Christmas with a SEAL

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” she observed, leaning closer. Close enough that her scent wrapped around him like a spicy hug.

“You look like you’re having enough fun for both of us,” he countered. He might be hating everything, but that was his problem. And there was something about this woman that made him want to smile, although he didn’t know why.

“And guys like you don’t like to have fun, is that it?” she asked, looking saucy.

“Guys like me?” Phillip dismissed with a laugh. “You don’t know me, do you?”

“Sure, I do.” She leaned close enough that he could count the freckles sprinkled across her nose and blink at how lush the lashes surrounding her deep brown eyes were.

“I hear you’re Cupid.”

Phillip grimaced.

“Not quite. Phillip Banks,” he corrected automatically. As soon as the words were out he regretted them. Introductions led to conversation. Conversation led to connection, something he was anxious to eliminate.

“Hi, Phillip,” she greeted with a laugh.

Phillip offered a distant nod, hoping she’d get the hint.

“This really is a great party, isn’t it?” she said, not waiting for a response as she turned to check out the crowd. As she did, she twisted her riot of cinnamon curls around her fist and lifted her hair to cool the back of her neck.

Was that a tattoo on her neck? Not sure why he had to know, Phillip leaned forward to get a better look.

“Is that a bird?” he asked, squinting at the pale gray image.

“Hmm?” she murmured, turning back with a smile. She hadn’t released her hair, so he could see the open-door cage, just a shade darker than the bird, tucked in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “It’s freedom.”

“What’s freedom?”

“My bird,” she explained. “It symbolizes flying free. You know, just like some of these guys probably have a bald eagle or something to symbolize freedom, I have a sparrow.”

“They don’t,” he said without thinking.

She tilted her head to the side so her curls slid along her shoulders again, hiding her bird. “Don’t what?”

“Most of them don’t have tattoos,” he explained reluctantly. He didn’t like discussing the military with anyone who wasn’t in it. But he’d brought it up, and it would be rude to ignore her question. “Most of the guys here are SEALs. Identifying marks can be detrimental to their careers.”

“They’re against the rules?”

“No. Just not smart.” Phillip knew there were plenty of tattooed SEALs. He’d served with a few. But every member of the team went on a mission with no ID, no tags, no personal effects for a reason. Phillip had seen what a mission gone wrong could do. Hell, the memory still played out in Technicolor every night when he closed his eyes.

“I’ll bet you are,” the redhead said, pulling his attention out of the past. When she leaned forward on her elbows to give him a thorough look, the move sent her mirrored tiles swinging.

“You bet I’m what?”

“Smart.”

Phillip blinked. He used to think he was. Now? He had no idea.

“I’m Frankie.” She thrust out her hand, her smile widening. “It’s great to see you.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Phillip said automatically, taking her hand. He was surprised at how small and delicate it was.

Her lips pursed, the move making him uncomfortably aware of how full her mouth was.

“You don’t know me, do you?” she stated, her brown eyes dancing with mirth.

“Should I?” Yes, his tone was stiff. He didn’t like people laughing at him, and he was sure that was exactly what the redheaded sprite was doing.

“I’m a friend of Lara’s.”

Of course she was.

Phillip was sure the room could be divided into two camps.

The wild, gyrating, tattooed camp his sister belonged to.

And the protocol-loving, rule-living camp of the Navy that he thrived in.

Why, oh, why, did the two have to converge?

The pretty redhead shifted a little closer. Her dress showed off her golden shoulders and deep cleavage, and the table didn’t block the length of her long, silky legs beneath her short skirt.

Sexual awareness hit hard and fast and very unwelcome.

In defense against it, Phillip looked away. His gaze landed on the stage, where his sister and Castillo were wrapped around each other like vines. It was Lara’s hand on her husband’s ass this time.

“Good God.” A waiter approached the table and Phillip gratefully exchanged his empty glass for a full one, giving the guy a smile and a signal to keep them coming. If this kept up, he was going to need a few more.

He fought the desire to simply get up and leave. To get the hell out of here. But he was trapped. Trapped by his emotions, by the sudden demands of family, by his memories.

Desperate for distraction, a part of him screaming for reprieve, Phillip focused all of his considerable attention on Frankie. The name chimed faintly in his memory, but the sound was easily drowned out by his third scotch.

“C’mon,” Frankie said, getting to her feet and reaching out to grab his hand.

“Where?” Phillip didn’t get up, but he didn’t shake off her hand either. There was something oddly compelling about her touch. That, and seeing her standing there, her short dress glistening and her hair swirling around her face, was a serious turn-on.

“The dance floor, of course,” she said, laughing. “You can’t tell me you’re Lara’s brother and you don’t dance.”

The waltz, a foxtrot if forced and—although he’d only admit it at gunpoint—the tango, all thanks to lessons mandated by his mother, the queen of high society. Phillip glanced at the dancers and shook his head. Not one lesson at Madame Lenore’s had included a bump or a grind. He’d be lost out there.

“C’mon,” Frankie said again, tugging.

Curious, and just a little bit fascinated, Phillip let her drag him to his feet. Her tiny hand wrapped around his, she pulled him through the dancers. She was so small he felt as though he should be the one in front, protecting her. But she moved like a friendly bulldozer, her smile parting the crowd all the way to the sliding glass door that led to the patio. And, he knew from his initial inspection, a private elevator.

Escape.

“I’m staying until cake.” He grimaced, remembering Landon’s orders.

She grabbed a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter and handed it to him before taking two empty glasses with a murmured thanks.

“Cake isn’t for another half hour,” she said with a wink, pushing the door open and leading him through. It silently slid shut behind them and then—blessed quiet.

Phillip closed his eyes for a second, letting the lack of wailing guitars wash over him. It wasn’t until his ears stopped ringing that he realized there actually was music out here, too. Softer music. A medley of strings.

“Dance?” Frankie asked, setting the glasses on an empty table.

Phillip hesitated.

Not because he didn’t want to dance with her.

But because he did.

This was the wrong time to be attracted to a woman.

His head was all kinds of messed up. He was on a personal mission for vengeance.

He didn’t do relationships. And despite her party-girl appearance, there was something about her freckles that told him Frankie was a relationship girl at heart.

Which made her off-limits.

Relationships and a career as a Navy SEAL? Despite the celebrating going on in the other room, Phillip knew relationships were a bad idea. He didn’t believe in splitting his focus, and had long ago vowed that his only commitment would be to his career.

He’d be better off making his excuses and returning to the noisy assault and painful visuals. Ready to do just that, he gave Frankie a polite smile.

And wished those huge brown eyes weren’t so appealing. Or that body so temptingly hot.

But those huge brown eyes were so appealing, and that body was temptingly hot. Her personality was so damned engaging that, for the first time since he’d been taken captive, he didn’t feel lost. The vicious fury that had become his constant companion, and that no therapy could erase, was shoved aside.

Instead, lust took over.

2

FRANKIE HELD HER BREATH, her heart beating so hard she was surprised her dress wasn’t shaking. Eyes wide, she waited to see what he’d do. After a second he glanced at the door leading back to the party. She tried not to pout, sure he was about to refuse.

Then, with a small frown, he set down the champagne bottle and held out a hand.

Look at how he made that look as if it was his idea. She grinned as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her out of view of the door. Of course, Phillip Banks of the Maryland Bankses was high society through and through.

Kinda like a prince.

Which, given her status in that same state, made her a pauper.

She wiggled her toes in her beribboned Lucite heels, figuring she could rock the role of Cinderella for just one night.

They reached the far side of the patio, a bronze fire pit casting a magical glow over them as Phillip faced her, his hand curling around her waist.

Amusement fled.

So did thought.

All Frankie could do was feel.

Staring into Phillip’s brilliant green eyes, she gave over to delight, loving everything that was going on in her body as they began to sway to the music.

Excitement.

Curiosity.

And a sexual rush that was doing wild things to her insides.

Tingling things. Wet, hot things.

Things that made her wonder what it would be like to strip naked and see what other moves he had.

The music picked up and Phillip’s arched brow was her only warning before he twirled her out and then pulled her back into his arms.

Oh, baby.

“I’m impressed. You have to have a special kind of rhythm to move like this,” she said with a breathless laugh. “I guess dance lessons do pay off.”

“You say that as if you know me,” he noted quietly, his gaze intent.

She opened her mouth to tell him she did before closing it again. Just because she knew him didn’t mean he knew her. She wasn’t sure they’d ever actually said more than hello to each other before tonight.

Admitting how she knew him would mean telling him she was little Francesca Silvera, the housekeeper’s granddaughter. The tomboy who’d had a secret crush on him all the way through school. Who’d endured haystack hair for a year after dying her red curls blonde to try to look more like his prom queen girlfriend. She’d been the laughingstock of the sixth grade.

Hey, a girl needed some secrets, right? It wasn’t as if he was ever going to come back to the Banks estate and find out who she really was. So why shouldn’t she enjoy the encounter for what it was—two people, practically strangers, who were very attracted to each other. At least, she was very attracted to him.

Phillip was hard to read.

“Frankie?” he prompted, his voice a little huskier than before.

“You’ve got a polish that most guys only have if they’ve taken lessons,” she lied, giving him a saucy look. “On top of that, you definitely move like a man who knows what to do with his body.”

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, sounding baffled.

Delighted, she laughed. Poor guy. He clearly hadn’t been flirted with enough in his privileged lifetime if he had to ask.

“Do you mind if I do?”

A tiny frown creased his brow. Before he could resolve whether he minded or not, Frankie decided to tilt the odds in her favor. She moved a little closer, her fingers sliding from his shoulder to skim along the back of his neck.

She wet her lips, smiling a little when his gaze shifted. She’d spent many a teenage year dreaming of him looking at her this way. At first she hadn’t had a clue what she’d do if he did give her that look. But thanks to the library, HBO and three older female cousins, it wasn’t that long before she could fill in all the juicy details of her fantasy.

And life had just handed her a golden opportunity to live out that fantasy, to get more specific about those details. She knew she would regret it if she didn’t make the most of it.

“I don’t think flirting is a good idea,” he told her, his voice deep.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” she said, sliding closer. Her breasts brushed his chest, but thanks to the material of her dress, all she felt was hard metal instead of the hard expanse of his sexy chest. So she shifted, pressing one thigh between the length of both of his. Oh, the delight. “Never discount the fun of flirting.”

“Fun?”

“You don’t think flirting is fun?”

He looked so serious as he considered her question.

“Flirting is usually a prelude,” he mused, his fingers flexing on her hip. Frankie wondered if he wanted to slide them down, wished he would. She’d love to feel his hand on her butt. Would he grab and squeeze, or smooth and caress?

“A prelude to what?” she asked, her thumb circling his palm. His slacks rubbed in delicious friction against the inside of her bare thigh.

“A prelude to trouble,” he decided with a smile, looking as if he was trying to warn her off but didn’t want to be rude.

Ever the gentleman. Enjoying the feeling of his leg between hers, Frankie smiled. She’d always wondered if she could tempt him to lose that polite sheen. Time to find out.

“You consider sex trouble?” she asked, her fingers skimming up and down the warm skin along the back of his neck. At the same time, she gave him her sultriest look—practiced for hours in front of her bedroom mirror—and made a show of nibbling on her bottom lip.

His eyes narrowed, but his expression didn’t change. She was impressed. She’d only used that look on one guy before—and granted, he’d been delivering her new futon and she’d been trying to convince him to take the old couch away—but the result had been positive. He’d hauled off the couch, set up her futon and even moved her entertainment center.

But Phillip was a military man. A Navy SEAL. A yummy challenge in the form of her dream guy. Excitement layered over desire.

He was the answer to everything she needed.

A sexy lover she’d been fantasizing about for most of her life. A hot, exciting man who, she was sure, in just one night would set her inspiration free.

If Frankie could seduce a man as controlled as Phillip Banks, she knew she could seduce her own creative muse out of the cave it had been hiding in.

“I consider anything done impetuously to have the potential for trouble,” Phillip said quietly, his words reminding her of the teasing question she’d asked. “Sex between strangers is both impetuous and ill-advised.”

Ill-advised? Frankie’s lips twitched. He was so cute and proper.

“Well, then, why don’t we get to know each other?” she suggested, her fingers trailing along the back of his neck. “I’m Frankie. I work with silver, love pasta and hoard cookbooks, even though I can barely boil water.”

He looked baffled for a second, and then his eyes dropped to her dress. Since he had to look past the ample curves of her breasts to see it, she bit her lip, watching to see his reaction.

Nothing. She frowned.

Then his eyes met hers again and heat exploded in her belly.

Oh, those eyes. Deep green, filled with as much passion as pain. She wanted to pull him tighter into her arms and make him forget everything except pleasure.

“Silver? Like jewelry?”

Frankie’s stomach clenched, the familiar knot of fear thrumming in her chest. She’d always wanted to be an artist. To stand out for her creative style and share her vision with others. Until that vision had faded.

The answer to blocked creative energy was to refill the well. She’d tried every other option. Yoga, creative play dates with herself, changing her diet, her sleep habits and her hairstyle. Nothing had helped.

She took a deep breath, focusing on Phillip’s face. On his steady gaze. He’d help. He was the only fantasy she’d ever had that she hadn’t lived out. As soon as she did, she was sure the block would be broken.

“There are a lot of other things made of silver besides jewelry,” she finally said, smiling sassily. “Quirky, fun, out-of-the-box things. Art’s more fun when it’s unexpected, don’t you think?”

She almost laughed aloud at the look on his face. Polite doubt. Then his eyes slid down her face like a gentle caress, pausing for a second on her lips before dipping lower.

Oh. Her breath caught, her body happily sliding back over to the desire side, closing the door on all her boring doubts and worries. No, being turned on was much more fun.

Even more fun?

Turning Phillip on.

Hoping she could, Frankie took a deep breath, letting the cool air work its magic on her breasts, pressing them closer to his chest.

His eyes met hers, desire clear in the green depths.

“Did you make your dress?” he asked, sounding so normal she had to blink and wonder if she’d misread that look.

She shifted so her thigh rubbed against his, her hip brushing the front of his slacks. Heat exploded in her belly, sending awareness through her body.

He might sound indifferent, but he was rock hard.

So she could listen to his tone, or something else.

The choice was a no-brainer.

“I didn’t make the dress, no. If I had, I’d have made sure it was a little more secure,” she said, shrugging one shoulder so the strap slipped just a little. “It’s heavy and it’s so loose on top that I’m sure one wrong move and the whole thing will end up on the floor.”

Or one right move.

Phillip looked as though she’d smacked him upside the head. His eyes went dark and his breath caught as the image took hold.

Frankie pressed her tongue against her upper lip, enjoying his reaction.

“So now you know about me. Tell me about you and then we won’t be strangers anymore.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“No? I must have misunderstood,” she teased, not wanting to give away why she really knew so much about him. Tell a guy you knew he wore boxers and size-thirteen boots and liked his waffles with chopped bananas and he’d be bound to get crazy ideas and call her a stalker. “So you’re not a SEAL? You have no stories about growing up with Lara? You don’t have any hobbies or interests?”

His lips quirked.

“I am a SEAL, and what I do tends to be classified. If I told stories about Lara, she’d likely tell some about me. I don’t remember any embarrassing ones, but I’m sure she can. And no, I don’t have any hobbies.”

His hands shifted from her waist to cup her hips, his fingers brushing the top curve of her butt.

“And interests?” Frankie asked, her words just above a whisper.

“Right now my only interest is you,” he confessed quietly, his body moving against hers in time with the melody coming from the outdoor speakers.

“See, this kind of trouble, it’s good,” she told him, surprised she could even form words. Her heart was racing, her pulse dancing way too fast for the music. Her stomach was knotted, but she was too overwhelmed to tell if it was nerves or excitement.

“You think so?” he asked as his lips brushed over hers. Soft, so gentle that she almost whimpered at the sweetness. And almost groaned when he pulled away.

Oh, yeah. He was worth the trouble. Her breath a little shaky, Frankie leaned back to stare at Phillip, trying to gauge his thoughts. Or, more important, his decision on whether she was worth the trouble.

“Wanna leave?” She figured she’d better do the asking, since she knew he wouldn’t.

Good guys, proper guys like Phillip, they didn’t suggest one-night stands with women they thought were strangers. She’d wondered if his years in the Navy had changed that. She was glad it hadn’t, but man, it would’ve been so much easier if he just grabbed her and dragged her away.

Since he wouldn’t, she decided she would.

“Come on,” she insisted, ignoring the chill as she stepped out of his arms and grabbed his hand. She turned toward the elevator, but her feet were frozen to the floor.

“Frankie...”

If she hesitated, he’d say goodbye. He’d go back inside, say goodbye and that would be it. She wet her lips, tasting him.

She wanted him even more now than she’d ever dreamed she could. But nowhere in her imagination had she fantasized about dragging him off to sexual nirvana. It was a little unnerving. But not once in any of her fantasies had she chickened out.

So...

“Come on,” she said again, tugging his hand. She stopped to grab their glasses and what was left of the champagne, then tilted her head toward the elevator.

“Let’s see how exciting trouble can be,” she suggested.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Phillip murmured, looking back at the party as though he might actually consider joining the conga line to escape.

“Why?” Frankie asked, coming around to face him, so close the metal disks of her dress were probably leaving an imprint on both of their bodies.

“I’m not a relationship kind of guy,” he warned huskily, his gaze locked on his fingers as they trailed down her cheek, over her chin and along her throat.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” she told him quietly, taking his hand in hers and pressing it against the curve of her breast above her dress.

No. She didn’t want the prince forever.

She just wanted him for one hot night.

* * *

PHILLIP RACKED HIS BRAIN, wondering where the hell logic, caution and good sense had gone. Because, like Elvis, they had clearly left the building.

For once, though, he didn’t care.

For the first time in months, he felt alive.

Loosed from the vicious grip of memories, his body celebrated its freedom by reminding him of all the reasons it felt great to be a man. Most of them below the belt and all of them quite happy to follow Frankie into that elevator.

So why was he hesitating?

He glanced at the party in the penthouse again, and closed his eyes. That was why. Family expectations, polite behavior and orders all demanded that he go back in there.

All his life, he’d met expectations, behaved appropriately and complied with demands before they were issued. He lived for orders, had been groomed to issue them. His entire life was a lesson in discipline.

And he was so damned tired of it.

He looked at Frankie, watching the way the neon from the Vegas night sky played over her hair. Her eyes were like midnight, dancing with the same delight that played out over her full lips. She was sexy, so temptingly sexy.

It wasn’t that he went through life ignoring temptation; he’d simply trained himself not to see it. But there was no denying that he saw her, in all her tempting glory. His gaze shifted from Frankie’s face, drifting down her body. Curves that even a dress of mirrors couldn’t detract from. And those legs. Phillip’s eyes shifted to take in their long, golden length. Would they feel as silky as they looked? She was on the short side, but her legs were so long. Long enough, he’d bet, to wrap around his waist.

Want hit him hard, hotter and faster than he’d ever felt before. Lust was the only word for it. Desire was too tame, passion too soft. This was edgy, needy, demanding.

Way too much for that simple kiss they’d shared.

Because his profession—and his personality—demanded accuracy, he needed to find out.

Was it really lust?

Or was it all in his head?

His gaze locked on hers, Phillip stepped closer. Her dress jingled and her lips parted. He took her mouth. This kiss was soft, too. A brush of the lips, sweet and tasting of champagne. He shifted the angle, his tongue sliding along the seam of her mouth.

It was as if he’d flipped a switch.

Hers, his, he had no idea.

But the kiss went wild.

She nipped at his bottom lip.

His tongue demanded entrance, thrusting, swirling, taking. Giving. Tiny explosions, a minefield of emotional bombs, burst inside him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.