by Tawny Weber
“They tell her stuff. Stories, gossip, every embarrassing thing that’s happened in my life. I swear they mine the rest of the family for dirt to dish.” The other man shook his head in disgust. “It’s bad enough when it’s just my sister. But she’ll have accomplices. Wily ones. A week with them will undo months of charm, you know?”
“I’m sure it won’t change Lara’s feelings,” Phillip murmured. But Lara telling Frankie stories? He didn’t know that his sister had any, but he wouldn’t put it past her to share what she knew. And he wasn’t sure enough about Frankie’s feelings to take a chance.
Of course, he still wasn’t sure enough about Frankie’s feelings to propose either.
“You know, I’d always figured you grew up in a place like this. Snobby and rich, with extra fancy on the side.” The other man looked around. “Turns out it doesn’t suit you, though.”
His gratitude over the subject change had only lasted as long as it had taken Castillo to finish talking. Phillip frowned. Was that a compliment buried in there?
“Not saying it’s not nice,” the guy added. “It just reminds me of a museum.”
“Most museums are more comfortable,” Phillip muttered before catching himself. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Pretty sure that’s what Lara was getting,” Castillo reminded him.
Lara, who should be back by now if that was all she was doing. Since she wasn’t, he figured there was a reason.
Meeting the other man’s watchful stare head-on, Phillip waited to hear it.
“Donovan got promoted. Rumor is he’s being recruited for DEVGRU.” DEVGRU, or Special Warfare Developmental Group, dealt primarily in counterterrorism and was considered by many—including Phillip—to be the elite of the elite.
And it had been Phillip’s most coveted ambition.
It was like getting a punch to the gut.
Fast, painful and numbing.
“His performance on this last mission pushed him over the top?” Phillip asked, wanting confirmation that the mission he’d carefully planned and nurtured in hopes of getting just that opportunity had worked—even if for someone else.
“Doubtful. He refused to take credit. Gave that all to you, as a matter of fact.”
“Me?” Nonplussed, Phillip shook his head. “That’s crazy. He led the team while I was here playing scout leader to a bunch of green midshipmen.”
“True that. But he pointed out that you’d planned the mission—both times—and that you were the one who’d fingered the mole. Guess he didn’t feel right taking credit when he was just a stand-in.” Castillo pursed his lips and added, “The rest of the team was pretty much unanimous in their agreement.”
Phillip had once been slammed in the head by a submarine hatch that had left his eyes spinning and his ears ringing. This was pretty much the same feeling.
Donovan had given him props. Not just to the team, but to command. It wouldn’t erase the black mark captivity had put on his record, but it might balance it somewhat.
And that, Phillip realized with a surge of gratitude, was a good way to go out.
Overwhelmed, he looked away.
“So...scout leader?” Castillo mused, sliding lower on the couch in search of a more comfortable spot. “Did you have them tying knots and making parachutes out of old skivvies?”
* * *
HER BELLY FULL OF good food, mellowed by wine and great company, Frankie followed Phillip into the parlor.
It was the first time she’d seen him as a SEAL. Watching the interaction between him and Dominic had been enlightening. They seemed to speak in code, to read each other’s intentions and expressions without needing words. She wasn’t even sure if they liked each other, but they were a team and had complete trust that the other would have their back.
Was that why Phillip was so devoted to being a SEAL? Because in spite of everything that had happened to him, everything that could happen, he knew his team would always be there?
Her breath hitched in her chest, tears flooding her eyes. They would be, wouldn’t they?
Not going to think about it, she promised herself fiercely. She deliberately shifted her thoughts to Phillip and his sister.
“You know, the way you and Lara poke and tease each other, nobody would know you two had been apart for, what is it? Eight, nine years?”
“More like all our lives,” he said with a shrug. “And I think it was more Lara who was doing the poking and teasing.”
“You go ahead and tell yourself that.” Frankie laughed and watched as he knelt down to start the fire in the fireplace. Someone had already lit the lights on the Christmas tree, its decorations gleaming a wonderful contrast of elegant and funky. She loved the look of her ornaments mixed in with Phillip’s—the effect not too stuffy, not too quirky. She tilted her head and sighed. Yeah. It was just right.
Sort of like everything else in her life right now.
The holidays were here. Her nana was happy; Frankie was surrounded with good friends. And an incredible lover.
Her business was booming, the jewelry designs flowing from her imagination as easily as they had before her block. Instead of taking orders now, though, she was uploading each piece to her website as soon as it was finished. They were selling almost as quickly as she uploaded them, but she knew that was partly due to the holidays. So she was playing it smart this time, still putting in a few hours a day on her ornaments. With that in mind, she’d designed a Valentine’s frame that would be fun enough to personalize and produce in large quantities. She already had a few dozen orders.
She felt like herself again. Inspired and excited...and content.
The contentment was new. And all due to Phillip.
She was crazy in love with him.
She watched him take a moment to check the fire, as if to ensure it would obey his command and flame beautifully. It did, of course.
Then he stood and turned.
The look on his face wiped the smile right off hers.
It was so intense. So serious.
And it scared the hell out of her.
Then she noticed the wine bottle chilling next to two flutes.
Her heart did a slow dive into her toes.
It was all so romantic.
Too romantic. Like, goodbye romantic.
“Wine?” he offered.
“Sure.” She suddenly had a feeling she was going to need it.
While he poured, Frankie sat on the couch. She shifted from one cheek to the other, then got up to fiddle with one of the ornaments that wasn’t hanging quite right.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known he was leaving. Of course he was. His assignment was temporary—and he hated it. He lived for being a SEAL. She’d known that before, but watching him with Lara’s husband had cemented that fact.
They were temporary. A fling. Hot, wild sex with the questionable bonus of falling in love.
“Frankie.”
She took a deep breath, turned and accepted the glass he held out. She wanted to sit. She really wanted to run. But she stood and sipped instead.
“I’ve made some decisions, I’m making some changes,” he told her. He looked as serious as if he were explaining that the Grinch had just stolen Christmas and all the cookies in the world. “I wanted to share them with you first, and then ask you a question.”
Frankie quit sipping and took a big gulp instead.
“I’ve been asked to transfer to the academy. I have a great deal of knowledge that they’ll benefit from.”
Frankie’s jaw literally dropped.
“That means I’d be leaving the SEALs. Not quite that simply,” he said, frowning into his glass. “But under the circumstances, it can be done.”
She opened her mouth to ask why, to tell him he was crazy. Bu
t all that came out was a wheezy breath.
“I’ll live here in the house, of course. I know it’s an anachronism of uptight living, but it can be made comfortable. New couches, a little color.” His smile was so sweet it melted her heart. “You’d have fun with that, wouldn’t you?”
“Me?” she said, the word barely making it past the knot in her throat.
“I’d planned to set the scene, maybe something romantic.” He looked around the room, the Christmas lights twinkling softly and the candle flames dancing. “But I figured this suited you better. Suited us better.”
Delight seeped through the nerves tying knots in her belly. She stared, her eyes so huge they watered, as he pulled a small box from his pocket. The purple foil was wrinkled and scuffed and the ribbon askew. But it was the most beautiful box she’d ever seen.
Frankie blinked.
She had to. Her eyes, and reality, insisted on it.
She had to stop him.
Before he took off the paper, before he handed her the box, before she saw what was inside.
She had to stop him now.
“Phillip, no.”
“What?” Brow furrowed, he looked at the box in his hand, then back at her. “I don’t think you understand.”
“Yes,” she insisted, backing away so fast she almost fell into the tree. She set her glass down with a clink, and was afraid she’d chipped the pricey crystal. “I know what you’re doing, what you’re asking. But, please, don’t.”
“Why?” The word was as toneless as his impassive expression. This was how he’d dealt with the horror of his captivity, she realized. He’d retreated inside himself, closed off. And now she’d made him do it again.
Oh, man, she sucked.
“You’d give up everything,” she tried to explain. “A career you love, a warm climate with sand instead of snow. You’d move back here to a house you hate, take a job that will make you miserable. How can I say yes to that?”
His expression eased a little, his eyes softening.
“You’re here,” he said simply. “Your business, your grandmother.”
Her business, which was now handled almost exclusively online. Her grandmother who wanted to retire but wouldn’t because her granddaughter was a flake.
Frankie’s heart wrenched, aching so much she wanted to cry. As much as she wanted to tell him that, to say she’d go with him instead, she couldn’t. Because as much as moving here would ruin his life, her moving west with him would never work out.
“We’re not forever, Phillip,” she said softly. “We’re temporary. A little out-of-character fun.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His expression was closed now, his body stiff.
She hated to do it, but she thought it best to hurt him a little now rather than a ton later.
“You’ve said it yourself, more than once,” she told him sadly. “This is out of character for you. All of this has been an aberration for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t do Christmas, Phillip, yet you’re decorating for the holidays. You don’t like this house, yet you’re planning to live in it.” And the worst. “You hate your assignment, but you’re going to make it permanent.”
A little voice in her head screamed at her to shut up. His choices would make her life so much easier. So much better. But they’d ruin his. And Frankie loved him too much to do that.
“Those are my choices to make,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“I’m not your type,” she tried instead.
“What’s my type?”
Someone who would love him enough to accept his dedication, to understand his moods and to bring fun and joy into his life. Someone who would make him happy, who would give him peace.
Oh, this was so hard.
Frankie lifted her chin and called on every bit of her strength. She had to play it just right. Otherwise she’d break down and cry, throw herself at his feet and cling to him like a parasite, holding on until she’d drained him of life.
“You’re the type who’s always looking out for the long term, Phillip. Everything in your life has been built around your goals, around your future.”
“So?” He stood now with his arms crossed over his chest and that look on his face. The one that reminded her of his father. “There’s nothing in that statement that explains your reaction.”
“I don’t do long term,” she explained quietly. Ignoring the pain as her heart crumbled, she gently touched his arm. “I’m temporary, Phillip. I’m ice cream for breakfast, calling in sick to have sex all day, blowing off commitments because something else feels better.” She pulled her fingers away, instantly missing his warmth. “I’m crazy impulses, instant gratification and try, try again.”
“So? Why are those bad things?”
“They aren’t. They just don’t fit you. Not in the long term.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Maybe. Which should prove my point.” Frankie’s fingers danced over the Christmas tree. She sent one glass ball spinning and looked at Phillip. “Your decorations are priceless heirlooms.”
She flicked the silver snowflake she’d made, sending the tiny hearts jingling. “And I’m quirky and unconventional.”
“Why don’t you finish with these ridiculous comparisons?” he snapped. “And tell me the truth. Why are you turning me down?”
“I’m turning you down for your own good.” Frankie gave a bitter laugh. “That doesn’t feel any better to say than it does to hear. But it’s true. You’re supposed to be a SEAL. You’re meant to lead, to command. Not to teach.”
“Things change. I’ll be an asset to the academy.”
“Maybe. Probably. But you won’t be happy,” she said with a morose shake of her head.
For a second, he looked baffled, as if a career and happiness had nothing to do with each other.
She was so tempted to say yes.
She wanted so badly to try.
But she couldn’t.
She’d spent half her life obsessing over her fantasy Phillip. He was her escape, her inspiration.
And if she said yes, she’d be the reason he left behind the most important thing in his life.
Besides, she just wasn’t strong enough, confident enough to handle the real-life Phillip. The SEAL whose mission it was to save the world. Not long term. Not when she knew she’d end up letting him down.
Besides, she was his fantasy girl. His escape. Their time together wasn’t his real life. She was happy, so happy, that she’d given him something special, something so wonderful that it made him think he’d be happier with her than he would be achieving his lifelong goals.
Her heart ached, misery seeping through her.
Because she knew better.
Sooner or later, he’d hate her.
Being with him, pretending they had a chance, might be worth it.
She’d love every second of it.
Except for the part where she ruined his life.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, turning blindly.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
His pained silence was enough.
14
HER LOWER LIP SHAKING, Frankie sucked in a deep breath and pounded on the door with all her might.
Nothing.
She pounded again.
A moment later, she heard an impressive litany of bitching before the chain slid loose and the door swung open.
“This had better be life or death,” Shayla warned, her blue hair standing out at odd angles.
“Phillip wants me to marry him,” Frankie said. Then she burst into tears.
Thirty minutes later, she was curled up in the c
orner of Shayla’s couch, surrounded by time-tested, girlfriend-approved heartbreak remedies. A box of fine chocolates, a bowl of salty chips and a bottle of cheap wine.
“Navy boy asked you to get hitched?”
“He started to,” Frankie admitted through her sobbing hiccups. “I wouldn’t let him finish.”
Shayla leaned back on the couch with a contemplative look.
“So what’s the deal? The guy sucks in bed?”
“Phillip?” Frankie snorted into her glass. “Hardly.”
“He’s a jerk? A bigot? A sexist? He hates kids? He kicks animals? He’s mean to your grandma?”
“No, no, no. Hardly, never and you’re kidding, right?”
Shayla pulled her kitten-appliqued robe over her knees and gave Frankie a hard stare.
“It’s midnight and I have to be to work at six. If this doesn’t get good soon, you’re outta here.”
“That’s mean.” And just in case she meant it, Frankie downed her wine in one swallow. “And so was what Phillip did. He ruined everything.”
“By asking you to go marry him?”
“Yes!”
“The bastard.”
Frankie rolled her eyes, but Shayla’s sarcasm had the intended effect. It made her feel like enough of an ass that she stopped crying.
“We were doing great, you know. We had fabulous sex. I actually managed to get him into the spirit of Christmas. We had more incredible sex. I baked him cookies and made him smile. We talked, we watched movies, we had even more mind-blowing sex. We connected, you know?” She blew out a breath, hoping it would relieve some of the pressure in her chest. “I was so happy with him. And I think I made him happy, too.”
Quite a feat, she figured. Phillip was many things. Upright, dependable, strong, focused, sexy as hell. But he had never been happy. She’d changed that. Before she’d made him miserable, of course.
“Hmm, it sounds like you guys would be a mess,” Shayla agreed. “After all, all you had between you was an amazing connection and incredible sex.”
“Quit making me sound stupid.” Frankie scowled.
“Quit giving me material.”
Fine. Her legs still folded underneath her, Frankie leaned forward on her knees to refill her wineglass, grabbing the chips while she was upright.