Slow & Steady

  Alphas Undone Book 2

  by Kendall Ryan

  Slow & Steady

  Copyright © 2016 Kendall Ryan

  Cover design by Sara Eirew

  Photography Credit: Sara Eirew

  Editing by Alexandra Fresch, Angela Smith, and Ellie LoveNBooks

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  About the Book

  When Greyson Archer tosses a twenty on the stage of a strip club, the last thing he expects to see is familiar haunted green eyes staring at him. Finley should be home raising her infant daughter and baking cookies, not tucking singles into her G-string and giving lap dances.

  Greyson can’t deny that he’d like his own private show, but there’s not a chance in hell of that happening. The last time the former Navy SEAL saw her she was dressed in black, holding a folded flag and sobbing that it was all his fault—and he agreed with every single word. He couldn’t do anything to help her then, but he can now.

  Finley deserves better than this dingy club, and when an obsessed customer crosses the line, Greyson leads the rescue and will do whatever it takes to make amends for their broken past.

  He never expected to want to settle down, but with Finley, everything is different. For the first time ever, he can breathe. But Greyson will have to fight for what he wants in order to keep the woman with the green eyes he’s dreamed about so often.

  Praise for Slow & Steady

  "This was a nonstop read for me. I didn’t put it down until I finished. I loved it from the first page and I wouldn’t change anything about it." - Jacqueline's Reads

  "This amazing story was so addictive that I read it basically in one sitting on a lazy Sunday afternoon." - Winchester Book Reviews

  "Kendall Ryan, you blew this book out of the water for me!" - My Girlfriend's Couch Blog

  "This is an easy 5-star book for me (one of my favorites of the year so far) and I highly recommend it!" - Pretty Little Books

  "Grey was sexy, demanding and had such a sweet soft side. Fin was sassy, vulnerable, and head strong." - Michell, GoodReads Reviewer

  "I fell in love with this beautiful and brilliant book. Slow and Steady grabbed me from the very first page, bleeding into my head and heart and never letting go." - Bookalicious Babes Blog

  "Sexual tension runs rampant along with feelings of anger, resentment and fear. They challenge one another while the push and pull between become undeniable." - Books and Boys Book Blog

  Chapter One

  Greyson

  “Hi, handsome. Can I interest you in some company?” a feminine voice cooed, just barely audible over the loud thumping music.

  I looked up from my glass into the heavily made-up eyes of a redhead wearing nothing but a silver G-string leaving nothing to the imagination.

  A half-naked woman asking for my attention should be good thing. But she didn’t stir the least bit of desire in me. “Not tonight, sweetheart, thanks.”

  She tipped her chin and sauntered away looking for her next conquest.

  Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. None of the girls did a thing for me, and despite knocking back two whiskeys, I was still sitting there bitter and sulking.

  After a horrendous day at work, rather than going home, I’d driven here – a strip club that I’d been to once or twice in the past for bachelor parties or birthdays, but that had been years ago.

  Still licking my wounds over today’s assignment, this had seemed like a better option than going home. The private security firm I worked for had a contract with a state prison, and today I drew the short straw – taking one of the rookies out there for a special seminar I was leading. It was supposed to be simple – instructing the guards on advanced and humane takedown strategies. But the rookie I brought with me was an ex-Marine and ended up being a hot-head with a temper. Rather than the easy day I was expecting, it turned into a damn fiasco. First he insulted the warden, then he ignored security protocols and antagonized the guards. He topped it off by almost inciting a prison riot.

  And worse than all that was that it reflected on me. I’d had to talk my boss, and my former Navy Commander Jerry Barton, down off the ledge. He was ready to castrate us both this afternoon.

  Good times.

  Fucking-A.

  Knocking back the remainder of my drink, I was just about to get up and leave, throw the towel in on this clusterfuck of a day, when the song changed and my eyes swung over to the stage. Amidst deep thumping beats of slow bass, wisps of smoke silhouetted a dancer in the center of the stage. I settled back in to my seat, intrigued, at least for the moment.

  Starting at her feet, which were encased in a pair of sky-high red heels, my gaze wandered slowly up her body as the fog began to clear. Savoring the sight before me, I took my time, my eyes caressing shapely thighs and rounded hips with just a whisper of white lace between her legs. A flat stomach, and trim waist. My heart started to accelerate as my gaze traveled north.

  Releasing the front clasp of her bra, she held the cups in place, pausing for just a fraction of a second, but enough time for me to mourn the thought of her keeping it on.

  Peeling her bra slowly away, she revealed full, round breasts. A strangled groan ripped from my throat. Soft, yet perky tits, topped with rosy pink nipples that tightened in the cool air.

  Jesus.

  She was built just like a woman should be. Tons of soft, lightly tanned skin and ample smooth curves. My cock stood at attention, saluting her with the admiration she deserved.

  She swayed, her body moving sensually, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Unlike the other girls, she wasn’t dancing for anyone. She was unrushed in her movements, feeling the music and rocking her hips. I imagined those hips moving over me, her soft curves in my hands, my mouth on her skin, the fingertip bruises I’d leave on those hips as I gripped her tight. My cock went as hard as steel.

  Her eyes were closed and when she opened them, I about fell out of my chair.

  Deep emerald green fringed in heavy black lashes.

  Fucking hell.

  “Finley?” I rose out of my seat, blood pumping, and headed straight for the stage, intent on towing her little ass down from it, and shoving her in some goddamn clothes.

  Her eyes found mine and widened in alarm. Then a startled little gasp pushed past her pink glossy lips.

  “Sir,” a booming voice asked beside me. “Are we going to have a problem?”

  I stopped in my tracks, feet from the stage, fists clenched at my sides, vein no doubt popping in the side of my neck.

  Realizing that if I so much as reached out my hand for her, I was going to be promptly removed from the club, and placed none-too-gingerly on my ass in the parking lot. I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. There was a no-touching rule, and I was happy to see it was being enforced. “We’re good,” I bit out. “A word, Finley?” My eyes stayed on hers.

  Her pulse thumped in her slender neck and she gave the bouncer a tight nod. “We’re okay, Bruce. Thanks.” Navigating the stairs carefully, Finley came to stand before me. The music changed and another dancer took her place on stage. Even in those fuck-me pumps, she was still a good foot shorter than me. Not to mention virtually naked. But she acted like neither of those things bothered her. Her green gaze burned fiercely, her small body tensed in a challenging posture, fearless and unashamed as a lioness. It’d been almost two years since I’d seen her, but not much had changed. Her hair was a little shorter, her eyes more guarded.
And judging by the way her mouth was pulled down into a tight frown, she still hated me.

  Fine by me. I deserved it.

  My body was still reacting to hers and that little strip show she’d done on stage. The blood roaring through my veins, and pounding in my cock made it hard to think. The motherfucker was rock hard and ready.

  Stand down, man.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” she asked.

  “You first, sweetheart. What the hell are you doing here?” I asked after a few tense moments.

  “I’m not your sweetheart, and what does it look like?” Her narrowed eyes told me to fuck off, but she wasn’t going to get rid of me that easily.

  “It looked like you were shaking your ass up there for every Tom, Dick and Harry to see.”

  She shrugged. “I’m a stripper, Greyson, that’s typically how it works.”

  I flattened my tongue against the roof of my mouth to temper the string of curse words I wanted to let rip. “Don’t you mean adult entertainer?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not play games. Now tell me why you’re here.”

  Wasn’t it obvious? I figured she understood by now that this place was for lonely men without any real connections in their lives. I was here to forget about the miserable day I’d spent at work, and because I wasn’t ready to go home alone to an empty house. “Isn’t everyone here for the same thing? To drop about fifty bucks and go home with a raging boner…” I grinned at her.

  “Git up there and get nekkid, doll face,” a man called from the crowd.

  I whipped my head around to glare at him. I was going to break that motherfucker’s mouth for talking to her that way. But before I could do anything to shut him up, Finley pulled my attention back.

  “I can’t talk to you right now. My boss is right over there, and he expects me to be working.” Her eyes flitted over to a bald man in an ill-fitting thrift store suit. His scowl etched a deep line across his forehead.

  “Fine. Then I’ll buy a lap dance. How much?” I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and watched as Finley’s gorgeous pink lips parted in surprise.

  Stand the fuck down.

  “Forty, but there’s no way I’m …”

  “Here’s eighty. Take it.” I shoved the money at her, but she took a step back.

  “I’m not taking your money, Greyson.”

  “Well, then it looks like we're stuck, because I'm not leaving here without you answering a few questions. For starters, how’s the baby?”

  She let out a heavy sigh and shoved a hand into the mass of honey blonde curls tumbling down her shoulders. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

  “Just a couple of minutes. You don't even have to actually do the dance.” My cock begged me to reconsider, but I firmly told it to shut up. I was trying to strike a bargain here. Helping Finley was more important than feeling her delicious ass grinding into my groin...dammit, the things I do for friendship. “Consider the eighty bucks a fair trade for putting up with my questions.”

  “But my boss will—”

  “Your boss can't bitch if you’re getting paid. If you need an excuse, tell him I wanted to buy you a drink and complain about my day.” That wasn't totally out of the ordinary—I knew at least one coworker who treated strippers like therapists. I motioned to the plush velvet lounge chairs across from us. “Come on. Those shoes have got to be killing your feet.”

  Her eyes cut over to the seating area with longing. “Fine. Two minutes...and I'm starting the clock now.”

  Once we were seated, it was nearly impossible to keep my eyes up on hers. It was like they were being pulled by a magnet down to her beautiful naked chest. Maybe forgoing the lap dance was the best move after all—I was already struggling to keep my blood in my brain, just from the sight of her. I probably couldn't string two sentences together if that incredible body was writhing against me. And something told me she knew how to move, and grind, and thrust ...

  Fuck.

  Finley was clearly just as uncomfortable, but in a much less enjoyable way, fidgeting on her seat and barely resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. Not that she had anything to hide – she was perfection. But she'd been so bold just a few minutes ago, arguing with me by the stage. I didn't like the idea that merely being alone with me was enough to rattle her nerves. I wanted her to trust me, or at least get back on speaking terms.

  She was watching me expectantly. Shit, I forgot to actually start talking. Fucking hell. If I had any hope of surviving this conversation, she needed to cover up her chest. Immediately.

  “Here, take my shirt,” I said, unbuttoning the top few buttons on my dress shirt.

  Finley rolled her eyes. “I can’t wear clothes out on the floor. That’s not how this works, you ass. I’m sure you’re smart enough to know that much at least.”

  Last I knew, Finley had been widowed after I fucked up the mission Marcus and I were on – our last as Navy SEALs. She should be home raising her infant daughter and baking cookies, not tucking singles into her G-string and giving lap dances. It made me want to punch something.

  Forcing oxygen into my lungs, I fought to clear my head. “Fine. Please just tell me what in the fuck you’re doing working here?” It wasn’t even a nice place. It was a fucking truck-stop strip club off the highway. Had it been a low-key gentleman’s club where she served cocktails in a skimpy outfit, I might have let it slide. No, fuck that, not even then. I didn’t enjoy the thought of another man’s eyes on her.

  Her gorgeous green eyes narrowed. “You’re the last person who should be judging me.”

  I nodded once. “Fair enough. I’ve fucked up plenty, and I’m not trying to judge you, I’m just … a little thrown off here.”

  She swallowed and looked down at her hands. I noticed the simple gold wedding band had been moved from her left hand to her right, like she couldn’t quite part with it, but couldn’t keep on like everything was normal either.

  “Since …” She took a deep breath and started again. “It’s just a job, I needed the money, and …” She stopped herself.

  “If things were this bad, if you needed money …” Now I was the one trailing off.

  Dammit. Why was one simple conversation so impossible?

  "I'm doing fine. We're managing," she added.

  I was pretty sure managing was code for barely scraping by. Fuck that. I'd fucked up her life once, if I could help her out now, I would. Whether she wanted that help or not. I'd like to see her try and stop me.

  "That's too damn bad," I barked. "I have a responsibility to you, and Marcus wouldn’t like this." My chin cut toward the action on the stage, where two girls were now performing an erotic dance together.

  She closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again. Hardened green determination cut straight through me. "Marcus isn’t here," she pointed out.

  As if I could ever forget that fact. It still haunted me every day.

  I shoved my business card at her.

  "Redstone," she repeated, looking down at it.

  "That has my private cell number on it."

  "I don't want this. I don't want your help." She handed the card back, setting it on the small table between us.

  "Please, reconsider, if things are that bad, I’ll come by. Bring by groceries and dinner.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late for that.”

  “We can figure this out. I’d like to see the baby.”

  “I have to get back to work.” Finley rose to her feet, clearly done with me and my offer for help. Groceries were a poor substitute for the husband she lost. She knew it. I knew it. And her tone left little room for argument.

  Her standing here only highlighted my every mistake. It was my failure – the reason she had to resort to this. It was my responsibility to fix it. Even if she hated me ... even if she wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Please.” I slipped my business card under the elastic of her G-string, just above her hip, my fingers grazing the softes
t skin I’d ever felt. Damn. “Take this. Just in case.”

  Without a word, she turned away, marched back to the stage, and took her spot beside another dancer, falling in to the most risqué version of line dancing I’d ever seen.

  Disgusted and unable to stand by and watch her, I turned for the exit and left, my fists clenching in time with the pulsing music.

  Chapter Two

  Finley

  Despite it being Saturday, and my day off, I was still angry over my run-in with Greyson Archer last night. God, what an asshole.

  I wasn’t just mad because he’d seen me naked. I was mad because he’d seen me vulnerable. Barely hanging on. Hardly able to make ends meet and put food on the table for two people. Back when I was married and had Marcus, life was so different. Now I lived paycheck to paycheck in a crappy apartment and struggled to make rent. My daughter’s clothes and toys were all secondhand and I hadn’t had a haircut in months. There just wasn’t extra money for frills.

  It was bad enough that he was responsible for the mission that lost me my husband, but then he had to throw his money in my face. Offering to help.

  Fuck that. This momma takes care of her own.

  “Mommy?” Maple asked.

  That was one of two words that my daughter now said, and I knew I’d never get tired of hearing it.

  “Yes, baby?” I stroked her pale blonde hair back from her face as she gazed up at me with the big green eyes she’d inherited from me. “Should we make dinner?”

  She nodded and toddled into the kitchen.

  Peering into the fridge to look for ingredients, my thoughts began to wander.

  Greyson. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and I’d forgotten the effect he could have on me. He was six foot four inches of solid muscle with dark eyes that always looked haunted and an aura that screamed badass.

  Well, he might be a former SEAL, but that didn’t mean he got to march into my life and dole out orders. There had been a time when I'd thought Greyson was a stand-up guy. Marcus had obviously trusted him. But look where that trust had gotten him—a cold six feet under. And now Greyson was the kind of pathetic asshole who hung out at trashy strip joints and bothered the dancers. If he had ever been a hero, he was certainly a zero now. No matter how stunningly attractive he was, or how good he smelled.