Christmas with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  His luggage and equipment were in there.

  There was no point bringing his things inside until he knew the house was prepared. Besides, he hadn’t decided yet if he was staying here or finding housing at Lincoln Military.

  Still, he had to force himself up those stairs, every step that he took bringing echoes of past lectures to mind. Since it was a change from the myriad of other unwelcome thoughts he’d been entertaining lately, he let them echo away as he opened the door.

  The foyer was waxed and polished, a vase of frilly blooms on the sideboard and the chandelier overhead gleaming.

  Phillip shivered in spite of his leather jacket.

  The chill had nothing to do with the cool November morning.

  Warmth was pretty much forbidden here.

  As was laughter, unless it was politely restrained.

  Dreams, unless they’d been vetted and approved.

  Goals were good, though. Those were handed out from the head of the table every night at dinner and reviewed every Sunday. Progress was expected, failings not tolerated.

  Was it any surprise that Lara had bolted?

  Phillip stepped into the parlor, as his mother had called the front living room. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring at the portrait over the fireplace.

  The esteemed Banks family, in all their glory.

  The matriarch, perfectly coifed in Chanel and pearls, was seated on a throne-like chair next to her husband. Phillip narrowed his eyes, surprised to realize how much he looked like his father. He hadn’t at sixteen when the portrait had been painted. The similarities then had been between him and Lara, who everyone had said looked like their mother before her second, third and fourth facelifts.

  Something he was sure Lara hadn’t appreciated.

  Phillip’s lips quirked at the boredom in his sister’s eyes. Their parents had been able to force her to smile politely, but Lara had always found a way to make her dissatisfaction known.

  Unlike her, he’d never questioned his place in this house.

  In his family.

  His parents had been proud.

  They wouldn’t be now. His father would rage over Phillip.

  And his mother?

  Phillip snorted.

  She’d be pissed about his scars. He held his hands out, fingers wide, to inspect the crosshatch of white lines scored from knuckle to wrist. Unlike the scars on his back and chest, these were always visible, impossible to ignore.

  Unlike his father, she wouldn’t care that they were physical proof of his failure.

  She’d simply be horrified because they were ugly.

  God, what did he come from? And why did he suddenly care? Soul-searching wasn’t something he typically engaged in. Yet lately, it had become second nature.

  Frowning, Phillip squared his shoulders, and as he did with anything that didn’t fit his plans, he shoved the thought out of his head.

  And, as if it had been waiting for the all-clear, an image rushed in.

  The image of Frankie, naked and deliciously tempting.

  The sound of her cries as she exploded beneath him.

  The feel of her body, milking every last drop of pleasure from his.

  Phillip blew out a breath and shook his head, trying to dislodge that image, too. It didn’t budge as easily as the frustration and irritation that had become his everyday companions.

  Then again, fantasies of Frankie had become his buffer against insomnia and nightmares and were fast replacing pain meds in staving off those damned migraines.

  But none of those were an issue now.

  Now it was time to get on with things. And get something to eat. He headed toward the back of the house.

  “Mrs. O’Brian?” he called out, stepping into the kitchen. “I’m home.”

  “Indeed you are.” Looking the same as she had every day of his life, Mrs. O’Brian came around the stove, wiped her hands on her apron and held them out to welcome him. Her hands were as soft as the dough she’d been kneading. Brown eyes sparkled behind her wire-rimmed glasses, and her white hair was braided to wrap around her head like a crown. Fitting. His mother had ruled the front of the house, but Mrs. O’Brian had ruled the kitchen and beyond.

  “Don’t you look wonderful,” she exclaimed, squeezing his hands. “Much better than your last visit.”

  Phillip’s polite smile didn’t shift, nor did he correct her. The last time he’d been back was for his parents’ memorial service. He’d been whole then. Of sound mind and undamaged body.

  “I hope you have something for me to eat,” Phillip said, easily shifting the subject as he released her fingers and stepped back.

  “Roast-beef sandwiches, fresh-cut fries and apple pie for dessert?” she offered, her smile twinkling. “Your favorite lunchtime fare. Dinner will be more robust, of course.”

  Robust? Base food had nothing on Mrs. O’Brian’s cooking. Phillip made a mental note to arrange to use the academy gym. Might as well, since he’d be there daily. Teaching. Or being punished. They were pretty much the same thing.

  “The house looks great, Mrs. O’Brian,” he told her, glancing over her shoulder. The pool sparkled inside a glass-enclosed room, the patio furniture gleamed and the patio drapes fluttered in the autumn breeze. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, though.”

  “It was no trouble, Mr. Phillip. My granddaughter helped out.”

  Phillip nodded, vaguely remembering Mrs. O’Brian’s various granddaughters visiting her from time to time.

  “Still, I don’t want to put you out,” he said, preparing to tell her he wouldn’t be staying.

  “Trouble? Oh, no, this is a pleasure. I miss having people here, someone to take care of. Having you home, especially at the holidays, it’s a special treat,” she said. Her smile was so bright that Phillip couldn’t bring himself to say anything that would dim it.

  “Go on now, into the dining room,” the older woman instructed, waving her hand to shoo him out of the kitchen.

  “I can eat in here. I don’t want you serving me,” he refused.

  “No eating in the kitchen,” she said, in a familiar refrain. She turned, lifting an already prepared tray. “Here, you can take this into the dining room. I’ll send your dessert in soon.”

  Phillip looked at the tray, wondering how she’d timed it so the fries were still hot.

  Hungry, he figured he’d use this time to map out what was definitely a questionable lesson plan. After all, lecturing about keeping his mouth shut while being tortured was barely enough to fill one lesson, and the admiral had mandated eight.

  A half hour later, Phillip glared at the notes he’d sketched across a pad he’d found in the sideboard.

  The only part of him that felt satisfied was his stomach. He wasn’t a trainer. He didn’t want to be. But an assignment was an assignment, and he couldn’t afford another failure.

  Phillip pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids, trying to massage away the stress before it climbed into headache territory.

  Then his senses hit overload.

  He lifted his head, looking around.

  A delicious overload.

  He smelled the apple pie a good five seconds before he saw the tray coming around the corner.

  Phillip didn’t miss a whole lot about this house—except Mrs. O’Brian’s desserts.

  He stood, ready to take the tray and thank her.

  Then he saw the face behind the tray.

  A roaring filled his ears.

  Carefully preserved images bombarded him. His body reacted as strongly as it had that night a month ago. Need and desire he didn’t want to feel, didn’t know how to deal with, washed over him.

  Still, he kept his expression blank as he inspected the bearer of his apple pi
e.

  A gorgeous redhead, her hair pulled back but untamed. His eyes shifted, taking in her white poet-style blouse and slim jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Sassy, sexy and, oh, so tempting.

  “Frankie?”

  “Uh-oh.” Eyes huge, Frankie looked horrified.

  Since he knew she’d been every kind of sexually satisfied the last time he’d seen her, he didn’t take her reaction personally.

  Of course, she’d also snuck out of the hotel room in the middle of the night without so much as a word, a nudge or even a note.

  He frowned.

  Maybe it was personal.

  * * *

  NO. OH, NO, no, no. Not Phillip. Not here.

  She could have sworn Nana said Lara was here. Granted, she’d been in the middle of a meltdown when her nearly completed bracelet had melted under a too-hot torch.

  But tantrum or not, she’d definitely have heard Phillip’s name.

  Wouldn’t she have?

  Frankie’s stomach pitched into her toes. Her hands shook; the plate rattling on the tray. She forced her fingers to steady, knowing Nana would have a fit if she broke a plate.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

  A dozen excuses, half of them lies, flew through Frankie’s head. She didn’t see how any of them would work, though. Any chance of keeping her identity secret was blown.

  He looked so good.

  So, so good.

  And so proper. Phillip Banks, back in his natural setting.

  Seeing him here flipped her fantasy guy from hot and sexy to completely off-limits.

  She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, her words barely above a whisper.

  “Who were you expecting?”

  “Um, Lara?” she said, her voice shaky. She cleared her throat. “I thought she was visiting.”

  “Lara, who ran away from this house at sixteen and cut off all ties with her family? You thought she was going to follow up her honeymoon bliss by coming here?” He gave her a sardonic look, and then, clearly tired of waiting, got up to take the tray out of her hands.

  “She visited a couple of months ago,” Frankie muttered, feeling like an idiot. She’d helped clean the house yesterday. She’d even put flowers in Lara’s old bedroom and cleared her calendar for the next few evenings in case Lara wanted to get together. She’d never thought it might be Phillip visiting.

  She’d never let herself think he might visit.

  But now that he had?

  Her heart raced, her thoughts spinning just as fast. One night with him had sparked inspiration. Now that he was here...how much spark could they generate? Was it worth the trouble certain to go along with it?

  Not sure, needing to buy a little time to think, Frankie took a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  “How’s the pie?” she asked, angling her body a little and giving him a flirtatious smile.

  “Good. Fresh apples, right?”

  What?

  She looked at the pie, tilting her head to peer at the chunks of apple. Fresh? How would she know?

  “Sure,” she guessed, watching him dig into his pie as if seeing his Las Vegas one-night stand didn’t faze him at all.

  “So why are you here?” she asked, stepping closer. Close enough that the scent of his soap filled her senses. She leaned one hip against the table. She wanted to touch him, to slide her fingers along his cheek. To what? Offer comfort? He didn’t look like he needed it anymore.

  Phillip shrugged, scooping up another bite of pie, totally focused on his dessert. Not on her.

  Frankie frowned.

  She’d spent the past three weeks obsessed with the guy. Lying awake at night reliving that night in her imagination, sitting in her studio trying to turn those memories into art. He’d rocked her world, and what? She barely registered on his radar? Then she saw the look in his eyes.

  Veiled interest, hot curiosity.

  Oh, boy.

  That look was all it took. Memories of that night surfaced in all their glory.

  She wet her lips, her stomach tightening as his eyes followed the move. He didn’t say anything, though. Just carefully cut his crust in two as if wanting to make his pie last as long as possible.

  A habit he brought to other appetites as well, she remembered. The heat in her stomach uncoiled, spreading through her body.

  Temptation spiraled through her system.

  “Are you here for long?” she asked, ignoring that he hadn’t answered her previous question yet.

  “I’ve been assigned to the Naval Academy until the end of the year.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the pad of paper next to his plate. “And you?”

  “Me?”

  “Why are you here and for how long?” Phillip asked, his smile polite, his expression making it clear he wasn’t going to let her avoid the question any longer.

  Frankie debated.

  No matter what she told him, Nana would out her sooner or later. And while Phillip might be open to a little wild time with one of his sister’s friends in Las Vegas, she somehow doubted he’d be nearly as interested in the housekeeper’s granddaughter.

  For a brief—very brief—second, Frankie wondered if there was time for one more round before he found out who she was.

  But that would be wrong.

  Good, but wrong.

  Ashamed of herself for even considering it, she offered him her most charming smile and pulled out the chair next to his. With a quick glance to make sure her nana wasn’t nearby, she slid onto the brocade-covered seat.

  “I’m Frankie, just like I said,” she told him with her brightest smile. She would try the seductive one again, since it had worked so well before, but she figured she’d be smarter to save that for when it had a chance of actually working.

  “I didn’t ask who you were,” he reminded her, pressing his fork against the flakes of crust left on his plate. “I asked what you were doing here.”

  “I’m here bringing dessert.” She tapped one finger on the edge of his plate and wiggled her brows. “Did you want more pie?”

  “You work here?” he asked, pushing the plate away with one finger.

  Frankie’s smile slipped a little.

  “Nope, I told you, I’m a silversmith.”

  “And you’re a friend of Lara’s?” Eyes narrowed, Phillip leaned back in his chair a little.

  “Well, sort of a friend,” she said honestly. “We never buddied up when she lived at home. You know Lara, she was totally into dance.”

  “And she’s a couple years older than you,” he observed, giving her a searching look over steepled fingers.

  “A year and a half.” Frankie nodded.

  “You’re not a dancer. You weren’t in class with her. So how do you know her?”

  “You say that like you have doubts about your sister having friends.”

  “Lara does tend to be a little on the prickly side.” He tilted his head to the side. “But you were at her wedding, so I’m not doubting your claim.”

  “Well, then—”

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  Frankie wrinkled her nose.

  It wasn’t as if she was ashamed of her position in life. Or in the social pecking order, even.

  She shifted her butt on the antique chair, suddenly very aware that the contents of the dining room alone were worth more than her entire family’s assets.

  And she was thinking there was a possibility they could repeat what they’d done in Las Vegas?

  She bit her lip, her eyes searching Phillip’s face. His expression was polite, just a hint of curiosity in his green eyes. Had she imagined the heat in his
eyes a few minutes ago?

  Because that look on his face wasn’t the look of a man who was interested in reprising his sexual fling.

  It was still better than the looks she’d seen plenty of times in this house over the years.

  The master-to-servant look.

  It’d never mattered to Mr. or Mrs. Banks that she wasn’t actually one of their staff. Inferior was inferior after all.

  She didn’t want to see that look on Phillip’s face.

  Distant.

  Cool.

  As if they’d never licked each other’s bodies, as if they’d never watched each other come alive with pleasure.

  “Francesca, what on earth is taking you so long?”

  Frankie dropped her face into her hands and bit back a cry.

  Why, oh, why did her grandmother keep interrupting her fantasies about Phillip? It was enough to ruin a girl’s hopes for getting lucky.

  Of course, now that she’d been outed, she probably didn’t need to worry about that anymore.

  Grimacing, she looked up in time to see Phillip’s eyes widen, then narrow to inspect her face.

  His gaze shifted behind her, then back.

  Frankie sighed.

  Yeah, getting lucky was definitely off the table.

  “I’m just welcoming Phillip home, Nana,” she said without looking around. “He ate that pie in two big bites.”

  “I figured he would, which is why I had another slice cut and waiting,” Nana said, bustling into the room and setting a new plate in front of Phillip.

  She gave his empty dishes a satisfied look, then arched a brow at her granddaughter as she stacked them on the tray.

  “I’m glad you’re keeping him company, Frankie. Phillip needs a friend while he’s home.”

  Frankie’s surprise quickly turned to delight at the idea of being Phillip’s friend...his very, very good friend. Then she caught the look on his face. Her lips twitched at his shocked eyes and confused frown.

  “You keep him company, but don’t be a pest,” Nana said, patting Frankie’s shoulder before lifting the tray.

  Frankie waited for the sound of her grandmother’s footsteps to die away before settling her elbows on the table and leaning forward.

  “You need a friend?” she asked, wriggling her eyebrows and giving him a naughty smile.