take a step back. Clay closed the door to the hallway and when he turned back to her he was standing much closer than he had been before.
She was cornered as he leaned against the sink, bracketing her with his Popeye arms and putting his face just a breath away from hers.
“You know what I’m talking about.” He twisted his head to glance around the small space, before looking back at her with a sneer. “Where’d you hide the vibrator?”
Busted.
She opened her mouth to protest but it was no use. Offense seemed like her only defense so she switched gears and said, “What I do in the privacy of the bathroom is my own business.”
“It’s not when I have to lay in that bed on the other side of this wall and listen to it every fucking night.”
Her spatial awareness really did suck. She hadn’t realized that because of a jog in the hallway that put Clay’s door around the corner. And it was on a different side of the house than her room, but he was right. His bedroom would share a wall with the bathroom.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head at her apology, looking angrier than the circumstances warranted.
Finally he said, “I’m right here.”
The intensity of his words, bit out with a force only a man his size could accomplish, blew the hair that had fallen across her forehead.
He couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he might be suggesting.
“But you hate me.” She was baffled and confused.
His nostrils flared again. “Hate is a strong word.”
Were they really going to argue over semantics at a time like this? When his hard-on was ready to bust through his shorts and her body was screaming for attention.
“Fine. You dislike me then,” she said, breathing a bit heavier too. From his closeness. From the prospect of repeating that night between them that she couldn’t remember.
God, how she wished she could remember. It had to have been good. A man with emotions this intense—even if at the moment that emotion was anger—had to be good in bed.
“No more than you dislike me,” he said, his eyes never left hers.
They were really nice eyes too. Why hadn’t she appreciated exactly how nice before? Probably because they were always slits as he scowled and glared at her.
“What are you saying, Clay?”
He dropped his gaze to her lips before bringing it back up. He leaned closer, hovering barely a breath from her lips. “I’ve had enough with this frigging conversation. Yes or no, Tasha? One word. That’s all I want. Yes or no?”
Her pulse racing, she managed to say between breaths, “Yes.”
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COLLAPSE
Bianca on BJ's Book Blog wrote:"Perfect, light hearted, fun read!" 5 Stars
Janeane on BJ's Book Blog wrote:"Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini was the most adorably hilarious love story! Run to your nearest Amazon for your own sexy ex SEAL! This one is mine!!"
Karol Southerland on Amazon wrote:"Hot damn, this story is HOT HOT HOT... Dirty, sexy and fun"
Deb on Amazon wrote:A hilarious book with a surprise happily ever after ending. 5 Stars
"Love to read" on Amazon wrote:I don’t think I have laughed so much at dialogue in a book ever. 5 Stars
This was terrific! I laughed, I cried
