Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (14 page)

HIS MIND SLOWLY MAKES ITS way back to the present. He glances around the table to see if anyone noticed him endlessly lost in memories. Shock and disbelief consume him.

Her voice continues to echo throughout the ballroom. “I’m proud to announce that Project Smiles will be taking another journey to Guadalajara, where we will not only use our charitable researches to perform some of the most life-changing surgeries for children with birth defects, but we are also going to focus our efforts on administering as many life-saving vaccinations and immunizations to the women and children who reside in that area. I would lastly like to thank the generous contributions the SEAL of Honor Foundation has provided the ongoing cause I am so passionate about.”

The end of her speech is met with a standing ovation, and she humbly smiles from the podium, bowing her head in obvious appreciation.

Nix observes her with appraising eyes as she makes her way back towards her table. He watches her like a hawk until she sits down and is swallowed up by the crowd of tables that separates them. He continues to mentally question the possibility of the fact that maybe this isn’t Sloan, but his heart, his soul—every ounce of his being—is screaming that the woman who just stood on stage—the woman who goes by the name Felicia Santora—is, without a doubt, Sloan Walker.

Should I try to confront her?
A sharp laugh escapes his lungs at that question.

A few people surrounding him direct curious looks his way, and he tries to hide his laugh behind a cough.
God, she’s turning me into a psycho path and I haven’t even spoken to her
.

There is no way in hell he can let this night go without talking to her. He’s waited a long fucking time for this kind of opportunity.

“You all right, buddy?” Julian asks.

Nix nods and a tight smile crests his mouth. “Of course. You know I hate formal events.”

Julian chuckles. “Me too. But hey, at least one of the speakers was enjoyable to look at.” His eyes dance in amusement. “Just getting a chance to steal a glance at that chick was worth the trip.”

His friend’s blatant appreciation of Sloan’s beauty causes Nix to cringe, but he manages to rein in his scattered emotions. He flashes Julian a sly grin before diving into the plate of food that’s placed before him by one of the hired banquet staff. The Navy went all out for this charitable affair—filet mignon, lobster, asparagus, and a baked potato are the items on the delicious menu tonight. Nix, Julian, and Slade show their approval of the food selection by eating with gusto. The grueling workout Nix put his guys through today has encouraged a hearty appetite.

The three men enjoy their meal while chatting politely with a few of the Navy officers who reside at their table. The only time SEALs wear their tridents is during events like this, and it’s interesting the amount of questions they receive when fellow military members notice the emblems that adorn their dress blues, but they are well versed in flying under the radar. They are masters at dodging probing questions regarding their platoon.

Nix easily changes the topic of conversation, and for the rest of dinner, the men at the table enjoy animatedly discussing the potential MLB teams that will be playing in the World Series next year. If there is one thing that’s a universal language among American men, it’s baseball. As the evening proceeds and more speakers approach the podium, Nix can’t prevent his eyes from continuously wandering towards a particular table, constantly seeking
her
out.

Her presence is a siren’s call.

At a snail’s pace, the night eventually comes to a close as the final speaker ends his speech by encouraging the attendants of the dinner to consider donating to the SEAL of Honor Foundation’s noble cause.

Nix is acutely aware that this is his opportunity—most likely his only chance.

He swiftly stands up from the table and mumbles, “I’ll be right back,” to Julian and Slade, pointing a finger in the direction of the bathroom in explanation. His intent gaze seeks her out in the crowd. His laser-sharp stare is watching, waiting, and ready. He might as well be a predator seeking out his prey.

Nixon West refuses to let this moment pass. He
has
to know the truth. All he needs is one chance to have her standing in front of him, one chance to talk to her, one chance to witness the flash of recognition cross her russet eyes.

He catches a glimpse of the generous amount of perfect skin that’s revealed from her dress and proceeds to stalk towards her with determination. She’s off to the side of the ballroom in the middle of a conversation with a few gentlemen who seem to have less than honorable motives.

Fucking pricks,
his inner caveman thinks without remorse.

He can’t help the overpowering jealousy that threatens to ignite a fire in his blood. He was always protective of her, always possessive of everything that was Sloan. Not in a controlling way, just in a
this-girl-is-mine
kind of way. He never had any problem with staking his claim when they were teenagers, and it seems the urge to piss on her like a goddamn animal has never really left.

He internally laughs at the ridiculousness of this entire scenario.

He is considered one of the most confident warriors in the United States military, yet he can still be reduced to a man who pines away for a woman in a matter of seconds. All it took was one glimpse of
her
and he was done for.

Fuck, she’s beautiful,
he thinks as he stands mere steps from her presence. He allows himself to take in the sight of her. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to pull his gaze away. His eyes are desperate to soak up every inch of her.

And now that he’s so close to her, he knows without a doubt that this woman is Sloan.

He knows he should be angry at her. He knows he should practically hate her for what she did. But he can’t force those emotions. He just can’t. For some strange reason, he doesn’t care that she tore his goddamn heart out and he doesn’t care that she walked away without a goodbye, because in this moment, he’s moved past that. He’s already convinced himself.
I’m not letting her go this time without a fucking fight.

She places a pleasant smile on her face and manages to disengage herself from the group of admirers that surrounds her. As she turns to walk away, Nix immediately steps in front of her, virtually causing them to collide. He places his strong hands on her shoulders to stop her from stumbling on her heels—the feel of her soft, smooth skin underneath his fingertips pierces him like a knife.

His large, masculine body blocks her path without remorse. Her focus moves up his chest at a leisurely pace until they seek out his intense, blue stare. Her jaw gapes as recognition blazes across her stunned face like a giant neon billboard.

Her facial expression reveals her truth and Nix’s heart begins to pound relentlessly inside his chest as he takes in the view of her. She’s here—right in front of him. So close that he could reach out and brush his fingers along her flushed cheeks.

He can’t fucking believe it, and he knows that
she knows
.

She knows who I am, because it’s her
—
my Meli.

As she stands before him, he doesn’t miss that feisty glimmer that flashes behind the intensity of her gaze.

Those eyes are his and his alone, and he’s refusing to let them go again.

FRUSTRATED, SLOAN CREASES HER BROW after a large body blocks her exit path. If she wouldn’t have stopped her momentum, she would have run right into him.
What an asshole,
she immediately thinks to herself. An irritated sigh escapes her full lips, and her vision seeks out the reason for nearly falling flat on her ass. She hastily peers up and comes face to face with familiar blue eyes that used to be a distant memory. Those eyes once held the key to her soul—the key to
everything
.

Sloan’s entire body startles as shock sparks and ignites every nerve ending under her olive skin. Her face contorts into undeniable astonishment. The overwhelming emotion that clogs her throat makes the simple task of inhaling and exhaling virtually impossible. She backs away from his touch as if his fingers have the power to scorch her skin. His hands fall loosely to his sides.

It’s him. My Nix.

Senses are diminished as the incessant beating of her pulse fills her ears. The entire room disappears from her periphery as the only magnified sensation is the powerful
thump, thump, thump
of her heart trying to punch its way out of her chest. His very presence has her frozen in place. Her black stilettos may as well be blocks of cement gluing her to the hardwood floor of the ballroom. The sight of Nix in all of his Technicolor glory is the only thing that dominates vision, overwhelming her mind and making her lose her entire sense of self.

She’s lost and consumed by the intensity of his cerulean gaze.

Glimpses of the past—memories of them together—begin flashing through her brain like a movie. Every moment, every kiss, every touch, every smile…every single second she spent loving him.

He appears the same yet different. His demeanor is no longer warm and gentle. The softness of his features is overpowered by a dominant edge. He hovers above her, nearly a foot taller than her petite frame. Nix was always strong in a masculine way, but now, he’s overpoweringly so. He is confident and alpha male to the extreme. His well-defined body is covered by his dress blues. The muscular contours are easily seen underneath his clothing, giving her the ridiculous urge to trace each sinewy line with her fingertips.
What is wrong with me?

The foreign feelings that have been buried away for so many years are now front and center. The past might as well be two strong hands wrapping around her neck, choking the capability of lucid, intelligent thought from her brain. In a matter of seconds, his presence has removed all rationality from her otherwise levelheaded mind.

Thirty-five point two seconds
—
the exact amount of time it takes for Sloan to regain her composure, to remember that she can’t reveal her true identity.

She has a part to play
. She is not Sloan Walker—she is Felicia Santora.

The past has no relevance in her life anymore.

“Excuse me,” she offers quietly once her mouth regains the facility of speech. Nervousness leaks from her fidgety demeanor. This is so very unlike Sloan, and it’s beginning to flare anger in her blood.

“I think I should be the one apologizing.” His familiar baritone voice resonates within her bones. “I’m really sorry for almost knocking you over.” Deep-cerulean eyes continue to scrutinize her face for what feels like an eternity.

Finally, he introduces himself. “I’m Nixon West.” He offers a strong hand in introduction. “But everyone calls me Nix. And you are
Felicia Santora
, right?” The sharpness of his tongue might as well have been a slap to her face.

Sloan nervously clears her throat. “Yes, I am, and it’s very nice to meet you.” She places her hand in his and her body feels jolted by the penetrating energy that flows between them. Millions of tiny nerve endings heat her skin. His long fingers encompass hers and make her feel tiny, feminine—an all-too-familiar feeling when it comes to
him.

They stand with their hands locked together.

His eyes search hers, silently urging vulnerability to make an appearance to the emotional-roller-coaster party that has rocked her equilibrium. Sloan has the impulse to shield her face from his unsettling stare. Irrational fear racks her nerves as ridiculous worries begin to race through her mind.

What if he possesses some sort of mind-reading superpower? Are his eyes opening up my brain and hearing every single thought that flows through my mind?

Jedi Mind Tricks, Nixon West style.

He finally releases her hand and she foolishly wishes he hadn’t.

His calm-and-collected demeanor continues to throw her into a tailspin.

“Great speech tonight. Your list of charitable accomplishments is quite impressive”—he glances down at her left hand, taking inventory and seeming to approve of what he’s found—“
Ms
. Santora.”