Christmas with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  He waited for it. The questions, the demands. The pleas. Even his parents, who had fully supported his naval career, hadn’t understood his choice to join the SEALs. There were other ways, less risky ways, to advance through the ranks.

  But Frankie didn’t ask why. She didn’t suggest he consider a different career, one that didn’t involve the possibility of having his skin peeled off his body. She didn’t mention his family fortune, just sitting there gathering interest.

  Instead, she gave a deep sigh.

  She skimmed her free hand over his cheek, then shifted to her knees so she could lean forward and brush a kiss over his lips.

  “I guess that’s what makes you special,” she said softly.

  And just like that, Phillip believed in love.

  It was hard not to when he’d just fallen headfirst into it.

  * * *

  FOUR DAYS LATER, Phillip was wishing he could get the same joy out of preparing for Christmas that he got out of Frankie. But it was turning into a serious pain in his butt.

  It had taken him an entire day to come to terms with his feelings for Frankie. He’d argued with himself until his face was blue. He’d contemplated the ridiculousness of the concept that love was more than a fleeting attraction, mentally debating the possibility that it could last. He’d even looked up divorce statistics, both in general and in military marriages.

  And pondered the data while hanging outdoor lights around the front of the house while it snowed.

  But at the end of twenty-four hours, he was still certain he was in love with Frankie, and confident the feelings weren’t going to go away.

  The next day, he’d debated her feelings for him while listening to his commander offer incentive after incentive in an effort to convince him to request a permanent transfer to Annapolis. Apparently as much as the guy liked the idea of a having a SEAL on staff permanently, he hadn’t been able to convince the admiral himself. Not willing to give up, the commander was now calling Phillip into his office daily, hoping to convince him to request a transfer.

  Phillip hadn’t said no. Not yet.

  After all, he might need the job. He wanted to take Frankie to California with him, but he didn’t know if she’d leave Maryland. The conservative side of him balked at the idea of living together; his practical side insisted it was too soon, and probably crazy, to live together. He finally deemed it wise to prepare for all contingencies. He’d been at the jewelers when he’d gotten a call from Frankie insisting he had to join her immediately.

  He’d paid for his purchase, shoved it in his pocket and hurried to the address, only to be corralled into singing Christmas carols to nursing home residents, then a pediatric wing. Apparently there was something extra festive about a man in uniform singing “Jingle Bells.”

  He’d worked up a solid dose of irritation, and then she’d thanked him in a very memorable way. He was pretty sure he’d be caroling every December if the tradition included Frankie, chocolate syrup and whipped cream. With or without sprinkles.

  And now?

  Phillip glared at the string of lights tangled in his hands.

  “Why do I always get stuck with the lights?” he muttered. He’d planned to propose tonight. Maybe.

  “Don’t think I don’t see through your excuses and delays,” Frankie said, giving him a chiding look.

  “What?” How did she know what he had planned? He might be conflicted, but...

  Then he realized she was talking about the tree-trimming party she’d lured him to under the guise of an indoor picnic by firelight. It was hard to be upset about it, though, since she was wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts right now.

  “If I’d told you we were decorating the tree, you’d have offered up yet another excuse,” she said, bending low over the storage container to lift out an ornament. The move hitched the shirt higher on her pale thighs. Smooth temptation backlit by firelight. She straightened and the shirt shifted over her curves, flashing a delicious glimpse of one silken breast. Her eyes were filled with wicked delight, her smile pure temptation.

  “You did this on purpose,” he said.

  “Of course I did. You don’t think my grandmother laid out a blanket in front of the roaring fire, chilled the wine and hauled all these decorations in here, do you?” She wrinkled her nose and admitted, “Well, she did haul the decorations in.”

  “Your grandmother carried these boxes?”

  “Some of them,” Frankie admitted, hanging the blown-glass sphere from a bough in the area he’d already dangled lights. “I told her I’d do it, but then I got busy in the studio and forgot. I had this inspiration watching the snow fall while we decorated outdoors and came up with a bunch of designs that mimic frost. They look great.”

  Her decorating had taken place under the roof of the porch, while his was standing on a ladder in that inspiring snow. But since she’d warmed him nicely when he’d come down off the ladder, he couldn’t begrudge her the creative success.

  “I hate that she’s hauling stuff around,” Frankie admitted, lifting an ornament out of the box she’d set on a nearby table. “She knows I shut everything else out when I’m in the studio. She should have called me to do it.”

  “Mrs. O’Brian strikes me as a woman well aware of her own strength.” She always had. Phillip untangled the last knot in the strand of lights, frowning as he realized that he couldn’t remember a time that Mrs. O’Brian hadn’t been here. “Isn’t your grandmother close to retirement?”

  “Nana? Retire?” Frankie gave a stiff laugh, followed by a dismissive wave of her hand. “Of course not. She loves the Banks house. She’d work here forever if she could.”

  “Forever?”

  “Sure.” Nibbling on her thumbnail, Frankie gave him a wide-eyed look. “You know, if you’d let her. Work is important to her and she loves being busy. Having you here, it’s been great for her.”

  There was a frantic edge in Frankie’s voice. Was she worried he was going to fire her grandmother? Ship her off to early retirement?

  Phillip plugged in the lights and stepped back from the tree. He didn’t look at it, though.

  Instead, he focused on Frankie’s face, which was filled with a sense of peace and pure contentment.

  Just like that, the overwhelming anger that had dogged him for months was gone. He searched inside himself, and had to admit that he wasn’t at peace with what’d happened. He probably never would be.

  But he wasn’t fighting the battle any longer.

  Phillip leaned against the couch, watching Frankie hang her unique bits of this and that, picture frames and jewelry, baubles and beads.

  He’d thought he had it all figured out.

  He was a SEAL. He’d carefully mapped out his ascension through the ranks on his way to his admiral’s star. His goals had been set in stone for most of his life.

  Things were different now.

  Now he had to look at all of the facts. Especially where they conflicted with those goals.

  Donovan had done a stellar job leading the mission, distinguishing himself enough to nab a sweet promotion. It was a strong contrast to how Phillip had run the very same mission, resulting in his being shuffled here.

  He wanted a life with Frankie.

  The SEALs didn’t need someone like him any longer. But Frankie might. He watched her scatter strands of crystals from branch to bough.

  Living here again had never been in his life plan.

  But he’d also never planned to be captured by the enemy, be demoted to teaching security classes...or fall in love.

  If he’d learned nothing else in the past year, it was that he could adjust.

  He glanced at the small box wrapped in purple foil he’d placed on the mantle. The jeweler had assured him that if it didn’t suit he could exchange it for some
thing else.

  He wasn’t ignoring the ring because of nerves or doubts.

  No. The timing just wasn’t right.

  At least that was what he told himself.

  Instead, he stepped forward to pull her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” She laughed, her hands locking behind his neck when he lifted her.

  “Call it another delay,” he said, carrying her to the blanket and reverently laying her in front of the roaring fire.

  He wasn’t ready to say the words yet. Wasn’t sure how to ask for something he didn’t understand.

  So he’d show her instead.

  13

  “MR. PHILLIP, IT’S almost dinner time. You get away from those cookies.”

  Phillip froze, his hand halfway inside the jar. He debated grabbing one anyway, but the habit of obeying orders was too firmly ingrained in him.

  “Dinner is in an hour. I’ve made you a nice beef stew,” Mrs. O’Brian continued, bustling into the room with her arms filled with grocery bags.

  “Let me help with those,” he said, automatically stepping forward to take them.

  “Thank you.” When she returned to the side door for more, he realized she had a cart she must have wheeled from the garage in order to avoid multiple trips.

  “Whoa, that’s a lot of food.” Before she could start carting them again herself, he moved around her to gather the bags himself.

  “There are more bags than usual, but it is the holidays,” she told him in a cheery tone.

  So everybody kept saying.

  “If I eat all this I’ll be as fat as Santa,” he muttered.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Phillip?” she asked, glancing up from her groceries.

  She set a bag of apples and a bag of pecans next to the sugar and flour. He didn’t know anything about cooking, but he was pretty sure he was looking at the makings of an apple pie.

  “Nope. No problem.”

  Still, even if it meant getting the entire apple pie to himself, Phillip was sick of eating alone.

  Frankie refused to dine with him more than once or twice a week, saying she was too busy trying to keep up with her ornament orders.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingering the box he’d taken to carrying around with him. The pretty paper was getting jacked up, but he figured it was better to be prepared. When the perfect moment to propose arose, he wanted it handy.

  He’d never been an indecisive man. All this waffling was driving him crazy. But Phillip figured he’d already blown one of the most important missions in his life. He wasn’t blowing this one.

  “It must be rough here when nobody’s around,” he said aloud, watching the older woman hum as she worked. “Boring, I suppose.”

  “Well, it’s not as nice as when you or Miss Lara is home, I’ll admit,” Mrs. O’Brian said with a smile. “It’s usually so quiet here that I don’t feel right accepting my salary.”

  “And I wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t accept it,” Phillip countered.

  “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a good boy.” Her smile was indulgent enough for Phillip to overlook being called a boy at his age. And to sidle over to the cookie jar for a second attempt at a treat. “Still, you might consider other options if you’ll be leaving again.”

  Her words stopped his hand halfway to its goal.

  “What options?”

  “Oh, you know. A security firm or some such. If you were to visit more often, I could always come in a week or so ahead to prepare the house, stay on during your visit and then close up again afterward,” she suggested, folding the last of her canvas grocery bags and tucking them into a cabinet. “Or better yet, have my Frankie stay in the housekeepers’ quarters so you have somebody living on the premises. She’s a responsible girl and could easily oversee the upkeep between your visits home.”

  He forgot about the cookies.

  “What would you do?” What about her never wanting to leave the Banks house?

  His confusion must have come through in his voice, because she gave him a searching look, then shook her head.

  “Oh, don’t listen to me. I was just thinking out loud. Feeling guilty over having such a wonderful home and pay and doing so little to earn it.” She waved her hands as if shooing her earlier words away. “I know your parents’ will was clear. I’d never ask you to make any changes.”

  What did his parents’ will have to do with her retiring?

  Before he could ask, the doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get the door,” he said, grateful for a chance to review the conversation and figure out what had been said. As fast as he could, he grabbed a couple of cookies to take with him, offering a rueful smile of apology on his way out.

  It was the best he could do since his mouth was full.

  They were addicting.

  Every time he ate one, he thought of Frankie.

  Probably because it was her that he was addicted to. He pulled open the front door, expecting to see Evan Exner, full of hope of changing Phillip’s mind about the sale of the estate.

  He was hoping to see Frankie.

  But no...

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Phillip,” Lara said, tucking her arm under her husband’s. “Surprise.”

  He damn near shut the door again.

  Ten minutes later, he was wishing he’d gone with that impulse.

  “What do you mean you’re here for the holidays?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think it was a very complicated statement,” Lara said, looking around the parlor with enough interest to tell Phillip that she didn’t remember spending time in here any more than he did. “We—that would be Dominic and I, if you weren’t sure who I meant by ‘we.’ Here—that would be the house, obviously. And since you’ve got some serious decorations going on, you already understand the holiday part. Love that reindeer, by the way.”

  Phillip clenched his jaw and strove for control. He wasn’t going to let her mock him.

  After a second, he slid his gaze to the large man taking up half of the antique chesterfield.

  “You used to her smart mouth yet?” he asked.

  “Every time I think I am, she pops off with something that surprises me,” Castillo admitted. “Look, it’s no big deal. Since she’s spending Christmas week with my family, Lara decided it was only fair that we spend this week with you.”

  “A week?” he squeezed out. A whole week?

  “A whole week,” Lara confirmed, reading him clearly. And, if her wicked grin was anything to go by, she was enjoying the spot she’d stuck him in. “Maybe a week and a half, depending. Castillo has to report back on the fifteenth but I might stay on.”

  Why? Phillip rubbed the bridge of his nose and reflected fondly on his life six months ago. Everything had been just about perfect then.

  “My old bed is on the small side,” Lara pointed out. “You don’t mind if I bounce on a few others, find one we like?”

  “You okay with this, sir?” Castillo asked. Whether he used Phillip’s call sign out of habit or because he couldn’t figure out what to call him in this setting, Phillip wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah. Sure.” Phillip waved his hand in the air. “Bounce away.”

  Lara snorted.

  Castillo grinned.

  Phillip sighed.

  “Thanks for your permission,” Lara said, angling herself off the couch. “Is Mrs. O’Brian here? I’ll let her know we’re staying, see if she can cover us for dinner.”

  “She’s in the kitchen.” Phillip hesitated, then, figuring he deserved something given the circumstances, called after her, “Bring back some cookies.”

  “Right.” She laughed.

  And left the two men alone.
>
  He wanted to call her back, tell her he’d get the cookies.

  He didn’t want to be stuck here alone in the room with Castillo.

  Not because he didn’t like the guy—although the jury was still out on that. But because Castillo represented the world Phillip wanted, needed. And felt as though he’d been thrown out of. Seeing the other man opened doors Phillip had closed. Jeopardized the control he thought he’d regained.

  He wanted to ask about the mission. To confirm that Valdero had been caught and punished, was maybe frying in hell that very moment. He wanted details, corroboration on his suspicions about the traitor. He clenched his fists and shoved them into his pockets to hide the telltale tremors of anger that had overtaken him.

  He wanted enough details to see it in his mind, to live it. He needed the closure those images would bring.

  But he didn’t ask.

  Because it was against protocol.

  He’d spent his entire life following protocol. And for what?

  Grabbing on to control as though it was a lifeline, he shoved the fury back into the corner it had claimed in his mind.

  Instead, he tried to think of something to say. But all he could come up with were inane comments about the weather.

  “Dude, this couch sucks,” Castillo observed.

  “So I’ve been told.” Grateful that the ice had been broken, even if it painfully reminded him of Frankie, Phillip inclined his head. “It sounds as if you have a busy month ahead of you.”

  “Wasn’t my idea.” Castillo grimaced. “Going home for a few days, just before and after Christmas? That would be great. But a week, week and a half? Holy hell.”

  Phillip frowned.

  “I thought you liked your family,” he said without thinking. Realizing how rude that sounded, he added, “That was my impression, I mean. That you and your family were close. You always spend the holidays at home.”

  “Yeah, but this gives my sister and cousins all that time to talk to Lara.”

  Phillip’s frown turned to a scowl. What was wrong with talking to his sister?

  “And that’s a problem because...?”