Christmas with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  Nana had savings, of course. She’d be okay. She could actually retire, travel and have fun like her friends.

  For a second, some of the tension drained from her shoulders as Frankie imagined her grandmother finally relaxing, finally living her life for herself. But Frankie knew that was just a pipe dream.

  Nana would never retire, never travel or have fun as long as her flaky granddaughter was struggling.

  Nope, she’d tap into her retirement fund to find a place big enough for them both, one that had room for a studio. It didn’t matter how long it took Frankie to succeed, Nana would support her—whether she wanted the support or not.

  Her stomach churning, Frankie headed for her fail-safe cure-all.

  The cookie jar.

  She lifted the lid, took a cookie and, after a moment’s deliberation, left the lid on the counter. It would just slow her down.

  Frankie snapped the head off a frosted Santa, crushing the cookie between her teeth as she paced.

  She wasn’t going to let her failures ruin Nana’s golden years. No way, no how.

  Which meant that Phillip couldn’t sell the estate. Not yet. Not until she could convince Nana that she’d be fine, that her business was solid.

  How was she going to convince him?

  She didn’t think batting her lashes while naked in his bed was going to work this time.

  What would?

  Time, maybe? He had to find a good Realtor, she assured herself. No way he’d let a boozer like Evan Exner handle the sale. And a place like the Banks estate was worth beaucoup bucks. It wasn’t as if there were a lot of buyers chomping at the bit to take on five acres of fancy upkeep. It would take a while to get it on the market, and even then it wasn’t likely the place would sell right away.

  Frankie grabbed another cookie, taking a second to contemplate the glittery angel. Oh, Lara. Now that Lara was married, she might want the place. Granted, her husband lived and was stationed in California, but hey. Lara was just contrary enough that she might be an ally.

  Feeling a little calmer, Frankie brushed the crumbs off her fingertips and took a deep breath.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  After all, look at how great the weekend itself had turned out. Almost three days of awesome sex. Great sex. Amazing, even. And that wasn’t just her opinion. She knew Phillip was just as blown away by their connection as she was.

  Because as good as her cookies were, she knew that wasn’t what had convinced him to decorate the foyer with her.

  He’d been so cute standing on that ladder.

  Grinning, she leaned against the counter and sighed at the memory of him up there, muttering and huffing as he strung the lights.

  Cute, and sexy. She sighed at the memory of how his jeans had cupped his backside. She could spend a lifetime with his body and never grow bored.

  But it wasn’t just about the sex.

  He was smart and loyal and strong. He was principled and focused and so, so wounded.

  He needed her.

  Oh, hell.

  Frankie pressed one hand against her stomach, hoping to calm the bats flapping around in there. When that didn’t work, she fed them another cookie.

  Don’t worry so much, she assured herself. Just because she was getting dippy about the guy didn’t mean her priorities had shifted. And it wasn’t as if she was thinking he’d stick around. The bats were in her stomach after all, not in her head.

  She could handle it.

  She wasn’t going to jump to crazy conclusions. She’d subtly poke around until she found out if he really was going to sell the estate.

  And if he was?

  She reached into the cookie jar, grabbing two this time.

  Obviously great sex wasn’t going to keep him from selling the place. But sex had gotten him onto a twenty-foot ladder with a strand of twinkly lights. Maybe if she threw in cookies and a little Christmas charm, she could convince him to wait a while.

  Sex, Christmas and cookies. A winning combination if ever there was one.

  Wasn’t it?

  * * *

  LURED DOWNSTAIRS BY the delicious scent of something baking, Phillip strode into the kitchen. And found something—someone—who made his mouth water even more.

  “There you are.”

  He’d wondered where she’d gone. He’d looked through the entire house before hitting the computer to research local real estate. He hadn’t found anything useful, probably because he’d kept thinking about Frankie.

  Phillip crossed to the island where she was making something. He didn’t check what. Instead, he gave in to impulse and pulled her into his arms. She was still laughing when he took her mouth.

  “Mmm, delicious,” he murmured when he finally leaned back. He didn’t let go of her, though. She felt too good. “Where did you go?”

  Something flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before he could figure out what it was.

  “I had to get supplies.” She tilted her head toward the counter. Phillip’s gaze followed and his eyes widened.

  “Were you planning to feed an entire platoon?”

  “Do you think they’d like Christmas treats?”

  “One guy on my team uses cookies as a poker ante. They’d love these,” he admitted.

  “Then we’ll send a box.” She shifted, turning in his arms so her backside was cuddled against his front. “What do you think?”

  Well, he didn’t think he wanted to send his team a box of holiday treats. They’d figure he’d given in to PTSD and gone over the edge.

  “I thought you were the cookie queen. I might not be a cookie king, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t all cookies.”

  “Well, when I realized how Christmas deprived you were, I wanted to fix that. That’s gingerbread, those are Rice Krispies treat Christmas trees. Pecan tarts, fudge, divinity candy,” she named as she pointed to each neat batch. “I picked up supplies for pumpkin, mince and pecan pie too, but I’ll let Nana make those.”

  Phillip’s teeth ached and he was pretty sure he felt his pancreas shudder. But he couldn’t resist trying a piece of fudge.

  “Wow.”

  “You like?” she asked, shifting out of his arms to give him an expectant look. Even if it had tasted like sawdust coated in gunpowder, he’d have said yes just to keep that smile on her gorgeous lips.

  Luckily, this tiny square of culinary bliss tasted nothing like gunpowder.

  “I had no idea chocolate could be this good.” He, a man noted for his discipline, had to force himself not to take another one.

  “Wait until you try my hot cocoa,” she said, nodding toward a Thermos.

  Phillip frowned at the red plaid vessel.

  “I don’t think I’m thirsty,” he decided.

  “You will be after we get the tree.”

  Frankie amped the wattage of her smile up a notch, widened her eyes appealingly and did that cute little head tilt he found so adorable.

  She was so blatant in her attempt to influence him that he could only laugh.

  But he wasn’t getting a tree.

  “You need to expand your title from cookie queen to dessert queen,” he suggested, making a show of looking over the countertop.

  “Phillip?”

  “The gingerbread looks good, too.” He chose a piece at random, popping it into his mouth in hopes that she’d get the hint.

  Right.

  Hints and Frankie didn’t go together.

  He didn’t have to look over to know she was tapping one booted foot impatiently. He had excellent hearing.

  “I just don’t see any point in having a tree. I know it’s special to you, but I have no attachment to the holidays and I’ll be gone the first of the year, so you or your grandmother would
be stuck taking down and putting away all that...” He glanced at the boxes labeled tree decorations that were stacked against a wall, trying to find a polite word to substitute for crap.

  “Stuff,” he settled on.

  “C’mon, Phillip,” she said in a tone that was somewhere between sexy and beseeching. He was sure if she used that tone while naked, he’d give her pretty much anything.

  His eyes swept over her thick black sweater and thigh-hugging jeans and he all but wet his lips. He knew what was under there and he wanted it. But as long as it was covered, he could resist.

  “We’ll choose a tree and decorate it together. It’ll be fun.”

  “Frankie, the only thing fun about Christmas is knowing that when it’s over there are three hundred and sixty-four days before it has to be faced again.”

  He didn’t think she’d have looked more horrified if he’d told her he was planning a covert mission to take down Santa, blow up the North Pole and sell the elves to cannibals as delicacies.

  Which was probably why, three days later, he found himself wrapped in enough snow gear for a trek across the North Slope, carting an ax and a sleigh through the woods—the freaking woods.

  “I can’t believe you conned me into this,” he muttered.

  “Conned?” Frankie pressed one mittened hand against her chest and fluttered her lashes. “I did not.”

  “Yeah. You did. You even roped your grandmother into it.” Phillip winced at the memory of Mrs. O’Brian’s face when he’d said he’d rather skip the tree. Oh, the guilt. Just because he’d never felt the emotion before didn’t mean he didn’t recognize it when it pounded through him. He’d tried to ignore it, and had managed for a whole, oh, maybe twenty seconds. Then he’d shrugged, huffed and gone to get the ax.

  “Just call us the anti-Scrooge league.” Frankie laughed. “Before it’s over, you’re going to love Christmas.”

  He rolled his eyes, but it was mostly for show. She was having fun. He’d had no idea how much enjoyment he could get just from watching someone smile.

  “This is the best place to cut your own tree,” she told him as she stomped through snow up to her knees. “Do you have a preference? Tall and skinny? Short and stout? I like this one, don’t you? Although it’s kind of lopsided. Maybe if we hang heavier decorations on one side it will straighten out?”

  Having never hung a single decoration in his life, Phillip didn’t know, nor did he care.

  “You should stick to the path,” he pointed out. “You’re going to be soaked if you don’t.”

  “How can I tell if it’s the right tree from the path? Besides, my boots go all the way to my knees. Unless I discover a pothole somewhere, I’ll be fine.”

  Fine. Phillip sighed, watching her bounce from tree to tree like a cheerful sprite. She kept touching the boughs. Rubbing the needles between her fingers. Once she even stuck her face in a tree to sniff it.

  “Frankie, we need to get back,” he prompted for the fifth time. “Pick a tree, I’ll play lumberjack and we can get home and build a fire.”

  “Are you cold?” She gave him a worried look, her blue stocking cap pulled low over her brow. He started to deny it, then stopped. Hey, it might get her moving faster.

  Besides, it was cold, dammit.

  “Poor baby,” she said, hurrying over to the sled. She grabbed the Thermos she’d tied on with the spare rope and gave it a shake.

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Maybe not, but you sure are grumpy,” she said, unscrewing the lid and filling it with cocoa. If her laugh was any indication, his mood didn’t bother her in the least.

  “Drink?” she asked, offering the lid. When he shook his head, she drank it instead.

  She didn’t look offended that he had turned down something she’d made special for this trip. It was oddly freeing, he realized. With Frankie, he didn’t have to follow rules or behave appropriately. He didn’t have to worry about protocol or meet standards. He could simply be himself.

  Which meant that for the first time in his life, he was finding out who he actually was.

  A man who was fascinated with a woman who would wear knee-high purple snow boots with a red parka and green mittens. One who’d make cookies for breakfast, put an ugly reindeer in his foyer and entertain him with a children’s movie.

  His eyes locked on Frankie as she savored the cocoa, and he stepped closer.

  He was enamored with her ability to simply enjoy life, the sound of her laugh and, God help him, the feel of her body when he slid inside.

  Phillip took the cocoa from her hand and set it on the sled, then, ignoring her startled look, slid his gloved hands around her waist and pulled her close.

  And took her mouth.

  Their lips danced, his tongue dipping inside to dance with hers.

  She was right.

  The cocoa was delicious.

  Filled with a desperation he didn’t understand, Phillip devoured her. Tongues dueled, his hands raced over the slick fabric of her coat, damning winter and all this snow.

  He wanted her someplace warm. Someplace he could strip her naked and worship every inch of her body.

  “Ahem.” Someone was trying to get their attention.

  Frankie stiffened, but he didn’t let up with the kiss. He was being himself, dammit.

  “Excuse me.”

  Unable to ignore whoever it was any longer, Phillip slowly drew away. His eyes locked on hers, he gave Frankie’s butt a quick squeeze before turning to face their interloper.

  “Lieutenant Banks?”

  Hell. Phillip’s body went from aroused to a different kind of stiff in a single glance. He’d just squeezed a woman’s ass in the presence of a commanding officer.

  “Commander Roberts.” Phillip greeted him with a nod. Then, feeling awkward out of uniform and in such a strange setting—none of his training had included what to do if you’re caught making out in the woods—he cast around for something to say. “Nice tree.”

  So much for something to say.

  “Right. I hear congratulations are in order,” the commander said, frowning.

  “Sir?”

  “Commander Donovan gave you credit for playing a key role in the planning of his recent mission. Said you’re a credit to the team.”

  Phillip shook his head, not in denial but to clear the ringing from his ears.

  Commander? Donovan had gotten promoted? Based on the mission plan Phillip had developed but failed to execute? He hadn’t even known the team was back, had no idea how the campaign had played out. But then, why would he?

  “Add that to the recommendation on my desk that you be given a commendation for the program you’re presenting at the academy, and I’d say you’re looking good.”

  “Sir?” This was beyond surreal. He was standing in the snow in search of a Christmas tree, hearing weird news after bad news from a commanding officer whose stocking cap was covered in dancing reindeer.

  Phillip wondered if pressing his fingers against his eyelids would somehow bring his life back into focus.

  “As a matter of fact, I mentioned to the admiral that I’d like to see the training program extended.”

  The ringing turned to a roar that filled his head.

  “Stop by my office when you report tomorrow, Banks. I’d like to discuss some options.”

  With that and an awkward nod to Frankie, the commander gestured with the rope of his sled, indicating the path that they were blocking.

  But Phillip was frozen. If the commander had taken that tree, swung it around and beat him with it, he couldn’t have been more dazed.

  * * *

  FRANKIE WANTED TO shove the man into the snowbank.

  One second, Phillip had been relishing his role as the Christmas Curmudgeon and she’d be
en enjoying hot cocoa and a kiss. And now this guy had ruined everything.

  Since Phillip was doing his best snowman impression, Frankie grabbed the rope of their empty sled and tugged it off the path.

  “Merry Christmas,” the other man said as he moved around them.

  She gave him a narrow-eyed look. He was older, obviously military. He had the look of an understuffed teddy bear. As soon as he passed, Frankie opened her mouth to ask who he was. But she didn’t have a chance to.

  Snapping out of his trance, Phillip took the sled from her and dragged it farther into the snow. He grabbed the ax, hefted it over his shoulder and stomped over to a tree.

  But that’s the lopsided one, Frankie debated calling out.

  She winced as he started hacking it down.

  Not chopping.

  Not cutting.

  Hacking.

  Wood flew every which way like a blizzard before the tree hit the ground with enough force to clear the snow at least four feet. Frankie hurried over to help him lift it, but before she made it halfway there, he’d hefted the pine over his shoulder and headed for the path.

  She wondered if he was even going to bother with the sled.

  For a second, it looked as though he wasn’t sure either. Then he tossed the tree on top, grabbed the rope and tied it down before she’d moved.

  He was being a serious jerk. Not in the distant, “I can’t believe you dragged me out for this” way he had been earlier. That she’d expected and thought was kind of cute.

  Now, not so much.

  She’d be irritated with him.

  Except she saw how upset he was.

  “Here, let me help,” she offered, reaching out to help pull the rope.

  “I’ve got it.”

  Frankie was torn between wanting to give him a hug, to kiss whatever had upset him away and smacking him in his well-muscled arm.

  “Let’s go,” he commanded.

  Sir, yes, sir, she thought.

  She didn’t bother trying to keep up with his pace. If he wanted to do the four-minute mile while dragging a sled and an eight-foot tree, that was his prerogative.