Christmas with a SEAL. Tawny Weber

Want.

      Oh, God, he wanted.

      Frankie’s arms wrapped around him, one across his shoulder so the champagne bottle she still held smacked him in the back. The other slid lower, her hand cupping, squeezing his butt.

      Phillip wanted to reciprocate.

      He wanted to touch her. To feel her skin beneath his palms, under his mouth.

      But not here.

      Somewhere private.

      Because once he started, he wasn’t going to be able to stop.

      He didn’t care whether it was lust alone or a temporary escape from the soul-deep exhaustion that had been eating way at him.

      She was the answer to the question he couldn’t face.

      A question that was tearing at his heart, cutting at his soul.

      He knew the answer was temporary.

      He didn’t care.

      For one night, he wanted—needed—what she could give him.

      Unable to resist, he backed her up against the elevator door, his hands diving into her soft cloud of hair, holding her head steady so he didn’t have to release her mouth.

      He stabbed the call button, then lost himself in the delight of her until the doors slid open.

      “Inside,” he said, guiding her into the car without taking his mouth from hers. He pressed her against the elevator wall as the doors closed, only letting go of her long enough to punch his floor number.

      Their tongues danced, sliding over each other in the same seamless rhythm in which their bodies had moved to the music.

      His brain was blessedly blank, all of his senses focused solely on Frankie. On how she felt. On how she made him feel.

      Incredible.

      Then she gently took his hand from her hair, sliding it down her face, over her throat. She didn’t stop until his knuckles were brushing the soft flesh of her breasts, just where her dress started.

      Phillip barely bit back a groan, his fingers itching to touch more. To slip beneath her dress and feel her skin, to rub his thumb over her nipple and feel it bead beneath his flesh.

      But they were in an elevator. And he was only three floors down.

      Then Frankie shrugged, proving once again that her dress wasn’t fitted. The heavy fabric slid off her shoulder, the strap catching on her elbow.

      And baring one breast.

      He hated to leave the delicious haven of her lips, but he had to look. Just had to.

      With one last slide of his tongue over her lower lip, he leaned back, his eyes dropping.

      Holy hell, she was gorgeous.

      Milky pale, with a glistening of freckles, her breast was full, the tip light coral, beaded and begging.

      Unable to resist, he brushed the tip of his finger over her nipple.

      Her breath caught on a whimper.

      He heard a ding, vaguely realizing they’d reached his floor.

      But he couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t resist rubbing the pebbled velvet again. He felt her breath catch against his lips and reveled in her reaction. Power, intense and gratifying, surged through him. Her fingers dug into his arms, kneading, then soothing.

      He heard a vague ding again as he slid his lips down the slender length of her neck, breathing in her scent. Flowers and moonlight, sweet and mysterious. He wanted to lose himself in her.

      “More,” she murmured, her hands shoving at his waist to get beneath his sweater. Her fingers were like fire on his skin, making him want things he’d never wanted before. Making him need things he’d never imagined.

      “Much more,” she purred as his lips skimmed down her shoulder. His hand was on the strap of her dress, ready to push it down and feast, when he heard a loud bang.

      Phillip’s lust cleared instantly, his body curving protectively over Frankie’s as his senses took inventory.

      Elevator, hotel, Las Vegas.

      His adrenaline leveled.

      His lust surged.

      Lust he wasn’t going to slake in a damned elevator.

      Phillip wasn’t sure how they made it to his room without invoking any public-indecency laws. Of course, the laws for that kind of thing might be different in Las Vegas.

      He had no idea how he found his key card; he didn’t remember getting it or opening the door to his hotel room. He just knew that in less than a minute after leaving the elevator, the room door was slamming shut behind him.

      Frankie sauntered ahead, her swinging hips making her dress jingle.

      “Champagne?” she offered, giving him a teasing smile over her shoulder and holding up the half-empty bottle.

      “I’m not thirsty,” he said, stripping his sweater over his head and tossing it on the floor. “I’m hungry.”

      She turned around, her eyes glazing over as her gaze moved across his chest. He liked her reaction. The way her pupils dilated, her breath quickened.

      “What are you hungry for?” she asked, her words husky and low.

      “Trouble.”

      Frankie’s laugh rang through the room, the sound filling him with delight and a weird sort of joy. Instead of trying to figure out why, he ignored it. After all, there were much more interesting things to do tonight than analyze his feelings.

      “Well, I’m the girl for you, then,” she said. Her smile was both cute and seductive as she set the bottle on the bedside table. Her eyes locked on his and she stepped forward. Not close enough for him to touch, and just far enough from him to make it clear that he was supposed to wait.

      Phillip didn’t know if he could.

      “Music?” Frankie asked huskily.

      “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Yeah,” she said, laughing and doing that little shoulder wiggle. “I’m kidding.”

      He barely heard her words through the roaring in his head. Blood surging south, he figured.

      Because her dress had finally finished the journey it had been attempting all night and hit the floor.

      Leaving Frankie standing in a tiny pair of silver mesh panties and high heels.

      And Phillip ready to explode.

       3

      FRANKIE WAS GIFTED with a vivid imagination and an active fantasy life. She’d imagined seducing Phillip a million times. She’d spent endless hours fantasizing about him seducing her. She’d dedicated countless orgasms to the cause.

      She wanted this.

      She’d been dreaming about it, hoping for it, planning for it, even.

      Yet now that she was standing in front of Phillip in all her naked glory, she was trembling in her high heels. Part of it was unquestionably desire. But there, beneath the excitement, was fear. What if this didn’t break her creative block? What if she was doomed never to make anything original again? Or worse, what if the sex was so amazing, she wanted more? What if he was so amazing, he became more than a fantasy?

      The closer Phillip stepped, the faster her pulse raced. But it still couldn’t keep up with the tangled thoughts speeding through her head.

      So she did what any smart woman on a quest for pleasure would do. She ignored the fear and focused on the desire.

      Which