Found Forever

She's looking for Mr. Fun Right Now, but he's looking for Mrs. Forever.

After leaving her job as a dancer on cruise ships, Joanna Fernsby was sure that the fast-paced world of luxury real estate was her dream career. Wrong. Television definitely over-hyped things. It’s demanding, dog-eat-dog and not at all what she signed up for.So when her best friend Mieka, asks Joanna to fill in for her at her dance studio while she goes on her honeymoon, Joanna agrees. This will also give her a chance to get to know the mysterious Decker McKnight better after a steamy, but also confusing, moment on the haystacks with him at the wedding.Decker is tired of his nomad life. He hasn’t unpacked his apartment in the six years he’s paid rent there. He also can’t take his eyes off the bubbly Joanna as she rips up the dance floor at the wedding, and is quick to offer his help on the ranch while the newlyweds are on their honeymoon. Especially when he finds out Joanna is sticking around.However, Decker wants to take it slow with Joanna and see where things go, which causes the dancing Brit all kinds of frustration since she just wants a good shag.Will Joanna get what she wants? Or will it take Decker offering her the promise of a real future where she can dance again, for her to see that he’s more than just a good shag—he’s a fantastic forever?

The evening was warm for early June. The crickets sung their nightly lullaby, but it was drowned out by the music pumping from the DJ booth.
Decker was not one for loud parties or music. Not even before his days in the navy, fighting overseas and getting his eardrums pummeled by gunfire.
He liked music, but he liked it at a reasonable decibel. One where he could still hear himself think. A volume moderate enough that if someone cried for help, or there was a siren from an ambulance or fire truck, they’d be able to hear it.
He sat at one of the tables in the big white tent and watched from his perch as dozens of people—his twin brother, Ryker included—danced and grinded on the dance floor.
They were at the Harris Brothers Ranch in Colorado to celebrate their buddy Nate getting married.
Nate and his brother Asher were fellow SEALs, but they retired from active duty a few years ago, deciding that ranch life was more their speed. So now they bred horses, did trail rides, ran a petting farm and offered horse boarding. Their wives also had their businesses on the property. Triss, Asher’s wife, had her therapy clinic where she was a speech pathologist, and Nate’s bride Mieka (Triss’s sister) had just opened up her dance studio. They had acres and acres of land, so why not?
Decker brought the low ball of whiskey to his mouth and took a sip.
He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the blonde in the yellow dress all night. She was Joanna or Joanie, Mieka’s friend from their days dancing on the cruise ships, and she was stunning. Her smile was brighter than the goddamn sun, her eyes were an interesting blue-hazel, and the way she moved her body as she danced with Mieka, had Decker hypnotized.
She’d caught him looking at her more than once and smiled coyly as she continued to shimmy and shake her hips.
Her blonde curls hung down her back, grazing the back of her dress, but it swayed like willow branches on a warm breeze with her beautiful dancing.
He could honestly watch her dance all fucking night.
Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but he didn’t think so.
He hadn’t said a fucking word to her, though.
Because he had no idea what to say.
He’d arrived yesterday with Ryker and they went out with the rest of the crew to Denver for Nate’s bachelor party. It hadn’t been as wild as Asher’s, but it was still wild. Asher’s party—because Nate had planned it—was kind of crazy. And it’d been a joint party with the bachelorettes. But since Asher—who was more reserved and relaxed like Decker—planned Nate’s party, things were far more low-key.
Which was something most of them appreciated today, since none of them were spring chickens any longer and couldn’t binge-drink like teenagers, then get up the next day and act like nothing had happened.
In his prime, Decker could easily drink ten or more ounces of vodka in a night, blackout, then wake up the next morning and run a marathon—he’d done that at least twice.
Not anymore. He was forty-five and feeling his age now.
It was good to see his friends, though.
See his brothers in arms.
They’d been so tight when they were all in active duty, working as an elite SEAL team, then black ops. Now, most of them were married and had families. Aaron Steele has four kids—four! Decker never would have pegged the broody, tattooed redhead for a dad, let alone one to four kids. But he looked happier than Decker had ever seen him.
Rob Cahill married a billionaire heiress, and they had twin girls, then Barnes Wark married Rob’s wife’s sister (also a billionaire heiress) and although they didn’t have kids, and didn’t plan to, they had a fulfilling life in Oregon.
Colton Hastings had married Aaron’s wife’s friend after only knowing her for a day. They eloped to Vegas. But years later, they were still happy and had two kids.
Pete Callaghan just found love with Asher and Nate’s cousin, Hannah, and then Asher and Nate were finally in love and starting families.
Then there was Brendan.
Decker’s throat grew tight at the memory of their brother. He took his own life shortly after his daughter Sasha was born, leaving his wife, Molly, and Sasha to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts.
Everyone’s heart shattered the day they got the phone call about Brendan.
Molly had been invited to the wedding, because none of them turned their back on her after Brendan died. They stepped up and one of them was always there if she needed something. But Sasha had a dance recital, so they had to miss the wedding.
That left Decker and Ryker as the remaining single men from their brotherhood.
Ryker played the field like a star quarterback, but Decker preferred commitment.
There were just too many head games in the dating world. Too much fakeness. Too much putting on airs. He also didn’t like the idea of casual sex. Never had.
When he got with a woman, he wanted to take his time learning every inch of her body. There was no such thing as wham bam thank you, ma’am. In his world, he wanted to make sure his partner was satisfied more than once and that she never felt rushed or left hanging.
Even though he and Ryker were identical twins and best friends, they couldn’t be more different in so many ways.
And relationships were one of them.
A solid hand landed on his right shoulder and gave a hard, affectionate squeeze. “Two left feet, or too drunk?” came Pete Callaghan’s voice. His name was Pete, but everyone called him Cal.
“Never been a dancer,” Decker said with a shrug as Cal took a seat beside him at the table. Hannah was dancing with Triss and Mieka, her arms in the air, and a big gin stretching from ear to ear. Cal’s face brightened when he locked eyes with his woman. She gave him a cheeky, sexy smile, then a wink.
“You two met and hooked up over Christmas last year, right?” Decker asked. “When she house and animal sat for Ash and Nate?”
Cal nodded. “Yeah. I came over to help and even though she was stubborn as hell, saying she didn’t need my help, eventually, she realized that many hands make light work.” He snorted. “After that, she was stuck with me.”
Decker grunted and his head bobbed before he lifted his low ball and took another sip. The whiskey was smooth and slid down his throat like liquid silk, warming his chest and belly.
“How’d you know Hannah was the one?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he tracked Joanna across the dance floor, laughing with Mieka.
Cal followed Decker’s gaze and snickered. “Ms. Fernsby is very pretty. You talk to her?”
Decker swung his gaze at Cal and glared at his friend. “Answer the question.”
Cal’s lip twitched as he tried to smother his smile. “I just knew. I felt it in here.” He knocked a fist lightly against his chest. “I saw her, and I just had this crazy, tingly feeling in my belly … and my balls,” he snorted, “and I just knew. She didn’t make it easy on me, though. I had to work for it.”
Decker grunted, then found Joanna back on the dance floor. She had a new glass of booze in one hand and her other hand in the air as she swayed, closed her eyes and sung with her soul to Living on a Prayer.
“Now answer my question,” Cal said with mirth. “Have you spoken to Joanie?”
Decker shook his head stiffly. “No.”
“Well, you should. She’s very nice. Very loud.” He chuckled. “And swears like a British sailor … because she is British.”
Hannah wandered over, her cheeks rosy and amber eyes bright. She swung herself into Cal’s lap and looped her arm around his shoulder. “Hey, lover.”
Cal rested his hand on her thigh, chuckling. “Well, hello there.”
“What’s a fine ginger piece of ass like you sitting in the corner for? Don’t you know nobody puts baby in the corner?” She swiveled around to beam at Decker. “You want to come dance, too?”
“I’ll pass,” Decker said. “Thanks.”
Hannah shrugged and bounced out of Cal’s lap, grabbing his hand and pulling him to stand. Her dark curls jostled as she started to wiggle in time to the music, tugging her man out to the dance floor with her.
“You’re missing out,” Cal hollered over the bass just before the rhythm possessed him and he wrapped an arm around Hannah and the two started to dance.
Deck brought his low ball to his lips, but frowned when he realized it was empty.
With a groan and a sigh, he pried himself out of the chair. A few things creaked and cracked in his back and his knee did an annoying twinge thing. It was his body’s way of reminding him that he was not a spry, green behind the gills twenty-year-old anymore with a rubber body and endless stamina. He’d also put his body through the fucking wringer for the last twenty-odd years, and it was finally catching up on him. Joe Blow off the street would have died a thousand times over if he’d done some of the shit Decker and his brothers had done.
He made his way over to the bar.
“Whiskey, neat,” he grunted to the bartender.
The bartender nodded and poured him a double. He’d been drinking doubles all night, so the guy didn’t even have to ask. He took his glass and stuffed five bucks into the tip jar. It was an open bar, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t thank the man in the black dress shirt for his speedy service.
Turning around, he leaned back against the bar and took a sip.
He wasn’t a big drinker, but when he did drink, he drank good stuff.
Good beer. Good whiskey. Good scotch. Good bourbon.
There was no Wild Turkey or Bud Light touching his lips. Never.
He wasn’t a snob—or maybe he was—but he knew what he liked and since he didn’t drink very often, why waste the moment on the cheap swill that he used to drink like water when he was a teenager?
He was forty-five years old. Life was precious. Too precious to spend choking back the fermented monkey piss they sold for peanuts in the liquor store.
He snagged his brother’s gaze across the tent. Ryker was chatting it up with a couple of Mieka’s other cruise ship dancer friends. Ryker’s smile was telling. He was probably going to take one—or both—of the dancers back to his room in the bunkhouse.
Lovely. Decker shared a wall with Ryker and his brother was loud.
The Harris brothers had built a big bunk house over the last year for their ranch hands. But they still had a few vacant rooms available for guests. Some of the guests were staying in the main house with Mieka and Nate, while others were in Triss and Asher’s new house on the other side of the field. Then there were some RVs parked in the fields, and ATVs for people to take the cabins in the woods.
The bride and groom wanted to make sure that all their guests had places to stay, and since the ranch was in the middle of farm country, hotels and motels were miles away.
Some guests—like Barnes and his wife, Aaron and his brood, and Rob and his brood—opted to drive out with RVs which they parked on the field far enough away that they wouldn’t be disturbed by music. Then Nate and Mieka rented a few more RVs for other guests who were traveling from far away.
It wasn’t a big wedding, but it felt big given the energy of the guests and how much love filled the tent.
It was second nature to scan the area of danger. You could take the SEAL out of the field, but you couldn’t keep him from being a SEAL. In fact, Decker noticed all of his brothers scanning the tent and field for anything nefarious more than once. Even though they were all relaxed and enjoying themselves, they were still aware of their surroundings and on high alert.
Not that there was really anything to worry about all the way out in the field in the middle of rural Colorado. But you could never be too complacent.
His eyes were on the darkness that was endless through the gap in the tent flaps when a breathless huff and waft of something sweet with just a tang of sweat drifted toward him. He glanced to the right and his throat grew tight.
It was Joanna.
“A water, please,” she said to the bartender before shaking her head to get her light curls off her face.
The bartender nodded and poured her a glass from the pitcher. She chugged it. So fast that several drops landed on her chest and slid down into her cleavage.
Decker, like the red-blooded man that he was, couldn’t look away.
He envied those water droplets.
She let out a satisfied, “Ah.” Then placed the glass on the bar top. “One more, please.”
The bartender filled her up.
“Thanks, love,” she said, grabbing the full glass again and chugging it.
More water fell onto her chest and slid below the neckline of her dress.
She turned to Decker, her smile brilliant and beautiful. “Which twin are you again?”
His lip twitched. “Decker.”
“Right. The serious one.”
His brows barely lifted. “Who told you that?”
“Mieka. She said hot twin SEALs were coming to the wedding. One was a party animal and one was serious, stern and broody. I should have known, though, since your brother is probably going to be spending the night with Melissa and Jillian, and he’s been dancing like mad on the dance floor. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in your chair with your whiskey, silently judging everyone.”
“Is that what I’ve been doing?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
She lifted one slender shoulder. “Isn’t it?”
“Maybe I’m just watching people. No judgment. Maybe I just don’t like dancing.”
“Everyone likes dancing. Even if they’re rubbish at it. It’s fun, and it’s great exercise.”
“That’s a bold blanket statement. Everyone likes dancing. Really?”
She lobbed a mock pout, but then cheeky determination flashed in her eyes, and she grinned as she reached for his hand. “Come on. You’ll have fun, I swear.”
Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he rolled his eyes, finished his drink, and set it on the bar, allowing the pretty blonde to lug him onto the floor.
Just as they hit the parquet wood, the song changed to something slow.
Several people left the floor, but a few new people joined. Couples, mostly, swaying close and gazing into each other’s eyes.
Rayma—Mieka’s youngest sister and the wildest—was swaying with her oldest sister, Pasha. Her head was on Pasha’s chest, her eyes were closed and she had a goofy, drunk smile on her face. Pasha’s husband, a big blond behemoth of a man named Heath, was snickering off to the side, cradling a low ball of something amber in his hand as he chatted with his brother-in-law, Rayma’s husband, Jordan.
Decker had always been good at names and faces. It was part of his job. Remembering people. Remembering threats.
“Come here, Mr. Serious,” Joanna said, pulling Decker close and guiding his right hand to her waist, left hand into her hand. “I know it’s probably not something you’re used to, because you’re one of those alpha-male types, but maybe let the professional dancer lead, hmm?”
His lip twitched again, but he nodded and allowed her to lead.
Which was all the better, because he had no idea how to dance, so he would have been shit at leading.
“You’re doing a lot of assuming about me,” he murmured as she wove them gracefully around the floor. “That I’m judging people, the alpha-male type. What other assumptions have you made?”
Her unique blue-hazel eyes glittered under all the fairy lights hung throughout the tent, and her lips twisted as she thought. “Hmmm … You’re well read.”
He didn’t say anything or make any facial expression to give away whether she was right or wrong.
She was right, though.
He read—a lot.
And he read everything.
From the classics, to the popular new releases. Kurt Vonnegut and Hemmingway to J.K. Rowling and Suzanne Collins. Even though he preferred fiction, because it allowed him to get lost in a make-believe world and live a thousand different lives, he also liked non-fiction—particularly memoirs of adventure seekers and travellers.
“Am I right?” she probed.
He lifted a shoulder. “Keep going.”
She beamed. “Okay. You’re a foodie, too.”
He was.
He loved to cook. He even took a few cooking classes a few years ago. Mostly ethic cuisine, but once when he was between missions, he made it his personal mission to perfect a soufflé, so he took a soufflé course and by the end of it, he’d made four perfect ones. Two savory and two sweet. His instructor called Decker her star pupil.
“You going to tell me if I’m right or wrong?” she asked.
“I want to see what else you’ve assumed about me first.”
She let out a faint huff of frustration, sending minty air hitting his upper lip. “You’re a vagabond. Have never really settled down. Though, full disclosure, Mieka told me this, so it’s not an assumption. It’s a fact. However, you currently have an apartment in Dallas.” Her nose wrinkled. “Why Dallas?”
He snorted. “It’s cheap, and it’s a major airport hub. I can fly anywhere real quick.”
She nodded. “But you like, don’t want to settle there, do you?”
Frowning, he shook his head. “Naw. Too right wing for me.”
She swept the back of her hand over her forehead dramatically. “Phew.”
He cracked a small smile.
“So was I right? You’re a well-read foodie?”
Tilting his head slightly, he nodded. “I like books and food.”
Her grin was jaw-dropping.
There was a very good chance Joanna was the most beautiful woman Decker had ever seen.
“How old are you?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“Forty-five. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
He nodded.
“And are you still off saving the world from drug lords and fanatical dictators? Or have you decided to hang up your cape and tights and leave crime fighting to the young SEALs without silver in their hair?” At that, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and swept it through his hair on the side by his temple, where he was indeed sporting several strands of silver.
Her fingers in his hair felt incredible.
He wanted to grab her hand, kiss her knuckles and encourage to keep playing with his hair. He could have easily just closed his eyes and allowed her to do it for the rest of the night.
“Slowing down,” he said, his eyes going wide when the last syllable came out slightly croaked like he was some prepubescent teenager.
She giggled and removed her fingers from his hair. “What does that mean?”
“Taking fewer missions. Being selective and not doing anything nearly as dangerous as I used to. Leaving that shit to the young pups.” He cracked a half-smile. “The ones without any silver in their hair. I’m easing my way into retirement.”
Her fingers found their way back into his hair. “I think it’s sexy. Distinguished. You’re like a silver fox.” Her gaze pivoted around the room until she found Barnes. “He’s gone full gray, and he’s still hot as hell.”
Decker snorted. “Yeah?”
She shrugged. “Embrace what you’ve got. Play to your strengths.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“How long are you here for?”
He exhaled and frowned, shaking his head. “No clue. As long as I want, really. Nate and Mieka are heading out on their honeymoon in a couple of days, so I might see if Asher needs a hand around here for a bit.”
She blew out a breath in a way that accentuated her bottom lip. His gaze fell to it and the desire to lunge out and bite it was damn near debilitating. “Mieka asked me if I wanted to sub for her while they’re gone. I jumped at the chance to get back into dancing. I’m sure I’ll be rusty for the first few days, but I’m excited. Well, a nervous ninny about teaching, because I’ve never taught before. But I’ll take anything if it means I can dance again.” Her huff of a laugh was humorless. “Anything to keep from going back to Toronto and the job I hate.”
Even though he knew what she did for work, he asked anyway. “What do you do?”
“I sell high-end real estate for my brother’s real estate firm. But I actually can’t stand it. The clients are so bloody pretentious, I want to clobber them all with the hood ornaments of their over-priced cars. It’s also really demanding. Like, I can’t have a life. I need to be at their beck and call, always. I was on a date, and I had to leave midway through because my client called and wanted me to get them into a viewing of a house because they heard it was hitting the market the next day and they wanted to see it before it was officially listed. So I had to call the listing agent and get my client a viewing that night at like ten o’clock.”
A frisson of something resembling jealousy niggled at the nape of his neck when she mentioned being on a date. That was weird. He had no claim on this woman and yet the idea of her seeing someone, of her dating, sat awkwardly in his craw. He worked his jaw back and forth and forcefully shoved that weird sensation away.
But he could still feel the ghostly touch of the green-eyed monster.
Weird.
He rarely felt jealousy over anything.
“Another time, I had to sell the tickets I bought to a concert—last minute—because my client wanted to see a certain house in the evening, from sunset through twilight and until every damn star in the sky was out. We were at the house for ages.”
That sounded goddamn awful to Decker. And he must have been making a face to convey his feelings because Joanna nodded.
“Yeah, I make that face a lot lately.”
“Does you brother know you’re unhappy?” he asked.
“He does. But he says it’ll get better. But honestly, I don’t think it will. I hate hustling. It is not part of my genetic makeup. Cold-calling and having to brown nose people to get them to choose me as their listing agent, or buying agent. It’s very cutthroat and competitive. I hate it. I had to deal with enough cutthroat bullshit and drama with girls on the ship when I was dancing. I’m over that. I’m too old for it.”
He snorted at her mention of being too old. She was thirty-four. She wasn’t too old for squat.
“You laugh, but I was cut from the ships because I was too old to dance. So was Mieka.” Then she glanced behind her at the two women flirting with Ryker. “So were Melissa and Jillian. We were all sacked as soon as we hit our early thirties. We’re geriatric dancers. Might as well just send us to the glue factory. Just a bunch of useless old mares. That’s what we are.”
He snorted again. “Then quit.”
“And do what?”
“Anything else. Whatever will make you happy.”
Her pout was less put on and more real. “Dancing makes me happy. It always has.”
“Then find a way to do that again. Ask Mieka for a job.”
Her sigh was weary, and she seemed to deflate in Decker’s arms. “If only it were that simple. I’ve already started the application process to get Canadian residency. What’s it going to look like if I go, ‘naw, I think I wanna be a yank, instead’? They’ll deport me back to my mum post haste for sure.”
Something told him it didn’t quite work that way, but he’d also never applied for dual citizenship anywhere, or even residency status, so he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe she was right?
However, what he did understand was that if something made you consistently miserable, you quit it. Life was too fucking short to do things that made you unhappy.
Losing Brendan had drilled that into his head more than anything.
It seemed simple enough to him. Quit being a Realtor and find a way to dance again. Even if that was in Toronto. But then again, he wasn’t a dancer. Maybe it wasn’t like riding a bike.
He’d be happy if he had two left feet. But I his case, as soon as the music came on, his limbs turned into tentacles and any sense of rhythm disappeared like a puff of smoke.
Somehow, the beauty leading him around the dance floor managed to wrangle his tentacles and convert him into a passable dancer. If she let go of him, though, he’d be a spastic squid again in the blink of an eye.
Her smile was smaller, but held a wry tilt to it. “Maybe you weren’t sitting in the corner in judgment. Maybe you’re just really observant. Is that it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m judging the shit out of everyone.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t think you give a shit enough to care what people think of you, or to judge people.”
He was stunned silent for a moment on her accurate evaluation of him.
“Did you like, major in psychology or something? Or were your parents shrinks?”
Her chuckle warmed him better than the whiskey. “No. My dad is in finance and my mum teachers piano and is a seamstress. I’m just observant. I’m not wrong, am I?”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
She leaned back. “But something tells me as much as you don’t give a shit, you read people really well. So what kind of reading do you get of me?”
That heat in his belly intensified to an almost uncomfortable warmth. He fought the urge to squirm and cleared his throat. “Let’s just dance, hmm?”
Determination flickered behind her eyes. “No. Tell me. I read you and told you. Now it’s your turn.”
Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he took a tighter hold of her hip and tugged her just a little bit closer. Her eyes flared.
Desire lanced through him as her breasts brushed his chest and a sexy pink raced up from her cleavage into her cheeks. She swallowed, and it was all he could not to lean forward and trace the line of her throat with his tongue.
“You’re hurting,” he said softly. “And you’re masking the hurt with a smile. But with every smile, another crack in your heart forms. It’s payment for the visage you’re showing the world. You’re lost. Much like Mieka was before she found a home and a purpose here with Nate. You’re pretending the world is just one big happy fun-time party, so nobody sees how unhappy you really are. And no, I didn’t learn this from you telling me you hate your job. I could see it in your eyes the first time I saw you. The masked pain. The fake smile. The excessive laughter. It’s all a coping mechanism. A veil. It’s one we’ve all done at some point in our lives. But you’ve been doing it for a while now that it’s almost second nature. Only, it’s also fucking exhausting.”
He swallowed, waiting for the backlash. The slap.
One of his skills had always been reading people quickly. He could scan a crowd, and within ten minutes select his target, profile them and know exactly how to approach them, manipulate them, and get what he needed from them. Usually without any torture or bloodshed.
Usually.
Her eyes bore into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for and he squirmed again, then cleared his throat. “I uh …”
But she shook her head to shut him up. Her eyes grew watery with unshed tears and when she blinked, those tears spilled over and down her cheeks. “You’re right. I’m lost. I’m sad. I’m in pain. And I’ve been faking everything.” She glanced in the direction of Mieka who was slow dancing with Nate, an enormous—real—smile on the bride’s face. “Because it’s not my day. And she doesn’t deserve to be saddled with my problems. She found her happiness here, and I’m happy for her. But we can’t all marry sexy ranchers and move in next door to our sister.”
“No, we can’t.”
She huffed a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
His grip tightened on her waist, and it forced her to look up at him. “Hey, it’s okay to be real with me.”
She swallowed, then a hardness caused lines to crease beside her eyes. “Want to get out of here?”