A Navy SEAL for Christmas

by Zoe York

At the top of the hour, the instructor introduced herself, then gave them a quick overview of the plan for the four-day intensive program. They would use the same model for all four evenings, working on their progressions from quick sketches through to a finished, detailed drawing. Tonight, the instructor would guide the model through a variety of poses, but starting the next night, the participants were invited to requests poses for up to half an hour each. “Take your time today in figuring out what you want to draw over the next three nights. Be open to a new form, something you haven’t tried before. Ready?”

  When everyone nodded, she gestured to the anteroom at the side where the models got ready, and their subject for the night stepped out.

  He was beautiful.

  Chelsea’s brain caught her instinctive, visceral reaction before it could spin out of control, and translated it into more appropriate observations. Six-foot-something and well proportioned. One big hand clenched a Terry cotton robe shut as the other ruffled nervously through his golden-brown hair. Short on the sides, clipped on top, almost enough to tame soft curls. Almost, but not quite. The glint of bronzed five o’clock shadow on his jaw was a rough contrast to his boyish mop-top. Not that he looked particularly young. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth.

  Chelsea put him around thirty, maybe a little bit older.

  “Everyone, this is Ben. Thanks for joining us today. I’ll get you to take a seat on the platform, please.”

  He ducked his head and waved with the hand that had just disheveled his hair, then followed the instructor’s prompt, shrugging out of the robe before settling into the first position.

  Ben didn’t have any problem being naked. His body looked good, objectively, and more importantly, it was powerful. As long as he didn’t think too hard about what was being scratched on the boards around the room, he’d be fine. But those thoughts were right there, jumping up and down in his mind. How many of them were drawing his cock? Was that even allowed? And were they being generous? Could the instructor sense how weirdly nervous he was? And how the hell did Kent do this?

  He’d been naked for five minutes already, and he’d spent the entire time staring at the ceiling. It was a good position to start in, at least, while the instructor talked about his body as if he were a mannequin.

  His wingspan was apparently longer than most, and his feet were extra big. Don’t think about your cock. He bit back a laugh that threatened and focused his thoughts on his empty apartment, and the lady next door who watched that popular Navy SEAL television series apparently around the clock. She’d been up late the night before, the sound of the episodes bouncing through the wall at him—a strange reminder of where he’d just come from, although the reality of what he did wasn’t always the same as depicted in film and TV.

  She’d been listening to the same show again when he woke up at dawn. He had jetlag and a crappy bed for an excuse, what was hers?

  He’d spent the night on the very nice parquet floor, with only the quilt from his grandparents, his Hugo Boss suit, and his rucksack as a makeshift bed. It was decent as far as impromptu nests went, but it wasn’t his real furniture, which, he found out today, had been marked with the wrong barcodes and shipped to Washington State on someone else’s move.

  A mistake that would be rectified soon, he was assured.

  But it was a Friday night now, and he doubted it would be solved over the weekend. And then the following week was a mad rush toward Christmas, so if that shipping container was going to arrive and be unpacked without someone being paid double-time, there was a pretty narrow window.

  The chances of him having a proper bed before Christmas were not good.

  “We’ll dim the lights now,” the instructor said, dragging Ben’s attention back to the present. Christ, had he almost fallen asleep? Maybe it had been a mistake to take this on from Kent. He should have spent the evening finding more comfortable bedding. Or just another bed. “And we’ll get Ben to sit up, so we can work on long shadows.”

  She moved around him, flicking on a spotlight against his back.

  At least this way, his cock was thrust into darkness.

  The light flooded around him, catching a bit of dust in the air between him and the artists in front of him.

  He listened to the instructor as she guided him to cross one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee.

  As she spoke, he blinked, refocusing his attention for the first time on the other people in the room. Right in front of him was an elderly man, furiously drawing in short, sharp gestures. And just to his left was a woman maybe Ben’s own age, with shiny dark hair. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth in concentration as she frowned at her easel. His own attention zeroed in on her even, white teeth pressing into her flesh, and something about her expression made it hard to look away.

  The earnestness. The focus. The perfect curve of a perfect pink lip, caught— And then released, now pursing in thoughtful consideration as she flicked her gaze back toward him.

  Her eyes flared, and a strange, wild feeling crawled through Ben’s midsection. He was backlit. Could she see him looking at her? Feel his own gaze locked on her mouth, that sweet pink strawberry pout, that she now—Jesus—swiped the tip of her tongue against?

  Against his thigh, his cock thickened.

  He jerked his gaze back to the old man.

  One fucking job, Ben. The dick can’t grow.

  In his chest, his heart hammered with unexpected disquiet. He didn’t know that woman, had never seen her before, and while she was pretty, she wasn’t fucking Cleopatra.

  No women for a while.

  Even as he said that in his head, something feral in the back of his mind demanded that he look back in her direction, soak up another look, just to be sure that she wasn’t some kind of ethereal queen. She was not. He was quite sure of that, and even if he did want to look at her again (he did, of course), he wouldn’t. Because his cock needed to not grow.

  “We’ll get you to turn now, Ben,” the instructor said smoothly. “To your right, please.”

  Away from the strawberry pink mouth. As a cock-softening measure, he forced himself to think of his empty, sad apartment, and twisted to his right.

  three

  Chelsea checked her watch. Hannah was fifteen minutes late for their Saturday morning brunch, which wasn’t that unusual—her sister sometimes got stuck into work and lost track of time—but Hannah was heading out of town with her boyfriend this afternoon, and this was the only bit of family holiday time Chelsea would have.

  Usually, the Doyle clan all converged on her parents’ house in Carlsbad, but both of her brothers had pregnant wives this year who didn’t want to fly. So instead, her parents were on an extended road trip, visiting one brother in Florida first, then swinging back to Texas to ring in the new year with another.

  Which left Chelsea and Hannah in California—and Hannah was off to meet her boyfriend’s family, just as soon as she finished her lab work at the university and had brunch with her big sister.

  Chelsea stepped out from the restaurant’s entrance alcove to see if she could spot her favorite little scientist, and almost ran into a brick wall of a chest.

  “Sorry!” She squeaked the apology and jumped back.

  Then she looked up and did a double-take. The chest belonged to the model from the night before.

  “Hey.” He gave her a slow, earnest smile. “It’s Ben. From the life drawing class.”

  “I remember,” she blurted out.

  “I didn’t get your name last night.”

  “Chelsea.”

  He repeated her name and nodded. Then he glanced at the restaurant.

  “I’m waiting for my sister,” she said. “Brunch.”

  “Nice.”

  It would be, if she had company.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could get it out, Hannah sprinted up to them. And stopped, abruptly, looking back and forth between her sister and this
very handsome man, blatant curiosity all over her face.

  Chelsea gave her a warning look.

  Hannah ignored it. “Hi,” she said, beaming at Ben. “I’m Chelsea’s sister. Hannah. And you are?”

  “Ben,” he said, drawing his name out, like he knew she wanted more, but that was the only answer she was going to get.

  A wild giggle crawled up Chelsea’s throat, and she pressed her lips together. Ben looked back at her, as if he sensed her amusement, and winked. “I’ll let you get to your brunch. Nice to see you again.”

  He stepped around them and kept going in the direction he had been heading when she stumbled into his path.

  “Who is Ben?” Hannah demanded to know as Chelsea dragged her into the restaurant and gave their last name for the reservation.

  She didn’t answer, so when they were seated, Hannah asked again. “That hottie—what’s the story?”

  Chelsea took a deep breath. “He’s the model in an art class I’m taking.”

  “Nice!”

  Very. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You like him?”

  That was a question best sidestepped. “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s into you.”

  She laughed. “Uh, no.”

  “Yep. He was looking at you like he wanted you for brunch.”

  “You’re imagining things. I stumbled into him while waiting for you. We’ve literally exchanged maybe twenty words in total.”

  “Who needs words when someone looks like that?”

  “Since I signed a waiver saying I wouldn’t objectify him for looking like that, we would need a lot of words because talking is the only thing we could do.”

  Hannah made a face. “That sucks. What’s the worst that could happen if you ask him out?”

  “I’d be banned from that art studio for life, and he probably wouldn’t be able to be a model again. Which isn’t fair for him. It’s not his fault that he has dimples.” And big, warm brown eyes. “I’ll get over it.”

  “So you do like him.”

  Aw, crap. She’d said too much. “I’m pretending this conversation is not happening.”

  “I don’t think you should. I think we should find a loophole so you can get laid for Christmas.”

  “That’s not a thing.”

  “Of course it is. This is your classic girl meets boy, but he's naked and she’s signed a waiver to only care about that in a professional capacity kind of story. It has to have a happy ending where they fall in love.”

  Chelsea snorted. “Now we’re going to fall in love?” She picked up her menu. “Come on, let’s order something decadent, because this is my only Christmas celebration meal.”

  Hannah waggled her eyebrows. “Until Ben invites you to sample his Yule log.”

  “You’re fired as a sister and as a wing-woman. I think I might get the waffles.”

  “He wants to get your waffle.” Hannah raised her hands to fend off the next protest. “Huevos Rancheros for me, the best sister and wing-woman in the world. And when we’re done here, I want to see a copy of that waiver. I’ll find you a good loophole.”

  four

  Ben found the second night of modeling easier than the first. The students had a chance to request poses this time, and a lot of those positions had him sitting and standing with his back to the room.

  A strange, humming awareness sizzled through him when the instructor asked the pretty brunette—Chelsea, who had brunch with her sister just around the corner from his apartment—what pose she wanted next.

  “Sitting, please, in profile, with his arm bent up…” she trailed off, and Ben glanced in her direction.

  She smiled, and the apples of her cheeks turned pink.

  Down, dick.

  “Like…” She put her fist to her chin, miming The Thinker pose.

  He settled into what he thought she wanted, which meant he couldn’t see her, but the instructor praised him, and then he held very still for a very long time.

  As soon as the class ended, Chelsea gathered all of her supplies and tucked them into her portfolio case, and got the heck out of there before Ben appeared.

  She couldn’t get the conversation with Hannah out of her head. It was absolute nonsense. The stuff of fluffy holiday movies, not real life, and she couldn’t risk blushing again the way she had when it had been her turn to pick a pose for him.

  She needed to get her shit together. A hot chocolate might help, so she hightailed it to the coffee shop. There was a line, but it moved reasonably fast, and before too long she had a very festive-smelling cocoa to go.

  As far as Saturday night plans went, strolling home with a hot chocolate was a bit lonely, but she had a big day of shopping planned for the next morning. It was the final Farmer’s Market day before Christmas.

  She was so distracted with thoughts of her shopping list that she didn’t notice the man walking a half block ahead of her until he turned onto her street.

  He was dressed head to toe in black, and blended into the night with ease, but as he turned the corner, his blond hair caught a glint from the streetlight.

  She recognized Ben immediately from his hair, and his profile, and the general shape of his body. He may be fully dressed now, but she knew what that butt looked like, how taut those thick thighs could get when he flexed.

  And on the front side…

  Well, she wasn’t going to think about the front side while she was in public. She would save that thought for the privacy of her bedroom.

  Chelsea Jane, you will do no such thing, she admonished herself. You will remain professional no matter what.

  He slowed down in front of her building and then, to her horror, headed up the walk to the courtyard.

  Her courtyard.

  Which she also needed to turn into, because she lived there, but if she followed him, it would look like she was following him. In a creepy kind of way, instead of the accidental way.

  The smart thing to do would be to keep walking, to head around the block and stretch her legs a little more.

  For reasons she could not explain, she didn’t do that.

  She didn’t head up the walk, either.

  She just stopped right there on the sidewalk. Like a weirdo, she realized belatedly, because her sudden, jerky movement caught his attention, and he turned around.

  A few more feet and he would have been inside.

  Laughing, she waved her hand. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m not stalking you.”

  His eyes went wide. “All right.”

  “It’s Chelsea. From art class?”

  He nodded. “And brunch.”

  She pointed at the building behind him. “I live here.”

  “Small world,” he said. “I just moved in.”

  “No kidding.” Chelsea’s pulse skipped a beat. “That is a small world.”

  A magical coincidence, Hannah might say. But Hannah wasn’t here. Only practical, down-to-earth Chelsea was here right now, and coincidences were more weird than magical in her worldview.

  “Which one is yours?” Ben gestured at the staircases in each corner of the courtyard.

  She pointed up to the third floor. “Straight up. I’m in unit fifteen.”

  “No way.” He grinned. “I’m your new neighbor. Unit fourteen, moved in two days ago.”

  She hadn’t even noticed. He must have moved in while she was at school.

  He held out his hand, indicating she should lead the way. Halfway up the stairs, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Almost certainly that was her sister, and there was no way she was checking it in front of Ben.

  The chances of blushing were too high. Hannah had been on about him all day, blowing up her phone to such an extent that Chelsea had already fired back one pointed message about how Hannah was supposed to be spending time with her potential in-laws.

  That hadn’t stopped the wannabe matchmaker.

  At the top of the stairs, she dug out her key, then waved goodnight to Ben. No point lingering
over awkward small talk.

  Inside, she put her stuff away, then sat down and savored her hot cocoa before checking the text from her sister.

  Hannah: How was your art class?

  Chelsea: Very professional.

  Hannah: That’s a shame.

  Should she confess the latest development? No. Yes. Her fingers started typing before she could talk herself out of sharing.

  Chelsea: You’ll never guess what, though.

  Hannah: He slipped you a note during class.

  Chelsea snorted at the idea of Ben wandering over to her donkey, naked, and surreptitiously handing her a folded piece of paper.

  Chelsea: He just moved in to the apartment next door.

  Hannah: You’re living in a rom com. I called it. He loves you.

  Chelsea: I regret telling you.

  Hannah: I need to see that waiver. I will find you that loophole.

  Chelsea’s heart fluttered like mad in her chest. No. This was ridiculous. Yes. She hopped off the couch and ran to her craft corner, where her art bag rested against the wall. She pulled out the paperwork for the course and snapped a picture of the waiver.

  Then she sat down, her back to the wall, and read it carefully herself.

  Where was the line? And could her heart handle getting close to it?

  five

  The farmer’s market was a zoo, and Ben absolutely hated it. One of his SEAL teammates, Cade Duncan, had heard through the grapevine that Ben’s stuff was still missing, and basically ordered Ben to come out to the market with Cade and his wife Mel.

  Mel had a serious Christmas plan, and she needed extra arms. And then, Cade promised, they would feed Ben and he could lounge in their backyard, on actual furniture, for the entire afternoon.

  It had seemed like a fair trade when Ben had been standing in his empty living room.

  Now, hemmed in on all sides by holiday-obsessed shoppers, he wasn’t so sure.

  “You okay?” Cade shot him a look that said, I know, crowds aren’t my favorite, either. Readjusting to civilian life after a tour was always like this. This crowd held no danger to them, he just needed to keep breathing.