Still, she couldn’t make her feet go further.
“Chicken!” Mr. Shaughnessy whispered.
She shot him a glare. Then, looking around and seeing so many of those sad, lonely expressions on the faces of her patients, Jess went ahead and made a fool of herself.
She walked over and plopped right down on Santa’s knee.
Chapter Two
Tanner let out a little oomph, surprised when an adult crash-landed on him without warning. He hadn’t even spotted her coming, which said a lot about how ridiculous he felt. Because in his line of work, letting somebody sneak up on you was a big no-no.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he remembered to say, casting another quick glance at the clock on the wall. It had been nearly two hours since he’d arrived, well over his agreed-upon sixty minutes. But every time he moved to stand up, another munchkin showed up with a wish list as long as his arm.
“Check out the doc!” someone called.
A voice whooped and another person whistled, which was enough to get him curious. He stared at his lap’s new occupant. Looking at a cloud of thick, dark hair pulled back at the nape, as well as the pretty profile—high cheekbones, pert nose, lush lips—he felt a tingle of recognition. When she turned her face toward him, Tanner finally saw her springtime green eyes, flecked with gold. Wide, luminous eyes. Beautiful eyes.
Eyes he knew.
His breath left him. “You!”
“Sorry to ambush you,” she whispered, “I’m just trying to give some of them a laugh.”
She might have given the seniors a laugh, but all she’d given him was one hell of a shock. Because it was her, Jessica. His mystery woman. The one he hadn’t even been sure existed.
“Tell ‘im what you want, Doc!” someone called.
“She needs a man, that’s what she needs!” a woman called.
She stiffened, and Tanner reflexively slid his arms around her waist, afraid she was going to regret her impulse and shoot to her feet. “Stay,” he ordered, his voice low, for her ears only.
She looked down at him, those eyes widening, a hint of pink appearing in her cheeks. As their stares met and locked, her lovely lips parted and she sucked an audible breath through them. Finally she murmured, “Do I know you?”
He nodded once. “How ya doin’ Doc?”
“How—who—”
He reached for his fluffy white beard, then, at the last second, remembered he couldn’t just yank it off and give her a good look at his face. He’d probably scar for life some kid who still totally bought the whole Santa thing.
“We met a long time ago,” he admitted, wondering if she heard the rawness in his voice.
She shifted a little more, which, considering the crowd of seniors and children all around them, shouldn’t have elicited the hot, instantaneous reaction, but still did. He felt the heat of her ass against his thigh, the way her calves dangled between his. Hell, even the warmth of her breath on his brow as she leaned closer to look at him was a total turn-on.
She smelled like cinnamon. It wasn’t because of the holiday cookies or the eggnog. That was one thing he’d always remembered about his mystery woman—the cinnamon-tinged perfume she’d been wearing that night. The way that scent had filled his head when he’d done the unthinkable and kissed her—a perfect stranger—before walking out of her life forever.
Well, not forever. Just until now.
Suddenly, she gasped. Against all odds—against time and space, considering they’d met in another world, far removed from this small California town—she had recognized him by nothing more than his voice and his eyes.
“Yemen. 2008,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“You brought in that village boy; he’d broken his leg.”
“Yeah. After you patched him up, I bought you a cup of coffee.”
“The coffee was free, Lieutenant Boudreau,” she said with a wry smile.
“It was the thought that counted—Jessica.”
She hesitated, her lashes lowering over her eyes. “You kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”
Oh, yeah, she had definitely kissed him back. It had been crazy, one of the most impulsive things he’d ever done—leaning over, sinking his hands into the thick, dark hair of a beautiful stranger, and tugging her against him. Their mouths had met and opened easily, hungrily. They’d been oblivious to time and place—at least until reality had come back with one hell of a bang.
They were silent for a moment, remembering. Wondering. Asking a million questions and answering them, without ever saying a word. Where have you been? Why do you remember this? Did it mean as much to you as it did to me?
Finally, she sighed. “And then the world blew up.”
“It sure did.”
That one cup of coffee, the brief conversation, the shared laughter, and oh, God, that kiss, had inspired memories and dreams in Tanner ever since. He’d wondered, many times, what might have happened had the Doctors Without Borders clinic not been overrun by wounded villagers fleeing the kind of massacre that would give a grown man nightmares. Whether they’d have had time to learn more about each other. To at least exchange their full names.
But the moment had passed. Blood and violence had landed on them both like a truck-load of cement. He’d raced to get back to his unit, she had begun saving lives. Their paths had firmly diverged.
Now they’d come back together again. As if they’d always been meant to. As if the search he’d been conducting since arriving home on leave—the needle of the name Jessica in the haystack called the southern California medical industry—had been rewarded.
She was here, the woman he’d never forgotten, sitting right on his lap, as if deposited there, the one gift he’d been waiting years to receive.
Torn between wanting to sink deeper onto this man’s lap and wrap her arms around his neck, and wanting to leap up and hurry out of the social hall before she made even more of a fool of herself, Jess chose a third option: Play it cool.
Easier said than done, considering she’d already been decidedly uncool. How hard would it have been to pretend it had taken her longer than twenty-point-four seconds to recognize him? Maybe then he wouldn’t suspect she’d spent a lot of hours over the past three-and-a-half years thinking about him. Thinking. Wishing. Wondering.
Only one thing kept her glued in place—it had taken even less time for him to recognize her. So maybe he’d been doing some thinking, wishing, wondering, too.
Which seemed ridiculous. This big, incredibly powerful, intimidating-looking military man could probably have any woman he wanted. Not just because he was so damned gorgeous, with those chocolate brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, that dark brown hair, the flash of dimple in his cheek when he laughed—but because, at least from the little she knew of him, he was funny, generous, honorable, and, strange as it had seemed at the time, even gentle. Would any other bad-ass Navy SEAL have taken time out to pick up a village kid and bring him to the local clinic, carrying him in his arms and shouting for help because the boy had broken his leg?
Not many. But this one had.
Something compelled her to admit, “I’ve looked for you.”
“Ditto.”
That voice. So deep and smooth. It had filled her dreams for a long time.
She nibbled her bottom lip. “I actually Facebook stalked you, even though I only ever knew your last name.”
“My first name’s Tanner,” he said.
Tanner. A nice name. Sexy and masculine. Like him.
“And I’m not on Facebook. I wish I’d thought to do that, though. I’ve been staking out VA hospitals all week, hoping to spot you.”
Her brow shot up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. This is the first time I’ve been home in a few years. Thought you might have come back to SoCal too—you said you probably would when your volunteer tour was up, and that you wanted to work with veterans.” He looked around the crowded room. “I guess you still are.”
He shook his head. “Still in the service. I’m just home on leave, visiting family. I leave again the morning after Christmas.”
Disappointment stabbed her. Two more days, and then he’d be gone again. Out of her life almost as quickly as he’d entered and exited it the last time. Were they destined to cross paths, then move in different directions, never having a chance to see what these sparks, this instant connection between them, meant? Had she found the man of her dreams again, only to watch him march back into battle?
Man of your dreams? Who are you kidding?!
Considering all she’d seen during her years overseas—the wars, the violence, the blood—the man of her dreams should be a quiet college professor who spouted poetry and wouldn’t lift a flyswatter against an insect. Not a guy like this. Not a guy who lived for the thrill, who put his neck out every single day. Jess had known enough about the military to have recognized that he was a SEAL. There weren’t many jobs more dangerous than that one. He’d probably take fewer risks wrestling alligators for a living.
She was thirty-four years old, professionally established, with a great job and a home, and should be thinking only of finding someone stable—someone who didn’t get shot at for a living—to share that life with.
But she had to admit it: He was the only man she’d wanted for a very long time.
“I wanna see Santa!” a child’s voice screeched. A little boy with chocolate-smeared cheeks, whose diaper-lumpy pants looked suspiciously damp, was frowning at them.
“I should let you get back to work,” she said, pulling away from him. Even though she’d spent the past minute telling herself why he was all wrong for her, she immediately found herself missing the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms around her waist.
He hesitated for a moment, then let her go. “What time do you get off?”
“I’m here all night tonight,” she admitted. “Why?”
“Wanna meet me in the cafeteria after I’m finished?” Beneath the beard, she saw one corner of his mouth lift in a half-smile. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
She couldn’t contain a laugh. “I’m on staff. The coffee’s free.”
“Then you buy me a cup of coffee.”
She shouldn’t. Heaven knew she shouldn’t. But even as a refusal formed on her lips . . . she knew she would. “Okay, Lieutenant Boudreau. Coffee is on me.”
Chapter Three
It started as just coffee. Small-talk. Light laughter.
Then it turned into dinner. Cafeteria-food dinner, but dinner nonetheless.
Then dessert. More coffee. More talking between her rounds and her check-ins with the staff. At one point they’d ended up in the lounge watching It’s A Wonderful Life with one of the residents, an old man she’d called Mr. Preston, who apparently suffered from severe insomnia. Even the taciturn Mr. Preston liked playing matchmaker for his beloved “Doc,” because he slipped a sprig of mistletoe in the buttonhole of Jess’s pristine white coat.
Hadn’t that led to some interesting thoughts. Not just about kissing her mouth, but about kissing her everywhere beneath that mistletoe.
He had it bad for her. Was attracted to her the way he had never been attracted to another woman. Maybe it was because of unsatisfied desire from their first meeting, but he didn’t think so. He suspected he could make love to Jess every night for the rest of his life and still want her the next day.
Love at first sight? Who knew? He wasn’t willing to label it. He just knew he wanted her, in his bed, and out of it. For as long as he could have her.
“I can’t believe you’ve stayed here all evening,” she said as the two of them sat in her office, waiting for Christmas Eve to become Christmas Day.
It was nearly midnight, and Tanner would need to get back to his grandparents’ place soon. They’d be in bed, but he wanted to be sure he was there on Christmas morning.
“It’s the excellent coffee,” he said with a shrug.
She grimaced.
“Okay, scratch that.”
“Well, I know it’s not the food.”
“I dunno, that gelatin surprise stuff was pretty unforgettable.”
“Maybe as compared to MRE’s.”
He shuddered. Meals-ready-to-eat were one thing he would be very happy to leave behind when he left the military. There was only so much freeze-dried shit-on-a-shingle one person should have to eat in a lifetime. “Believe me, I’ve been getting as much home-cooking as I can stand. I think my grandmother wants to fatten me up to fit in that red suit.”
She glanced at him, her stare sliding from his jaw, down his neck, over his T-shirt covered shoulders and chest. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, and he knew, watching her nibble that pretty lip, what she was thinking.
The heat went up a few degrees. It had been going up from the minute she’d sat on his lip, until he’d shucked off the costume and joined her in the cafeteria earlier tonight, and every hour since. She was as physically aware of him as he was of her.
He didn’t know what else was going to happen tonight, given how little of it was left. But he’d sooner lose his shooting hand than walk out of here without kissing her one more time.
“Besides, who says I was sticking around just for you? I finally got to see the end of It’s A Wonderful Life. Mr. Preston was pretty shocked that I’d never seen the whole thing.”
“He’s a lovely man,” she said. “Always a little sad. I’m glad you spent some time with him.”
“Doesn’t he have any family?”
“None that come to visit. Apparently he never married—he was badly affected by the war.”
Tanner made an immediate assumption. “World War II?”
“Yes. He was in your line of work.”
A sailor? No wonder he and the older man had shared an instant affinity. Perhaps deep down they’d just recognized a brother.
“Apparently he survived some awful battle, and it affected him. He was on a ship called, um, the Indianapolis.”
Stunned, immediately understanding the ramifications—and thinking of the sad, lonely life Mr. Preston had lived after what had been one of the greatest Navy tragedies of all time, he could only swallow hard and murmur, “Wow.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course. Every American should have,” he replied. Because every person alive owed a debt to that generation. What they’d fought for, lived for, died for, had changed the world. And the men on the Indianapolis had paid an especially brutal price for their country.
“I’ve been meaning to research it,” she admitted.
“Seen the movie Jaws?” he asked her, knowing that would be the quickest pop culture frame of reference.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, but not for a long time.”
“Watch it again and you’ll understand.”
“I will,” she promised. “You military men have a real bond, don’t you?”
“An unbreakable one.”
She didn’t speak for a moment. Then, as if wanting to change the subject, to stop thinking of dark things on this night that had been only about talking and laughter and holiday cheer, she smiled brightly. “I still can’t believe you’re Miss Marge’s grandson.”
“And I still can’t believe you’re the pretty lady-doc she always talks about.”
They’d talked earlier in the evening about his family. About how his parents had died and his mother’s parents had raised him and his sister. He hadn’t tried to hide his feelings for them—his gratitude, his love, his loyalty. There was no game-playing between them, no holding-back-the-cards. It was as if they
both knew they had a very short time and didn’t want to waste it.
She’d been just as open when talking about her less-than-happy childhood, her wealthy, neglectful parents, who’d been so critical when she’d “wasted” so much time helping the poor in other countries when she could be pulling down big bucks back home. That had sounded so ridiculous to him—as if she’d ever value money over helping other people.
How funny that they’d know her all her life, yet he already knew her better.
The clock continued to tick, growing loud as silence again descended between them. As if they both knew he’d be walking out the door in a few minutes, and didn’t quite know what to say to each other now.
In the end, they said nothing. Instead, he rose from his chair, walked over to hers, took her hand and tugged her up. Her eyes widened in curiosity, but he didn’t explain, didn’t ask permission. He simply did what he’d been wanting to do for hours. For years.
He slid his fingers into her hair, cupped her head, tugged her to him and caught her mouth in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
She fell against his body, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her soft curves surrendered to his hard angles; they just fit, from neck to knee. She tasted as sweet as he’d remembered, but there was no shock, no shyness this time. They both dove into the kiss, their tongues dancing, tangling in a hot exploration that acknowledged that this was the wrong time and the wrong place, but was absolutely the right thing to do.
Within moments, she was turning to lean against her desk, one of her legs twining around his. Their desire was a thick, tangible thing and for a few long, pleasurable minutes, Tanner let himself be carried away by it. By the feel of her soft curves, her spicy smell, the heat rising and swirling and filling the room.
Finally, though, a voice in the corridor reminded him where they were. He ended the kiss—regretfully—and stepped back. Drawing in a few deep, ragged breaths, he watched her do the same, straightening her clothes, smoothing her hair.
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