Debbie Macomber Navy Series Box Set. Debbie Macomber

as elegant as those of a symphony director. He shouldn’t be enjoying watching her this much, and he realized he would pay the price later when he returned to the apartment and the loneliness overtook him once more.

      When he’d finished the meal, he leaned against the shield-back dining-room chair and placed his hands over his stomach. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a better dinner.”

      “There’s pie …”

      “Not now,” he countered quickly and shook his head. “I’m too full to down another bite. Maybe later.”

      “Coffee?”

      “Please.”

      Carol carried their dishes to the sink, stuck the leftovers in the refrigerator, and returned with the glass coffeepot. She filled both their cups, returned it to the kitchen and then took her seat opposite him. She rested her elbows on the table, and smiled.

      Despite his best intentions through a good portion of the meal, Steve hadn’t been able to keep his eyes away from her. The way she was sitting—leaning forward, her elbows on the tabletop—caused her breasts to push together and more than amply fill the bodice of her dress. His breath faltered someplace between his lungs and his throat at the alluring sight she made. He could have sworn she wasn’t wearing a bra. Carol had fantastic breasts and Steve watched, captivated, as their tips beaded against the shiny material. They seemed to be pointing directly at him, issuing a silent invitation that asked him to fondle and taste them. Against his will, his groin began to swell until he was throbbing with painful need. Disconcerted, he dropped his gaze to the steaming cup of coffee. With his hands shaking, he took a sip of his coffee and nearly scalded the tender skin inside his mouth.

      “That was an excellent dinner,” he repeated, after a moment of silence.

      “You’re not sorry you came, are you?” she asked unexpectedly, studying him. The intent look that crowded her face demanded all Steve’s attention. Her skin was pale and creamy in the muted light, her eyes wide and inquiring, as though the answer to her question was of the utmost importance.

      “No,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’m glad I’m here.”

      His answer pleased her and she smiled, looking tender and trusting, and Steve wondered how he could ever have doubted her. He knew what she’d done—knew that she’d purposely destroyed their marriage—and in that moment, it didn’t matter. He wanted her again. He wanted to hold her warm and willing body in his arms. He wanted to bury himself so deep inside her that she would never desire another man for as long as they both lived.

      “I’ll help you with the dishes,” he said, and rose so abruptly that he nearly knocked over the chair.

      “I’ll do them later.” She got to her feet as well. “But if you want to do something, I’d appreciate a little help with the tree.”

      “The tree?” The words sounded as foreign as an obscure language.

      “Yes, it’s only half decorated. I couldn’t reach the tallest limbs. Will you help?”

      He shrugged. “Sure.” He could have sworn that Carol was relieved, and he couldn’t imagine why. The Christmas tree looked fine to him. There were a few bare spots, but nothing too noticeable.

      Carol dragged a dining-room chair into the living room and pulled a box of ornaments out from underneath the end table.

      “You’re knitting?” Steve asked, hiding a smile as his gaze fell on the strands of worsted yarn. Carol had to be the worst knitter in the world, yet she tackled one project after another, seeming oblivious of any lack of talent. There had been a time when he could tease her about it, but he wasn’t sure his insight would be appreciated now.

      She glanced away as though she feared his comment.

      “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tease you,” he told her, remembering the time she’d proudly presented him with a sweater she’d made herself—the left sleeve had been five inches longer than the right. He’d tried it on and she’d taken one look at him and burst into tears. It was one of the few times he could ever remember Carol crying.

      Carol dragged the chair next to the tree and raised her leg to stand on it.

      Steve stopped her. “I thought you wanted me to do that?”

      “No, I need you to hand me the ornaments and then stand back and tell me how they look.”

      “Carol … if I placed the ornaments on the tree, you wouldn’t need the chair.”

      She looked at him and sighed. “I’d rather do it. You don’t mind, do you?”

      He didn’t know why she was so determined to hang the decorations herself, but it didn’t make much difference to him. “No, if you want to risk your fool neck, feel free.”

      She grinned and raised herself so that she was standing on the padded cushion of the chair. “Okay, hand me one,” she said, tossing him a look over her shoulder.

      Steve gave her a shiny glass bulb, and he noted how good she smelled. Roses and some other scent he couldn’t define wrapped gently around him. Carol stretched out her arms and reached for the tallest branch. Her dress rose a solid five inches and exposed the back of her creamy smooth thighs and a fleeting glimpse of the sweet curve of her buttocks. Steve knotted his hands into fists at his sides to keep from touching her. It would be entirely plausible for him to grip her waist and claim he was frightened she would tumble from her perch. But if he allowed that to happen, his hands would slip and soon he would be cupping that cute rounded bottom. Once he touched her, Steve knew he would never be able to stop. He clenched his teeth and inhaled deeply through his nose. Having Carol standing there, exposing herself in this unconscious way, was more than a mere man could resist. At this point, he was willing to use any excuse to be close to her once more.

      Carol lowered her arms, her dress fell back into place and Steve breathed normally again. He thought he was safe from further temptation until she twisted around. Her ripe, full breasts filled the front of her dress, their shape clearly defined against the thin fabric. If he’d been guessing about the bra before, he was now certain. She wasn’t wearing one.

      “I’m ready for another ornament,” she said softly.

      Like a blind man, Steve turned and fumbled for a second glass bulb. He handed it to her and did everything within his power to keep his gaze away from her breasts.

      “How does that one look?” Carol asked.

      “Fine,” Steve answered gruffly.

      “Steve?”

      “Don’t you think that’s enough decorations, for God’s sake?”

      His harsh tone was as much a surprise to him as it obviously was to Carol.

      “Yes, of course.”

      She sounded disappointed, but that couldn’t be helped. Steve moved to her side once more and offered her his hand to help her down. His foot must have hit against one leg of the chair because it jerked forward. Perhaps it was something she did, Steve wasn’t sure, but whatever happened caused the chair to teeter on the thick carpet.

      With a small cry of alarm, Carol threw out her arms.

      With reflexes born of years of military training, Steve’s hands shot out like bullets to catch her. The chair fell sideways onto the floor, but Steve’s grip on Carol’s waist anchored her firmly against his torso. Their breathing was labored, and Steve sighed with relief that she hadn’t fallen. It was on the tip of his tongue to berate her, call her a silly goose for not letting him place the glass bulbs on the tree, chastise her for being such a fool. She shouldn’t put herself at risk over something as nonsensical as a Christmas tree. But none of the words made it to his lips.

      Their gazes were even, her haunting eyes stared into his and said his name as clearly as if it were spoken. Carol’s feet remained several inches off the floor, and still Steve held on to her, unable to release her.