by Tawny Weber
Now she didn’t know what to think.
Except to know that he’d reject any attempt she made to talk about it or offer comfort.
Let it go, she told herself. Focus on what we have between us. Hot sex. Wildly hot, extremely satisfying sex.
Determined to get her thoughts back on track, she shifted onto her side, careful not to disturb Phillip.
The snow had turned to rain. Frankie watched the drops throw themselves against the glass of the French doors, then slowly slide down. Sort of like her and Phillip, she thought with a deep sigh. She wasn’t sure which of them had thrown themselves at whom first, at least, not this time. Her fingers curved over the back of his hand where it wrapped over her waist.
But she’d felt like one of those raindrops, going splat all over the place.
Frankie’s lips twitched.
Wasn’t she the poet?
After their lovemaking in Las Vegas, she’d seen swirls and shapes of all kinds, so many inspiring images that every time she’d closed her eyes she’d been overwhelmed by the creative possibilities. She hadn’t been able to wait to get back to her studio.
This time? She was equating the most incredible sex of her life to the splat of a raindrop.
Maybe because her body was reliving the memory of the incredible things he’d made her feel. Her imagination was wallowing in the image of the two of them wrapped around each other in Phillip’s bed.
Right now.
Tomorrow.
Next year.
Whoa.
Love?
Now, that was crazy thinking.
Almost as crazy as imagining Phillip might need her.
Frankie scowled at the rain. The stupid weather was putting silly thoughts in her head. The two of them a real couple? That would never happen. She didn’t even want it to happen.
Fantasies and mind-blowing sex aside, they had nothing in common. There was no way a relationship could work between a flaky, failing jewelry designer and a rich-boy, dedicated SEAL.
Her eyes swept the room. Other than the clothes they’d stripped off each other, there wasn’t a thing out of place. No clutter in the tan room. A bland tan, she realized, frowning at the walls.
Clearly they were totally wrong for each other. She was creatively messy and needed to be surrounded by color. He was obsessively tidy, and unless he decorated the inside of his footlocker like a rainbow, she’d bet camouflage was as close to color as he got.
They probably didn’t even like the same books or movies or music. She sucked in her bottom lip, trying to remember if they’d discussed any of those things on their date.
The whole evening had been shrouded in a sensual fog.
That only proved that they were all about the sex. Sure, the chemistry they shared was hot—incendiary even. But anything that hot couldn’t last long.
Determined to prove that to herself—and try to douse those flames before she started to read too much into what they meant—Frankie quietly turned over.
She brushed her fingers softly over his cheek.
And smiled when he murmured her name.
Then she proceeded to kiss her way down his body so she could wake him in a way that would turn those flames into a bonfire.
9
IT MIGHT HAVE been hours, it might have been days later when Frankie woke again. She stretched, delight filling her body. She didn’t have to look to know that Phillip wasn’t there this time.
But she did anyway.
She ran her hand over the indention on his pillow, then, after a quick glance to make sure she was alone, hugged it to her. Emotions washed over her in gentle waves, sweetly poignant.
Then she realized what those emotions were.
Frankie’s eyes popped open and she threw the pillow so hard it bounced off the wall.
Groaning, she shoved herself into a sitting position, resting her head on her knees.
What had she done?
Her morning had been so hot it sizzled, but it hadn’t done its job. Because here she was, all giddy and filled with joy, falling for Phillip.
She pressed her knees harder against her closed eyes, hoping the pressure would erase the crazy thought from her head.
Instead, she saw rays of color. Twisting color, coiling around a fat gemstone. She concentrated, trying to bring the image into focus.
“Oh,” she breathed in wonder. Onyx, roughly cut and tumbled. The metal burnished to reflect light like a prism, sending off rainbows. The vision coalesced in her mind, spinning and turning so she could see it from all sides.
It wasn’t just the end result she was seeing, but the step-by-step execution. As sure as she knew her own name, Frankie knew she could make the piece actually work.
Unlike every other time inspiration had hit in the past year, she wasn’t afraid that this burst of creative energy would disappear in a poof of disappointment.
This time it felt solid. It felt real.
But the crazy thought was still there.
Despite knowing they had no future, she was terrifyingly close to falling for Phillip. A part of her wanted to run. She was out of the bed and searching for her underwear before it hit her.
Running wasn’t going to make any difference.
No matter how far she got from him, Phillip would still star in her dreams.
Fine, then.
If she couldn’t escape it, and there was no point in denying it, she would simply do what she did best.
Enjoy it.
Since Phillip was nowhere to be seen—thank God—she used his bathroom and stole a crisp white shirt from his closet.
Buttoning it as she went, Frankie made her way down the stairs, the rich scent of coffee luring her onward. Telling herself the nerves dancing in her stomach were just preparation for enjoyment, she took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her hair, then stepped into the kitchen.
And almost melted into a puddle right then and there.
Thankfully, Phillip was focused on the newspaper on the counter in front of him and his back was to her, giving her a second to gather her composure.
And to enjoy the view. Her gaze traveled from the breadth of his shoulders down the length of his back to the sweetness of his butt. He looked as casual as she’d ever seen him in jeans and a thermal shirt; both hugged his muscles and made the most of his gorgeous body.
She wanted to eat him up with toast.
“Morning,” she greeted him instead, wishing she’d taken the time to find her purse and put on a little makeup.
He turned around. His polite smile shifted into something warmer. He looked her over with such intensity that Frankie’s toes curled against the hardwood floor.
“Good morning,” he finally said. Barely taking his eyes off her, he poured coffee into a cup, then lifted it in question. “How do you like it?”
Any way he wanted to give it to her.
“Just black, thanks,” she said instead.
Her eyes locked on his. Desperate to kiss him but just as eager to keep things steady, she took the cup, then sipped.
Heaven.
He did good coffee.
“Aren’t you worried your grandmother will object to you wandering around wearing only my shirt and your underwear?” Phillip asked, grinning to assure her that he didn’t mind in the least.
“Nah.” Frankie took a long swallow, letting the caffeine work its magic. “She decided to spend the weekend with my aunt.”
“Your grandmother is gone all weekend?” he repeated, his gaze focusing on her cleavage, displayed in all its glory by his barely buttoned shirt.
“My grandmother is gone until Monday night,” she said, smiling over her coffee cup as her finger played with a button.
“Is tha
t a fact?” he asked, looking as if he wanted to deal with the button himself.
“It is. I have three days to do anything and everything I want,” she told him in a teasing tone. “Anytime and anywhere, even.”
“Yeah?” His eyes slumberous with desire, Phillip brushed his finger along the edge of the shirt, tracing it from the collar to that button just between her breasts.
“Yeah.” Before she could suggest a few things he might want to try, though, her stomach gave a loud grumble.
Frankie winced, and then relaxed when Phillip’s stunned expression turned to laughter.
“There’s something labeled breakfast in the refrigerator. Actually there are a few things labeled breakfast, more labeled lunch and enough dinner to feed a platoon.” Phillip handed her a list off the counter. “Her concern that I’d starve aside, I don’t remember Mrs. O’Brian mentioning that she’d be gone.”
“It probably slipped her mind,” Frankie said, looking at the list.
“Holy cow, we’re in luck!” she exclaimed, tossing the paper onto the counter and diving for the fridge.
She didn’t need to see the neatly typed label stuck to the top of the lid to know which casserole dish to pull out.
Practically dancing with excitement, she opened the lid.
“Oh, man, this is the best casserole in the world. Bread, eggs, sausage, cheese and all kinds of other stuff she won’t tell me.” Frankie cut out two portions and slid them onto microwave-safe plates. She knew it should be warmed in the oven, but she was too hungry to wait. “She hardly ever makes it.”
“Why don’t you just make it yourself, then?”
“I can’t,” she admitted, watching the plate spin in the microwave. She hated that there were things she loved that she simply couldn’t have whenever she wanted.
“Your grandmother won’t share her recipes?”
“Not her favorite ones.” Frankie wrinkled her nose, then added, “At least, not with me. She’s given this one to my cousin and my aunt, though.”
Refilling his coffee, Phillip lifted the carafe, silently asking her if she wanted any. The microwave beeped, and Frankie exchanged one plate for the other, nodding yes to the coffee.
“Since it’s obviously a favorite of yours, why won’t she tell you how to make it?”
“Because I suck as a cook. Nana considers it sacrilegious for one of her recipes to be attached in any way to my cooking.”
He frowned. “You can’t cook?”
“Can you?”
He opened his mouth, then caught a good look at her expression and wisely clamped his lips together.
“I make up for my lousy cooking skills with excellent baking ones, though,” she defended.
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not quite.” Frankie took the second dish from the microwave and carried both to the small corner table. She noticed the hesitant look on Phillip’s face, but before she could ask, he grabbed the utensils and the coffee. She waited until they were both seated, then continued.
“Cooking is this,” she said, pointing at the golden casserole with her fork. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Those require cooking.”
“And baking?”
“The most important meal of the day. Dessert.” Frankie wiggled her brows, rubbing his leg with one bare foot. “And believe me, I rock dessert. Especially cookies.”
“Cookies,” he said, his tone so doubtful she wondered if he’d ever eaten one.
“Cookies. I am the cookie queen.”
“Yeah? You’re going to have to prove it, cookie queen.”
“You’re on.”
“We’ll see if your cookies are any match for this...whatever this is that has you so excited.” He gave his plate a doubtful look, pushing the bread around with his fork.
“Try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll be happy to finish it for you.”
“You’d eat that huge casserole all by yourself?”
“I usually have to wait for Christmas morning for this. And even then, I have to share. Nana’s big on sharing.” Frankie gave a delicate shudder before scooping up her first bite. Steam curled from the fork, so she gave it a cursory blow before shoving it in her mouth.
Mmm.
From the look on Phillip’s face, he agreed with her.
Not another word was said until their plates were all but licked clean. Phillip leaned back in his chair, looking a little shocked at how much he’d eaten.
“Your cookies are going to have to be pretty good to beat that,” he decided.
“As soon as you taste my cookies, you’ll be begging for more,” she said as she propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. The move left her shirt gaping open, a fact that Phillip clearly appreciated.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve never begged for anything in my life.” As soon as the words were out, his eyes changed. Filled with a pain so intense Frankie had to bite her lip to keep from crying.
“Shall we bet?” she asked in a cheery tone, desperate to chase those shadows away.
“Bet?” Bafflement replaced pain on his face, and he shook his head. “How would we do that?”
“You poor, sheltered man. Don’t tell me you’ve never bet before either.”
“Some might say I place a bet every time I put on my uniform,” he pointed out.
The enormity of the stakes he played for hit Frankie like a sledgehammer. How did he and other men like him do that? Especially when it was obvious that sometimes they lost the bet.
How did their loved ones handle it?
She was only just infatuated with him—something she’d do well to keep reminding herself of—and the thought of what he must face, the choices he had to make, filled her with terror.
Needing a second, she busied herself with clearing the table and carrying their plates to the sink.
Light.
She needed to keep things light.
For herself, but more so for Phillip.
He hadn’t had enough light in his life.
Cookies. She swallowed back the tears, turned off the water and dried her hands.
“I’ll make cookies this afternoon,” she said as she turned to face him with a bright smile. Christmas cookies. Nothing was as cheerful as Christmas cookies.
“Cookies? Is that what we’re somehow going to bet on?”
He was so cute and confused.
Frankie couldn’t help it—she just had to kiss him. Then, when he kissed her back, she curled into his lap.
“I’ll bet you that after tasting my cookies, you love them so much you’re willing to do whatever I want for the rest of the night,” she challenged.
“I’m willing to do whatever you want right now.” Proving his claim, he slid his hand up her bare thigh, then back down again.
Desire unfurled low in her belly before seeping through her body. His body’s response against the back of her leg assured her that he felt the heat, too.
Then she glanced at the clock and groaned.
“Oh, man, I almost forgot. The Pettrys will be here any time. I promised Nana I’d meet them.”
“Who and why?” he asked, pulling his gaze from her cleavage but not removing his hand from her thigh. A hand that was getting closer and closer to convincing her to ignore her promise.
“Mr. Pettry used to be the gardener until he retired. The other Pettrys are his sons.” When Phillip tapped her thigh, she remembered the rest of his question. “They’re bringing the Christmas decorations from storage.”
His hand stilled.
“Why?”
“Because we need to start thinking about decorating.” Figuring the sight of her in a barely buttoned shirt might be a little rough on the old man’s heart, Frankie reluctantly left Phillip’s arm
s. “I’ll get dressed, then we can get started.”
“Started doing what?” On his feet as well, Phillip suddenly looked every inch a Banks. Distant. Cool. Regal.
Frankie frowned at him.
“Just what I said. Decorating. Why? Is that a problem?” She crossed her arms over her chest, not sure why she suddenly felt so defensive.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a waste of time. I don’t understand the need to haul out a ton of dust catchers, spend hours draping them around the house, only to haul them back down again in a month.” Phillip’s frown matched her own.
“Because it’s Christmas.”
“So?”
Frankie opened her mouth to list all the reasons why decorations mattered, how special the season was and why he should quit acting like a brat.
Then, standing in the spacious Banks kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances, the view of a sparkling pool and an acre of green grass out the window, it hit her.
Phillip had never celebrated Christmas.
Oh, she was sure the Banks family had gone through the motions. The house had always been decorated, an elegant dinner for thirty served and expensive gifts exchanged.
But that wasn’t celebrating.
Poor guy.
She’d show him what celebrating was.
She’d show him Christmas.
Her heart filled with too many emotions to identify, Frankie stepped forward to tell him how great the next several weeks were going to be. But Phillip held up one hand before she could say a word.
“You’ll have to handle it yourself, I’m afraid.” Phillip made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got to report to the training center.”
Sure he did.
Frankie watched him leave.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” she muttered, turning on her heel and stomping in the opposite direction to find her clothes. “I’m introducing you to Christmas one way or the other. And you’ll damn well like it.”
* * *