Christmas with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  “Fine. So we had a lot going on. Why ruin it?”

  “Isn’t he supposed to leave the first of the year?” Shayla asked, nibbling on a cookie as if taking tiny bites would stop her from eating more.

  “Is that any reason to get married? Just because he’s supposed to go back to California?” Supposed to. “That’s a big commitment to make because of a few thousand miles between us. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, I’m the queen of transient relationships, so I can see why you’d think that’s the answer. But temporary relationships only work under certain circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “The people involved aren’t in love.”

  Frankie’s bottom lip trembled. She stared into her glass, wishing the wine would make everything look clearer. Had she made a mistake?

  “He’s a SEAL,” she muttered. “He’s one of the best. I mean, he’s like a supersailor best. He fights terrorists, he rescues hostages.” He gets captured. Frankie didn’t say that, though. It might be a secret, and she couldn’t betray Phillip by saying something she shouldn’t.

  “Oh, I get it,” Shayla said, heading into the kitchen. “He’s all about his career, right?”

  He was supposed to be. He should be. Guys like him, who were that good, the world needed them.

  But Frankie couldn’t admit all of that unless she also admitted that as amazing as he was, he’d offered to give it all up for her.

  So she gave a jerky nod instead and shoveled a handful of chips into her mouth. Maybe food would help her churning stomach.

  “I understand.” Shayla popped open another beer, then gestured with the can. “When I fall in love, the guy had better put me first. I want to be his entire world.”

  But if she was his entire world, he’d depend on her. He’d trust her like he did his SEAL team. But unlike his team, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to always be there for him.

  “Remember that lead guitarist I dated?” Shayla mused, plopping back on the couch and handing Frankie the box of chocolates so she could take the chips. “Totally dedicated to being a rock star. I’ll bet a Navy SEAL is even worse. He’d be gone all the time, right? Doing all sorts of top-secret stuff he can’t tell you about.”

  “I suppose he’d be gone sometimes. But from what Lara says, it’s not a ton. Not nearly as much as your guitarist when he went on tour.”

  “No? Okay.” Shayla wrinkled her nose. Then she shrugged and crunched another potato chip. “But I’ll bet your SEAL is, like, totally obsessed. He probably spends all his spare time doing work stuff. He’d be busy doing push-ups and would probably forget to come to dinner.”

  Frankie frowned as Shayla’s image twisted and turned in her head.

  “You know, I’m pretty sure if Phillip was doing push-ups, I’d forget about dinner, too.” He had the kind of body that put the thought of food right out of a girl’s head. “Besides, I do the same thing. I get crazy focused when I’m in the studio, you know that. I don’t take chances with inspiration. If a piece is going right, I work on it until it’s finished. You never know if the vision will be the same the next time you grab your tools.”

  Shayla puffed out her bottom lip and gave Frankie a steely stare.

  “You’re not doing this right. We’re burning this guy out of your heart, remember?”

  What? Frankie replayed that statement a couple of times, then shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she finally decided.

  “What do you expect from me after midnight? Brilliance?” Shayla frowned, and then shrugged. “So put in less creative but more understandable terms, I’m trying to help you get over the guy. I can’t do that if you don’t work with me. We’re supposed to list all the reasons the relationship sucks, then trash him for a while. You keep countering my trash by defending the guy and I’m gonna have to ask why you aren’t home either packing your bags or jumping his bones.”

  “Can we trash me instead?” Frankie looked up from the chocolates to give her friend a tremulous smile. “I’m the problem.”

  “Come again?”

  Frankie tossed the candy onto the couch and dropped her face into her hands with a long groan.

  “He’s ready to give up his career for me. He loves being a SEAL. But all he talked about was living here, transferring to the academy.” Frankie raised her head to give Shayla a horrified look. “He’d give up the SEALs, he’d give up California for me. He hates the snow.”

  For a long moment, she just stared. Then Shayla rubbed her forehead and gave a pained sigh.

  “I’m confused. You are totally crazy about this guy. He’s the best thing since cordless vibrators. He wants to marry you.” She waited for Frankie’s reluctant nod and shrugged. “I’m not seeing the issue. He sounds pretty great to me.”

  “It is. He is. But I don’t deserve a guy like that. I don’t stick with things, Shayla. I’m a flake.” She thought of all the reasons she’d given Phillip and nodded. “A total flake. I can’t make a relationship—a real one—work with Phillip. He deserves a woman who is just as dedicated and focused as he is. One who’ll always be there to take care of him. Who will put his needs first instead of using him for sex and inspiration. He deserves a great woman. One who’s perfect for him.”

  For one second—one blessed second—Shayla just stared. Then she exploded. Frankie winced as the chips hit the floor when her friend flew off the couch. Shayla paced the room, arms flailing in the air, cusswords flying.

  Then she stopped in front of Frankie and pointed.

  “You’re doing it again. I’ve told you time and again that you do this, but you keep denying it. And now here you are, waking me up, doing the same damned thing,” Shayla said accusingly, her finger aimed like a weapon. “Any time you want something—really, really want it—you build it up into this huge production in your head. Then, once it’s the size of—oh, let’s say impossible—you think you have to change yourself into something else, someone else, for it to work.”

  “I don’t do that,” Frankie muttered.

  “You did it with your jewelry.” Shayla gave a triumphant nod. “It was great as it was, you were loving what you were doing. But as soon as you hit some invisible milestone, you acted like you had to change or it would all be ripped away from you.”

  “A smart businesswoman has a business plan, has goals and benchmarks and controls,” Frankie defended.

  “Was your goal ever to be a businesswoman?”

  Her mouth open, her argument right there on the tip of her tongue, Frankie went blank.

  “What?”

  “What is your career goal?” Shayla said, stretching the words out.

  “To be a successful jeweler.”

  “So why didn’t you ever measure yourself by the success of your jewelry? Instead, you started raking in orders, taking on jobs you didn’t like and working yourself into a breakdown. Then when you burned out, you beat yourself up.”

  Pressing her lips tight to keep from throwing up, Frankie shook her head. Shayla nodded.

  It took three swallows before she could clear her throat and ask, “Why?”

  “I think you’re afraid,” Shayla said softly. “Dreaming is easy, you know? Thinking about how great things would be, planning, that’s fun. It’s like a big, shiny carrot keeping you moving forward. But doing is different. It’s a commitment.”

  She’d done the same thing with Phillip, hadn’t she? When he’d been fun to dream about, exciting to chase, everything had been fine. Oh, sure, she’d worried a little about the heartbreak to come, but those thoughts had been easy to push away in the midst of the exhilaration and thrill.

  Frankie knuckled away a tear.

  “Here’s the thing,” Shayla said quietly. “You blew up your career, but you’re still making jewelry. So what happens if you go for
this, and it blows up?”

  A million possibilities, each more melodramatic than the last, flashed through Frankie’s mind. But she knew there was only one real answer.

  “I love Phillip. That won’t change, no matter what.” She took a deep breath, the nerves suddenly settling in her stomach. “And if Phillip loves me, it won’t matter what I do to blow things up. He’ll be there to fix them.”

  * * *

  PHILLIP WAS AN expert at many things.

  Marksmanship. Strategy. Electronics.

  He’d never claimed to have an inkling of expertise when it came to women. But damn, he’d never felt so stupid.

  Since attempting to wash away his feelings of ineptitude in the shower hadn’t brought any enlightenment, he got out. Ignoring the mirror, he grabbed a towel and strode into his bedroom.

  He still didn’t understand Frankie’s argument. So they were different. Why was that a bad thing? Who the hell wanted to be with someone exactly like them?

  It was a testament to how lousy he felt that he left the towel where it fell.

  Clad only in boxers, he automatically reached for his uniform, then stopped, staring blankly into the armoire.

  He couldn’t remember what day it was. Did he have to report today or not?

  Before he could remember, his door flew open.

  And in strode hurricane Lara.

  “Do you mind?” he snapped, grabbing the first thing he touched. Denim. Looked as if he was going casual today.

  “Nope, not at all,” she said, bouncing around the room, her expression filled with curiosity. It was probably the first time she’d ever been in his room, he realized. “Where’s Frankie? I thought she’d be here.”

  “In my bedroom?” Giving up hope that Lara would take the hint, he yanked the jeans on.

  “Are you trying to say you and Frankie haven’t been doing the horizontal mambo?” she asked with a grin.

  “I’m saying that’s none of your business.” He grabbed a shirt and yanked it on.

  “You better add a sweater. It’s freaking cold here.” She shivered, glaring out the window. “Was it always this cold? I don’t remember.”

  He shrugged. He couldn’t remember either.

  “You stopped by to bitch about the weather?”

  “I told you, I’m looking for Frankie. We were supposed to meet this morning, but she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Her grandmother’s?”

  Lara rolled her eyes. “Like I wouldn’t try there first? Nowhere to be found means not the house, not Mrs. O’s house, not the grounds, not the pool room. Nowhere.”

  “Why are women such a pain in the ass?” Phillip pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Aha. There is something going on.” Lara stopped prowling his bedroom to poke her finger at him. She put enough force into it for him to almost feel it from across the room. “What’s up?”

  “Doesn’t your husband want you?”

  “Always. But he’s out.” Lara stepped closer, her expression conflicted. Phillip recognized the look. He’d seen it plenty of times in the mirror. She wanted to reach out, but God forbid things get emotional.

  Phillip pulled the sweater over his head, as much to buy time as because, dammit, it really was cold here.

  “Frankie took off last night,” he said, running a hand over his already dry hair. It was longer than it should be. “I, um, was in the process of proposing and she took off.”

  “You were proposing...marriage? To Frankie Silvera?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seriously?” Lara rocked back on her heels, considering his words. Then, damn her, she gave a delighted laugh. “That’s awesome.”

  Phillip stared.

  “Do you hate me that much?”

  “Hate you?” Looking horrified, Lara shook her head. “Of course not. You’re my brother. Since that finally means something to both of us, why would you think I’d hate you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe your taking pleasure in my suffering?”

  Lara dropped onto his bed—uninvited, of course—and rolled her eyes.

  “That’s not hate. That’s love. This is good for you.”

  That was it.

  The final straw that broke his control.

  He actually heard it snap.

  He sent the socks in his hands flying across the room like a missile. Then he sent the dresser after them. He had a chair in hand, ready to heave it, too, when he saw Lara’s face.

  She didn’t look scared. She didn’t even look surprised. She’d pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them and sat with her chin on her knees, watching patiently.

  It was the patience that cut through his fury.

  Mostly out of surprise.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” she said when she realized he was finished.

  “Lift a dresser?”

  “Lose control.”

  “It’s been a hell of a year.” With a bitter laugh, he dropped onto the bed next to her.

  Lara laid her hand over his. After a second, Phillip was unable to resist turning his hand and entwining his fingers with hers.

  “Look, what you went through sucks. No question about it. For some men, it’d be the end of their career. Hell, most guys I knew before Dominic would have curled up into a ball to cry, then hidden in some safe closet for the rest of their lives.”

  She laughed when Phillip sized up the armoire.

  “Nope, you won’t hide. You’re not that kind of guy.”

  Maybe he was. He looked down at their hands and grimaced. He’d used his feelings for Frankie as an excuse to rush both of them. Instead of giving her time, giving them both time, and waiting until he was sure of what she wanted, he’d pushed. Not because of Castillo’s warning that sisters had big mouths. But out of his own intense need to return to his team after seeing the lieutenant. His need, and his fear that when he did, he’d fail again.

  Damn. He heaved a deep sigh. That was a lot of weight to put on a proposal. Was that why Frankie had run? Or was her refusal still one of those female mysteries?

  Like the one sitting next to him.

  “So why is Frankie turning me down a good thing?” he finally asked.

  Lara grimaced and shrugged so that her chin-length hair swayed gently.

  “From school to sports to your career, you’ve had everything easy, Phillip. I’m not saying you didn’t earn your successes. But you didn’t suffer too many setbacks either.” Lara glanced down at their entwined hands, her thumb tracing one of the scars on his. “Now you have.”

  His ears buzzing, Phillip could only stare at his sister.

  The fury wasn’t new. It was as familiar as his own skin now.

  But the shock of what his sister said had him blinking.

  He’d been betrayed by a trusted ally, captured and tortured. His spotless record was blown, his clean ascension up the ranks shot to hell. He’d offered his heart to a woman for the first time in his life and had it handed back to him with a look of pity and a smile.

  That was what she called those things? Setbacks?

  Then it hit him.

  She was right.

  He’d ignored his own strategy, and instead of looking at contingencies, he’d thrown up his hands in surrender.

  “Setbacks suck,” he decided.

  “Yep, totally,” she agreed. “But they aren’t endings unless you let them be.”

  With that and a quick kiss on his cheek, she left.

  Phillip had to smile.

  Who knew his little sister was so damned smart?

  His smile faded when the door closed.

  He’d had two setbacks. Frankie and his career. But if he tried to reclaim one, didn’t it mean having to give
up the other?

  He’d thought his capture had changed him.

  And it had. For the worse.

  He’d been sure no woman could change him.

  But Frankie had. For the better.

  Lara was right. Setbacks weren’t endings. He’d make sure of it.

  * * *

  HER STOMACH BOUNCING between her toes and her throat, Frankie forced herself through the doorway and into the foyer of the Banks house.

  And almost ran right back out.

  Maybe this was a bad idea.

  Maybe she should give Phillip time to not be pissed at her.

  Maybe she should come back later.

  With cookies.

  Then she saw that someone had draped a wreath around the reindeer’s neck. And the cockeyed, crooked bow told her who that someone was.

  He was so sweet.

  And apparently psychic, since he chose that moment to walk in.

  Oh, baby, he looked good.

  “Everyone has been looking for you,” he said, not appearing surprised to see her. He didn’t seem angry, hurt or upset either. He looked totally calm, completely mellow.

  Should she pout?

  “I’m sorry. I had to...” What? Run away? Prove that she was the inconsiderate flake she’d claimed? “I meant to be back earlier, but I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Junk food hangover,” she admitted, wondering if he’d ever had one. The baffled expression on his face said no, but that could just be because he wasn’t sure why she was in his house.

  “Can we talk?” she asked quickly, before he could suggest she turn around and leave. Not waiting for his response, she automatically headed for the parlor.

  Her feet froze on the threshold. Wasn’t this like returning to the scene of the crime? Maybe they should talk in the kitchen. There were cookies there. Or better yet, his bedroom. She turned, running straight into Phillip’s hard chest.

  “I thought we were going to talk.”

  “Um, yeah, let’s talk.” She’d rather stay here, curled up against his warm body. But she was supposed to fix things between them.