Christmas with a SEAL. Tawny Weber

put that smile there.

      And now that he was sure he wasn’t delusional, entertaining the idea of emotions that didn’t exist, he could do it all over again. His eyes shifted to her full breasts, down the gentle indention of her waist to the full curve of her hips.

      He wanted more.

      And tonight, he was letting himself take more.

      “Come on,” he said, lifting her into his arms instead of waiting for her to get up. He made sure to grab the second condom, too.

      “Where are we going?” she asked, her words muffled because she was scattering wet kisses over his chest, even as her hands locked behind his neck.

      “Shower.”

      “Ooh, water sex,” she exclaimed, laughing.

      Filled with a warmth, a lightness he was attributing to the champagne they’d drank earlier, Phillip grinned.

      “I’m a SEAL. I’m damned good in the water,” he assured her, shifting her weight so he could start the shower. Not waiting for the water to warm up, he stepped right in, Frankie still nestled against his chest.

      She squealed, burrowing into him to hide her face from the chilly spray.

      Phillip laughed, delighting in her.

      In the honesty of her reactions.

      In the sweetness of her touch.

      In the sexiness of her mouth.

      In how he felt with her.

      Free.

      Swallowing hard, shoving aside the images trying to creep their way into this precious escape, Phillip pressed Frankie up against the shower wall. His mouth took hers, his hands sliding over her wet flesh.

      His body, satisfied only a minute ago, demanded more.

      His soul, at peace for the first time in months, demanded the same.

      “Again already?” she gasped.

      “I told you. I’m a SEAL. I’m damned good in water,” he said, just before plunging into her.

      Even as he drove, deep and hard, for both of their pleasure, the logical voice in the back of his head was glad she only had two condoms.

      Not because he couldn’t physically do this all night long. The way Frankie made him feel? He was pretty sure he could go for a week or two. Or forever.

      So two was good.

      Two set limit.

      Frankie’s body gripped his and her climax echoed in the stall as water pounded around them.

      Phillip let go of all thoughts of forever, or of limits.

      He let go of everything.

      And for the first time in his life, as his orgasm swept over him, he simply felt.

      * * *

      FRANKIE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d lain there, her mind in a race against her jumbled emotions.

      After he’d proved that he could hold his own with any water god, Phillip had wrapped her in a towel and carried her to the bed. She’d almost come again when he’d gently dried the water from every inch of her body.

      He’d followed that up by toasting her with the champagne a few dozen times.

      And then he’d blown her mind.

      Instead of initiating any form of sex, he’d climbed in beside her, wrapped her in his arms and simply, silently, cuddled her.

      She was terrified.

      She tried to count her breaths to calm herself, but every time she did, she started hyperventilating.

      So she counted Phillip’s breaths instead. In and out, in and out, until they deepened, slowed. Until he was asleep.

      She relaxed then, but just a tiny bit.

      Now, instead of his breath, she counted all of the stupid things she’d done tonight instead.

      One, she’d totally forgotten her goal—to live out her fantasy. Actually, she’d forgotten everything. Fantasy, reason, logic, her own name.

      Stupid.

      Two, she’d gotten emotionally involved. She knew better. Phillip Banks was an incredible fantasy, but he wasn’t her kind of guy. Or more to the point, she wasn’t his kind of girl. She didn’t do fancy; she wasn’t upscale. The only time she’d been to a country club was when she and her friends had hopped the fence to chase an escaped cat.

      Stupid, stupid, stupid.

      Three, instead of focusing on the sensations, letting the sexual nirvana fill her creative well, all she’d been able to do about was think about him. Worry about him. All of her focus had been on trying to heal that hurt in his eyes.

      Crazy.

      One more round of mind-blowing sex and she’d have handed him her heart, offered to give up her dreams and, worse, begged him to call her sometime.

      None of which he wanted.

      Nor did she, dammit. No matter what she felt like right now.

      Ever so carefully, not even breathing in case it woke him, Frankie slipped out from under Phillip’s arm and rolled off the bed.

      Once on her feet, she froze, staring at him to make sure he was still asleep.

      Then slowly, an inch at a time to avoid jangling any of the metal disks, she pulled her dress on. Her eyes never left Phillip’s sleeping form as she felt around in the dark for her shoes. She checked the hidden zippered pocket, assuring herself that her key card was still there.

      She needed to leave. Now, before he woke up.

      But she couldn’t bring herself to.

      Knowing she was taking a huge risk, she tiptoed on bare feet to the edge of the bed. Just to look at him one last time. Even in sleep, he didn’t look peaceful.

      He looked like a warrior, reliving battles in his dreams.

      Her heart ached, curiosity screaming to know what had hurt him so badly.

      She told herself it didn’t matter.

      He would never tell her.

      Besides, she didn’t do rescues.

      Especially not ones that would break her heart.

      Moisture, salty and warm, slipped into the corner of her mouth as she stared down at him.

      She wiped her hand over her cheek, realizing it was covered in tears.

      She had to get out of there.

      With one last look, she reached out as if to touch his cheek, but didn’t let herself get that close. Instead, she forced herself to leave. Frankie opened the heavy door carefully, wincing as light from the corridor slanted into the room, temporarily blinding her.

      Blinking against it and the tears still burning her eyes, she glanced back once, then carefully closed the door behind her.

      Her shoes dangling from her fingers, Frankie leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath through her nose.

      Phillip had been right.

      This had been crazy.

      The only saving grace was the fact that she was sure she’d never see him again.

      And maybe, eventually, she’d convince herself that was a good thing.

       4

      A VICIOUS POUNDING dragged Phillip from the sleep of the dead.

      His head throbbed, nausea churned in his gut and