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Christmas with a SEAL
Tawny Weber


Subject: Navy SEAL Lieutenant Phillip BanksMission: Resist one saucy redhead's attempts to de-Scrooge him…and seduce him!Silversmith Frankie Silvera has lost her creative mojo. And she knows how to get it back–by getting her sexy on with a certain hot sailor. Just the thought of Phillip's hard, Navy-trained body against her, and everything goes molten. He's the "inspiration" Frankie needs for the holidays!Navy SEAL Phillip Banks is the prince of protocol. But after his last mission went horribly off-course, all of that control has dissipated. Now he's at the mercy of one very determined female who is pulling out all the stops on Operation Christmas–including red-hot lingerie and the promise of oh-so-wicked delights… But does giving in mean giving up everything he's worked for?







Subject: Navy SEAL Lieutenant Phillip Banks

Mission: Resist one saucy redhead’s attempts to de-Scrooge him…and seduce him!

Silversmith Frankie Silvera has lost her creative mojo. And she knows how to get it back—by getting her sexy on with a certain hot sailor. Just the thought of Phillip’s hard, Navy-trained body against her, and everything goes molten. He’s the “inspiration” Frankie needs for the holidays!

Navy SEAL Phillip Banks is the prince of protocol. But after his last mission went horribly off-course, all of that control has dissipated. Now he’s at the mercy of one very determined female who is pulling out all the stops on Operation Christmas—including red-hot lingerie and the promise of oh-so-wicked delights… But does giving in mean giving up everything he’s worked for?


“It’s time for action now…”

Oh, boy.

“Would you like a drink?” Phillip asked. He tucked his fingers under the bodice of Frankie’s dress, just there where the neckline angled from her shoulder to her breasts.

“I’m not very thirsty,” she whispered.

Frankie’s breath caught, her stomach tightening as heat coiled, hot and needy. She didn’t know her moves here. Before, she’d just gone with the fantasy. But tonight?

This wasn’t a fantasy, this was real.

Phillip hooked a finger in her dress, his knuckle sinking into her cleavage. His eyes locked on hers as he used it to pull her closer.

His lips were so close.

Then he brushed those lips over hers. Soft. So soft.

His tongue slid along the seam of her mouth, teasing one corner and then the other.

Delicious. So delicious.

His hands were warm on her back, his body hard against hers.

He leaned back, enough to look into her eyes. He must have liked what he saw there, because he nodded.

“Upstairs.”

His quiet words weren’t a question. She wasn’t even sure they were a suggestion. To her body, they were a command.

One she couldn’t refuse.…


Dear Reader (#ulink_744a49f4-908d-5221-8b6a-6a730d0ab81a),

Don’t you love the holidays? I do! I’m a total glutton for the season, everything from decorating to crafts to food… Oh, the food! To me, there is something magical about the season and I’m always excited to dive right in.

But Lieutenant Phillip Banks, my hero in Christmas with a SEAL, doesn’t have that same love of the holidays. It’s not that he hates them—he’s simply indifferent. Enter Frankie Silvera, who is bound and determined to show Phillip the joy of the season and fill his heart with Merry. It made for a very interesting holiday for both of them, I think.

I hope you have a fun time with Christmas with a SEAL. Don’t forget to check out my other Uniformly Hot! SEAL stories. You can see them all at www.tawnyweber.com/sexy-seals (http://www.tawnyweber.com/sexy-seals). I hope, too, that you have a fabulous holiday, filled with warm wishes, joyful memories and lots of great food!

Hugs,

Tawny Weber


Christmas with a SEAL

Tawny Weber






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_7fc07faa-d763-5284-bc54-c59a8619b813)

A New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over thirty hot books, TAWNY WEBER has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Mills & Boon Blaze book was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.

Readers can check out Tawny’s books at her website, www.tawnyweber.com (http://www.tawnyweber.com), or join her Red Hot Readers Club for goodies like free reads, complete first chapter excerpts, recipes, insider story info and much more. Look for her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor (http://www.facebook.com/tawnyweber.romanceauthor).


Big hugs to Helen Sibbrit and Kristin Betthauser

for a great title!

Thanks, sweethearts.


Contents

Cover (#u0f160e55-9002-578c-98cb-176738bdf264)

Back Cover Text (#u7be83fae-d423-5b00-9f44-27b2878c9b20)

Introduction (#u412d7f24-a5d9-54f2-bc56-6969ca56ba2d)

Dear Reader (#u6a901b63-03e7-5ca7-9c59-ca4df47fee7f)

Title Page (#ud7409aea-f28a-5a3e-91d2-eaccf451c867)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#uaea5e496-dab5-5576-b6dc-07a70b39f0d4)

Dedication (#u97feaaeb-e45c-5207-acc0-d39b9477f163)

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Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


1 (#ulink_15e7f964-f3aa-55a8-b3b2-bfda8abba355)

IF SHE HAD a fairy godmother, Frankie Silvera would be sending her a big ol’ thank-you bouquet for giving her the perfect opportunity to make some of her naughtiest dreams come true.

Or maybe it was her creative muse.

This was the kind of place that definitely inspired creativity. The Las Vegas penthouse was a kaleidoscope of sensations. Neon lights glinted off sparkling chandeliers, sending colorful sparkles over the crowd of partyers. Dressed in everything from sequins to plastic, denim to silk, bodies filled the room, covering the leather couches, perched on chrome stools around the horseshoe bar and flowing onto the dance floor.

Accentuating it all were intense music, free-flowing booze and men. So, so many men.

And, oh, baby, they were gorgeous.

It wasn’t just knowing that most of these muscular, sexy men were Navy SEALs that made Frankie’s insides dance. It was knowing that somewhere among them was her dream hottie and the answer to all of her problems.

She just had to find him.

“Frankie!”

Frankie had barely turned around before a pair of arms engulfed her.

“Lara, this is so fabulous.” Frankie leaned back to take a good look at the other woman. “Not as fabulous as you, though. Wow, you look great.”

Not a lie. Lara Banks had always been gorgeous. Tall and exotic with big green eyes and a body that made men drool. But today, she actually glowed. Her white satin dress was short and sassy, her auburn hair cut at a wicked angle and her Jimmy Choos put her a couple inches over six foot.

“You look good, too. Thank you for being here,” Lara said, as if she really meant it.

Not that Frankie would blame her for just being polite. Despite having practically grown up in Lara’s backyard, it wasn’t as if the two women had been close. Lara’s parents had been high-society snobs with very specific ideas of whom their children could associate with, and the granddaughter of their housekeeper wasn’t on their list. Not that that would have mattered to Lara. But Lara had been totally absorbed in dance, running away at seventeen to dance on Broadway.

It wasn’t until a few months back, when Lara paid her first visit to her family’s estate in eight years, that the two women had gotten past that awkward “I know you but don’t remember much more” stage.

“Thanks for inviting me to the wedding,” Frankie said. “I have to say, when you do things, you definitely do them your way. This is amazing.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Lara murmured, pulling Frankie close for another hug.

“Sure, you would. I just got you drunk and let you talk,” Frankie said with a laugh. All it’d taken was a bottle of Patron and a tray of Nana’s brownies to finally break through Lara’s defensive shell.

Frankie envied the woman, blown away by how much in love she was with her SEAL. She liked to think she’d be able to pull that off someday. True love, happily ever after, lifelong sex. Maybe in a few years, after she’d reestablished her business, rebuilt her credit and lost five pounds.

Maybe.

“You were wonderful. A friend when I needed one.” Lara squeezed Frankie’s arms before stepping back and fingering her necklace. “And thank you for the early gift. It’s my something new, but I’ll be wearing it all the time.”

Frankie tilted her head and tried to smile. A couple of years ago, she’d been celebrated in various circles, written up in magazines and on her way to building a stellar reputation as a gifted silversmith who specialized in quirky elegance. People had been lining up for her jewelry, and she’d been doing great. She’d had a fat contract from two national jewelers and more orders than she could handle. She’d invested in new equipment and leased a studio so she wasn’t working out of her apartment. She’d even treated herself to a hot-off-the-showroom-floor Mini Cooper S convertible.

She’d had the dream. Then she’d blown it.

Nine months ago, she’d gotten the dreaded block.

All of her creative juices had dried up. Everything she made turned out hideous. She’d lost clients, she’d lost contracts, she’d lost her lease.

Six months ago she’d moved in with her grandmother.

Now she was making quirky customized Christmas ornaments to pay the bills. She’d told everyone she was exploring a new phase of art, when in reality all she wanted was what she’d had before.

She eyed the necklace, seriously proud of how it had turned out. With its edgy geometric shapes of copper, silver and bronze, it was perfect for Lara. Apparently she could only create great jewelry if she wasn’t getting paid for it.

“Three of my dancer friends asked me if you’d be here,” Lara said with a grin. “They all want you to design special pieces for them, too.”

“I’m not doing jewelry anymore,” Frankie demurred, trying not to sound bitter. For a while she’d hoped that her creativity would be like a feral cat, and if she pretended she wasn’t interested it’d sneak up behind her.

It hadn’t worked.

But Frankie was sure her plan tonight would.

“I told the girls you’d say that, but they’re stubborn. Be prepared to fend off requests.” Lara glanced around, then gave Frankie a wicked grin. “And not just for jewelry. You’re catching a lot of looks, girly.”

Frankie offered her trademark mischievous smile and twisted one red curl around her finger. She didn’t need to look around to confirm that. A girl always knew when guys were checking out her ass.

“See anything you like?” Lara asked.

A room full of sexy guys with smoking-hot bodies?

What wasn’t to like?

They were enticing as hell, but if she was going to get wild, she only wanted one guy.

“I’m here to celebrate,” Frankie said dismissively. “Not to hook up.”

“You’re in Las Vegas, Frankie. Go wild. Have fun.” Lara laughed. “Don’t forget, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Tempting, but I’m not the wild Vegas type,” Frankie told her, keeping her secret dream just that—secret. After all, she and Lara might have practically grown up together, but they weren’t close enough for Frankie to share her hope of finding a guy she’d only seen a handful of times over the past ten years and seducing him.

Especially not when the guy was Lara’s brother.

“You are so the wild type,” Lara claimed, grabbing two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray.

“Me? Wild?” Frankie pressed her hand to her chest and laughed before taking one of the glasses with a nod of thanks.

“Wasn’t it you who was caught skinny-dipping in the high school swimming pool?” Lara sipped her bubbly and arched her brow. “You used to have blue hair and go to raves, right?”

“I just went for the dancing. And the blue seriously clashed with my freckles.” Frankie grimaced. “But that’s not wild. It just proves that I had questionable taste in hairstyles.”

“Okay,” Lara murmured. “So it wasn’t you who constructed a metal elephant in the principal’s office your senior year, led a protest against school lunches in sixth grade and had a childhood reputation for streaking.”

Frankie pressed her lips together to hold back her giggle.

“Well, that streaking does show a wild side,” she acknowledged. “Of course, I was three at the time.”

She looked around the room, wondering if she could still pull it off. Granted, she wasn’t three anymore, but she still had dimples on her butt. That had to be worth something.

“You work way too hard,” Lara said, rubbing her hand over Frankie’s shoulder. “Give yourself a break. Give yourself this weekend.”

Frankie shook her head, forcing her smile to stay bright despite the tension spiking through her system. She’d spent the past six months feeling as if she were drowning and one day short of six months pretending she wasn’t. So any acknowledgment of working too hard would ruin all of her well-developed pretending.

But the invitation to take the weekend?

That she’d be happy to take.

“Lara!”

Both women turned toward the makeshift stage at one end of the penthouse to see a gorgeous guy gesturing.

“Looks like Dominic wants to dance,” Frankie said.

“You wanna come dance with us?” Lara offered, her eyes not leaving her man.

“You go,” Frankie said. “Have fun.”

“Stick around for cake,” Lara said, not needing to be told twice. In a blink, the other woman was halfway across the room, making Frankie laugh.

Finishing her champagne, Frankie watched the happy couple get down and bust some impressive moves. She wanted that.

Not just someone to dance with, although a guy who could match her moves would be sweet.

What did it feel like to be in that kind of relationship? One where two people could block out a huge room full of partying people simply by looking into each other’s eyes?

Frankie watched Dominic pull Lara into his arms, their bodies keeping perfect rhythm even as he lifted her hand to his lips to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

Sigh.

It was pure romance.

And not why she was here, Frankie reminded herself.

She wasn’t looking for romance or forever after, like Lara had been.

She was looking for a very specific guy. The one she’d had a giant crush on as a preteen, the one who’d inspired all of her teenage fantasies and quite a few of her sexier adult ones.

The one who—she was positive—would turn everything around, if she could get him. Unlock her creativity and, with it, her confidence. Because lying to herself was only going to keep working for so long.

Accepting a second glass of liquid courage that tasted like champagne, she decided it was time to get to work on making this the best weekend of her life.

Not an easy task. She gave a soundless whistle, looking around. There were at least two hundred people here. Figuring it was a gift that all the guys were hot and sexy and made searching fun, she moved through the bodies to cross the room.

Whoa. Frankie narrowed her eyes, her heart picking up an extra beat and excitement dancing in her stomach.

Was that him?

She shifted to the right, trying to see around the crush of dancing bodies to the booths at the far end of the penthouse.

Oh...

Sitting alone in a booth and looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else but in that room, her dream guy was nursing a drink. His mahogany hair was shorn with military precision. A navy blue sweater covered his broad shoulders, emphasizing his perfect posture and, from what she could see, a gorgeous chest.

Phillip Banks.

He was even better looking now.

She didn’t think they’d exchanged more than ten words her entire life. But she’d watched him. As a kid, because he looked like the heroes she read about in school. As a teen, because he looked like one of the actors on her favorite TV show. And as an adult, because he looked like a hottie who’d burn up the sheets. Most of her watching had been from afar whenever he visited his parents’ house in Maryland.

But now, here he was. Up close and about to get personal.

And, oh, my, was he hot.

Nerves danced in her stomach. It was one thing to dream about seducing her fantasy guy. She’d spent untold hours playing out the scenarios. She credited her artistic mind for the diverse variety of those scenarios, everything from Phillip staring at her blankly or laughing in her face to him looking at her with a combination of intrigue and desire in his eyes to—every once in a while, if she’d had an extra glass of wine—his confessing that he’d been lusting after her for years.

She knew that scenario was far-fetched given that the last time he’d seen her she had been fifteen and going through the bohemian stage of her search for her personal art style. She’d spent months wearing burlap, shunning shampoo and was usually covered in burns from the soldering iron she used to make her avant-garde metal sculptures.

But hey, maybe she’d get lucky.

In one form or another.

Frankie bounced across the floor in her beribboned Lucite heels, wondering if this was how Cinderella had felt when she’d spotted the prince at the ball.

Half delighted, half terrified.

And totally turned on.

* * *

STRIPPERS, BODY SHOTS, flashing lights and wild dancing.

Las Vegas at its finest.

Otherwise known as one of Lieutenant Phillip Banks’s many versions of hell. Right up there with email spam, traffic jams and drug kingpins with a taste for exotic torture.

A man who believed in discipline, he made a point to do everything in his power to avoid the first two and take down the latter.

Especially the latter.

Phillip stared at his drink, slowly twisting the glass this way, then that, while memories of his time as Valdero’s unwilling guest flashed through his mind.

After he’d been captured on a mission gone wrong, it had taken his team three days to effect a rescue. In those three days, Phillip had experienced new levels of pain, discovered rage and reevaluated his beliefs about revenge.

For most of his life, his goal had been to be the best. To excel in all things—school, the military and the SEALs.

Now?

Now all he wanted was revenge on that sadistic son of a bitch, Valdero. And he planned to get it. He had the operation mapped out, he had a good idea who had sold out the team and he was ready to lead the mission to take Valdero down.

Phillip gulped his scotch with a grimace.

Hell, he’d even gone above and beyond the mandatory psych evaluation to ensure—and prove to those in command—that he was mentally capable of handling it.

He was ready.

Unfortunately, he was also in Las Vegas.

Frowning, Phillip looked around. He’d rather be in Coronado, studying strategy and perfecting his plan.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t think twice about doing an about-face and making for the nearest exit.

But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.

This, God help him, was his sister’s wedding.

A headache throbbing behind his left eye, he leaned his head against the back of the booth, watching the dancers wriggling all over the modified stage. He cringed when the leggy brunette in the middle did a wicked bump and grind.

“Helluva party,” someone said, forcing Phillip to quit glaring at his dancing sister.

When he saw who was speaking, he automatically came to attention.

“Sir?”

“The party, it’s the wildest wedding I’ve ever attended.” Lieutenant Commander Blake Landon winced as the groom got up on stage, too, showing an impressive bump and grind of his own. “Although I’m pretty sure I didn’t need to see that.”

Wondering where he could get his eyeballs sandblasted, Phillip could only grunt his agreement.

“You’re not celebrating?” Landon asked, dropping into the chair opposite Phillip so his back was turned toward the stage. Phillip would have preferred that spot if not for his policy to always sit with his back against a wall.

“I’m sure Lara considers my being here celebration enough,” Phillip responded, figuring that and an appropriate wedding gift were really all anyone could ask of him.

“That was a good thing you did, giving the bride away.”

Swirling the ice melting in his second scotch that night, Phillip could only shrug. A year ago—hell, six months ago—he’d been in what he considered peak form for a military officer. He’d trained hard, he was at the top of his game physically and mentally and he’d been completely unencumbered. He’d had no family to answer to, and his relationships with his fellow SEALs had been distant enough for him to do his job without any emotional baggage. And he’d been absolutely positive that he was on the right track.

And now?

He was reluctantly attending a tacky Las Vegas wedding with half of the SEAL platoon, his entire team and a sister he’d spent most of his life comfortably estranged from. And his right track? That had taken a sharp turn left.

“Sir?” he said, leaning forward, knowing his words would be easily drowned out by the loud music if anyone else were listening. “Any word on Candy Man?”

Landon’s easy look faded at the mention of Valdero’s code name. His eyes went military hard and his demeanor shifted automatically.

“This isn’t the time or the place,” Landon said. “And you haven’t been cleared for the mission. So until we’re back on base, why don’t you relax and enjoy your sister’s happiness?”

Phillip clenched his teeth to keep his argument at bay, baffled at the unfamiliar fury surging through him. Apparently the extra therapy he’d gotten after the clear psych evaluation hadn’t helped much. Before, he’d never gotten angry, never questioned orders. Yet here he was, ready to leap across the table, grab a superior officer and demand that he be allowed revenge.

Phillip tossed back the last of his scotch, wishing the alcohol would dull the hold those strange emotions had over him. He’d been called uptight most of his life, and he’d embraced that label. Reckless emotions were something he’d never indulged in.

Landon glanced over his shoulder, where the bride and groom were now slow dancing, in spite of the heavy bass ricocheting off the walls. “Give yourself a pat on the back for your part in bringing them together.”

“That’s all on them,” Phillip said, wincing as the groom’s hands slipped down to cup the bride’s ass.

“Blake?”

Both men looked over and smiled. Phillip donned the polite society smile he’d been trained from birth to offer. Landon’s smile was much sappier, the kind that said the guy was seriously crazy over his wife.

“Dance?” Alexia Landon asked, trailing her fingers over her husband’s shoulder.

Landon nodded, and then gave Phillip a long look.

“Whether you want credit or not, from what I hear, the bride and groom are giving it to you,” he told Phillip as he got to his feet. With that and a grin, he followed the leggy redhead onto the dance floor.

“Don’t forget you have to stay until they cut the cake,” the lieutenant commander threw over his shoulder.

Seriously?

Phillip eyed the clearly-not-ready-for-cake couple dancing on the stage, looked at his watch and raised his hand.

“Bartender?”

Thirty minutes and one scotch on the rocks over his two-drink limit later, his headache had spread to both eyes and was eking its way down the back of his neck. As he did with anything that didn’t suit him, Phillip ignored it.

All he had to do was focus on his goal and push everything else from his mind. In this case, his goal was to get out of here. Less than a minute later, as he was plotting his escape, a woman dropped onto the banquette next to him.

Phillip blinked. Not in surprise, but in defense of his corneas. Was her dress made of mirrors? He squinted, realizing the tiny round tiles glittering their way over her curves were metal, not glass.

Did everything glitter in Las Vegas?

“Wow, this is wild,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face to cool off. “Can you believe this place? I’ve never been in a penthouse before. Talk about doing it right.”

She glanced over his shoulder as she said the words, her gaze taking in the neon landscape. Then, with a soft whistle, she gave him a wide-eyed look as if to say, Wow. Then she shifted, narrowing her gaze to focus on his face.

“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 (#ulink_c0761bd2-74f4-5a1c-9002-cf07c6499990)

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.

He could only feel, taste. 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 (#ulink_93036527-629a-5265-9668-ab2b484373f9)

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 got easier the closer Phillip came. His green eyes were hot, his look intent as it roamed her body. Figuring tit deserved tat, her gaze shifted. Oh, baby, his shoulders were so deliciously broad. He didn’t have a bodybuilder’s physique; he was too slender for that. But his sculpted muscles were a testament to the physical demands of his career. His skin was pale gold, his chiseled chest covered with a dusting of dark hair.

Frankie’s fingers itched to touch it, to know if it was silky or crisp. She wanted to slide her hands over those arms and see if her hands could even fit around those impressive biceps. Her eyes drifted lower, following the trail of hair to his slender waist and, dammit, his slacks.

She wanted him naked. She wanted to see if the rest of him was as delicious as what she’d seen so far.

She raised her gaze to his face, ready to demand that he drop his drawers and put them on equal footing—nudity-wise.

But then she saw the look in his eyes.

He looked fascinated. As if she were the answer to something, something he desperately needed. Her breath caught, her heart clenching at whatever was beneath that look. Then he met her gaze.

“You’re like something out of a dream,” he murmured. He reached out, just one finger, and skimmed it over the curve of her breast.

Frankie barely kept from whimpering. She was pretty sure melting into an orgasmic puddle at the first touch would blow her sophisticated facade. Besides, she wanted more.

So much more.

Whisper soft, his finger traced a circle around her nipple.

Desire, sharp and needy, blasted through her, exploding in all the right places. She curled her toes to try to keep from falling out of her shoes.

Her breath came out in a surprised “Oh.”

How could such a simple touch feel so good in so many places? Her knees trembled, and she squeezed her thighs together to intensify the pleasure building in her core. She wet her lips. She’d planned to tell him what she liked, how she liked it. But she had a feeling that he’d find so many new ways to pleasure her, ones she’d never even imagined.

As if reading her thoughts and ready to prove her right, Phillip flicked his thumb over her nipple. Then, before she could even murmur her approval, he pinched it between two fingers, still rubbing with his thumb.

Desire spiraled in a tight coil, filling her core with wet heat. Excitement built as sensations bombarded her. His thumb was rough, his palm warm. Color exploded against her closed eyelids, the miniorgasm rocking her body.

She shuddered with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

She needed more.

Her hands raced over his body. He was so hard, so deliciously hard. Done waiting, she skimmed her hands over his rock-hard abs, delighting for only a second before grappling with his belt buckle and ripping at his slacks. They had to go. She had to feel him.

“Hurry,” she demanded, shoving his pants off his hips. She felt him kick them away, but didn’t have time to do more than suck in a breath before he had her against the wall. His hands gripped hers, pulling her arms over her head. His mouth raced over her throat, down her chest. When he sucked her nipple between his teeth, Frankie bucked against him.

Her fingernails dug into her palms as she strained against his grip, wanting to touch, needing to give him the same pleasure he was offering her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s crazy,” he muttered, pulling away. Thankfully not too far, though. Just enough for Frankie to see his face.

Her breath knotted in her chest. She tried to swallow, but it took her three attempts before air hit her lungs.

It wasn’t the idea that he would call it quits before they finished what they had started that made her want to cry. It was the look in his eyes.

There was so much pain in those green depths, and it was buried so deep that she wondered if he even acknowledged it. It tore at her heart, making her want to pull him close and soothe him. To offer her shoulder, to find a way to heal him.

But she knew he wouldn’t accept it.

Her goal tonight had been to heal her broken imagination. To use her fantasy as a key to reopen her creative doors.

Now all she wanted was to make Phillip feel better than good. She wanted him to feel incredible. So incredible that he forgot those secrets tearing at his soul. So incredible that he found peace.

So incredible that he never forgot her.

“Why is it crazy to feel good?” she asked, finally responding to his comment.

She saw the response in his eyes before he said a word. That rigid control of his was shoving aside the passion, replacing it with logic. Talk about crazy.

Frankie pressed her finger against his lips before he could voice his thoughts. She shook her head, giving him her sexiest look.

“You do make me feel good, Phillip. So good. The way you touch me, it’s getting me excited. Thinking about what’s coming next, it’s making me so hot.” She rubbed her finger over his bottom lip, her eyes locked on his as she stretched to brush a kiss over that lip. She arched her brow, then without warning, gave him a gentle nip.

He hissed. His fingers tensed on her hips, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push away from her or pull her closer.

She figured it was the least she could do to help him figure it out.

She moved her hand down so both palms were on his chest, circling, caressing.

“You want me,” she told him, sliding one hand lower to cup the hard length of him pressing against her thigh. “You can have me. All you have to do is let go. Quit worrying. Quit thinking. Just feel.”

Brows furrowed, he looked as if he didn’t understand. Had he never let go? Never let himself be free?

Suddenly desperate to give him that, Frankie ran her tongue over his lip. When his eyes glazed, she gave his lip another little nip, then sucked it into her mouth and soothed the flesh with her tongue. At the same time, she curved her fingers around his erection, squeezing gently as she rubbed her thumb over the velvety tip.

He growled, shifting so their bodies were pressed together, her hand trapped between them.

One hand tunneled into her hair, tilting her head, his tongue sweeping past hers to take over the kiss. Even as his mouth sent her reeling with desire, she was blown away by his tenderness.

His other hand swept down, his fingers skimming over her skin so softly that she shivered. He cupped her breast, gently weighing its fullness while teasing the tip. Heat curled tighter, wet and needy between her thighs.

Frankie wrapped her leg around his, curling her foot behind his thigh to pull him closer, to press her aching core against his heat.

Suddenly, before she even realized he’d moved, Phillip was kissing his way down her body. His hand still cupping her breast, he sucked one nipple into his mouth. Frankie gasped as pleasure shot through her body.

Then she stiffened, every one of her senses going on full alert as his fingers slipped along the elastic of her panties. She could still feel everything else he was doing, and it was all making her crazy with desire. But it was all going on in the background, while center stage was his hand, her panties and what came next.

She was pretty sure that it would be her.

His finger slipped under the silky fabric.

She held her breath.

Ever so gently, he touched her swollen bud.

Frankie gasped. Need coiled tighter within her.

She was so close, the edge of delight within reach. She could feel it, the key to everything she wanted, dancing there on the tip of his fingers.

But she couldn’t go over, couldn’t let herself. Not until she knew he was right there with her, free from those demons she’d seen in his eyes.

“Are you letting go?” she asked, her words coming in pants. “Are you feeling, just feeling?”

“I feel you,” he said, the words themselves as exciting as the feel of his mouth brushing over her nipple as he said them. “I promise the only thing in my mind right now is you. How you feel. How you taste. How much I want you.”

Frankie whimpered, not knowing how she managed to hold back the orgasm those words inspired.

“I want you to want me so much you can’t think at all,” she said, shifting the hand trapped between them so she could touch him again. As if anticipating her move, he shifted.

Sliding his body down hers, every delicious inch of him skimming her body on his way down, he dropped to his knees at her feet. His hand still worked her breast, even as he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder.

Frankie’s breath hitched as she anchored her shoulders against the wall, watching in fascination as Phillip pressed tiny kisses along her inner thigh. Each one a little higher than the other until he reached her throbbing core.

She wanted to watch. She needed the visuals for future fantasies. But the sensations were too overpowering.

Her eyes closed as his tongue swept along her bud, sipping, then sucking.

His fingers, one, two, slipped inside.

Moving.

Swirling.

Plunging.

“Go,” he demanded.

The command, the vibrations of his words against her flesh, the feel of his breath.

She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stop herself.

She flew over the edge.

Oh, wow.

Colors and shapes exploded behind her closed eyes, her head falling back against the wall. The climax pulsed through her in waves of pleasure. Her heart pounded so loudly, she could barely hear her labored breathing.

Wow.

When he let go, he really let go.

* * *

SHE TASTED LIKE AMBROSIA.

Healing, delicious nectar.

Phillip’s head swam with the power of their passion. He’d never felt this before. Never wanted to. The idea that one person could take over every sensation in his body, could command his complete attention?

He’d have said it was impossible.

But as Frankie trembled, her cries of delight filling his ears, Phillip had to admit, he’d been wrong.

“In me,” she panted. “I want you inside me.”

“Can’t.” His words were a grunt, his fingers gripping the soft flesh of her butt, his lips pressed to her silken belly as he breathed in her scent and grappled for control. “No condom.”

“Shoe.”

“I beg your pardon?” Phillip frowned, opening one eye to peer up at her to see if she’d bumped her head in all the excitement.

“My shoe,” she repeated. She didn’t look impaired, unless absolutely satisfied counted.

Phillip would have preened a little at the look on her face, but he was too confused.

“You want me to use your shoe?”

Frankie’s laugh was breathless and light, her hand curving over his cheek before sliding it through his hair in a way that was both exciting and comforting at the same time.

“They are sexy shoes,” she acknowledged. “And they have a tiny pocket under the ribbons.”

If he’d been fascinated by her before, he was now in complete awe.

His fingers skimming down the gentle curve of her calf, he curled his palm over her ankle for a moment before skimming his fingers lower to find the pocket.

“You have a condom in your shoe?” His laugh was a puff of warm air against her belly.

“Another in the other shoe,” she told him, finally lifting her head to offer a sassy smile. “Shall we put them to good use?”

Having been raised a gentleman, Phillip knew it’d be churlish to disappoint a lady. Especially one standing over him in all her naked glory.

In thirty seconds flat, he had her condomless shoes off, and her naked body on the floor beneath his. A part of him demanded that he slow down, carry her to the bed.

But he couldn’t wait that long.

“Now,” she demanded, in perfect sync.

“Now,” he agreed, sheathing himself.

Oh, God. Phillip thrust into Frankie’s welcoming heat. It felt like coming home, to a home he’d never known. A delicious home. A hot, wet home.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her heels pressed tight against the small of his back.

She met every thrust with a small cry.

She was on the edge.

Phillip wanted her to go over.

This time, he needed to watch her go over.

As if reading his thoughts, Frankie pressed both hands against his chest, forcing him to pause.

“Feel,” she demanded breathlessly.

She wet her lips, her eyes locked on his. Passion glazed her face, but her focus on him was laser sharp.

“Let go and feel,” she said again, her words tight.

What else could he do?

His body was bombarded with sensations. Every nerve was awake and focused on one thing: satisfaction.

Their eyes locked, Phillip slid into her again.

And out.

Feelings, those damned emotions he’d always hated, washed over him as if her words had called them up.

To avoid them, he focused on his body.

On the sensations.

He slipped his hand between them, flicking that tiny bud between her thighs.

Frankie exploded.

Her body gripped his, her cries sending him crashing over himself.

Holy hell.

His mind too blown to be of any use, he tried to take stock of his body. The orgasm had been so intense even his toes were tingling. His heart was still pounding, pulse racing. The echo of Frankie’s cries rang in his ears. He’d never felt anything like that before.

The desperate need clawing at him for more could be a potential issue, but he told himself he had enough command still to keep it under control.

Didn’t he?

Breathless, numb, he shifted to take his weight off her, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Not yet,” she murmured faintly. “Stay for just a little longer.”

Stay.

The temptation was overpowering.

For a second, Phillip relaxed against her again, the bulk of his weight on his elbows. Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and tried to take it all in.

But he couldn’t find any parameters for what he was feeling that would make sense.

He’d fought in the war. He’d served in combat, parachuted from planes, faced crazed terrorists and been held captive by a sadistic son of a bitch with a needle fetish.

But he’d never been scared.

The thought of staying, though? Of wanting someone enough to believe in possibilities? Of caring about something other than his career?

That filled him with terror.

All of a sudden, he felt as if the walls had slammed in around him, trapping him in the dark.

He had to get the hell out of there.

Phillip pulled away, a little slower this time. He saw Frankie pout but didn’t stop. He got to his feet, frowning when his head did a fast spin. Too much alcohol, not enough food and intense physical exertion, he assessed.

That was why he was thinking crazy thoughts, he realized. Relief washed away the unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of fear.

It wasn’t some mythical emotion.

He was just slightly impaired.

Nothing to worry about.

And since it wasn’t...

His gaze roamed Frankie’s body as she lay there, one arm thrown over her eyes and a very big, very satisfied smile on her face.

His ego swelled a little knowing he’d 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 (#ulink_c8afe7d0-835a-5753-bc49-da595b35bef4)

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

His head throbbed, nausea churned in his gut and his eyes felt as if someone had sandblasted them before adding a coating of gasoline.

Holy crap, was this what a hangover felt like?

Phillip pressed the tips of his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping if he pushed hard enough the burning would fade. Or maybe his eyeballs would just pop on out. Whatever worked.

The pounding didn’t stop.

It wasn’t until he groaned that he realized it wasn’t inside his head.

The door. Someone was knocking.

He peeled his eyelid open, sure he could hear a layer tearing off his eyeball, and squinted.

Hotel room?

Damn.

Las Vegas. Lara’s wedding. Horrible dancing, noise and...

He flew from the bed, dragging the sheet with him.

“Frankie?” he asked, yanking the door open.

“Sir?”

Phillip squinted, his teeth clenched against the pain. Instead of a cute redhead with sexy freckles, a dark cloud stood in his doorway.

“Lane?” he muttered, pressing his fingers against his lids.

Shit.

Why was the petty officer here? They were still off duty, weren’t they? Hadn’t it only been one night? And if he was at the door, where had Frankie gone? Phillip turned back to the room, searching for her.

“We were all meeting for breakfast before heading for the airport,” Lane reminded him. “You missed breakfast so I came to see if you’d changed your plans.”

Breakfast?

Phillip squinted across the room, realizing the heavy drapes were closed tight.

It was morning?

He strode over, shoved the covers aside.

Nobody was there.

Damn.

He didn’t bother looking in the bathroom. He knew she was gone.

“Hell.” He sighed, dropping to the bed.

“Sir? You okay?”

“I think I slept with Frankie,” he muttered.

“Whoa.” The other man grimaced, holding up one hand in protest. “Is this the type of confession you really want to share? I’m not judging, man, but you’ve never been the bare-it-all kind of guy before. I hate to see you say something you’ll regret more than...” Lane coughed uncomfortably. “Well, more than whatever you did here already.”

“What?” His head in his hands, Phillip pressed his fingers against the sledgehammer pounding in his temples. Lane’s words finally filtered through the pain and remnants of the vile cocktail his system had made of scotch and champagne. He groaned. “No.”

“Beg pardon?”

Phillip risked spilling the contents of his stomach and lifted his head. “Frankie is a woman.”

“Yeah? Cool, I guess.” Lane shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. In perfect accord, Phillip shifted his gaze to the bedside clock.

How long had she been gone? How had he missed her leaving? He was a military specialist, highly trained in covert ops. And he’d slept through his one-night stand’s walk of shame.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Lane’s calling him “sir” wasn’t a form of respect, or in deference to Phillip’s rank. Nope, he frowned. That was his call sign. He’d always been a little amused by it in the past. He didn’t mind being thought of as uptight and by the book. He was ambitious enough to want to—to plan to—climb to the rank of admiral, so just generally thought of it as his due. He’d been raised to command and expect power.

But today, when he felt so far from commanding or powerful, the name grated.

“You are whiter than those sheets,” Lane noted. The guy didn’t sound panicked or worried. He didn’t move from his position by the door. But Phillip knew he was on full alert.

“Headache,” Phillip muttered, dismissing the gut-clenching migraine. He needed meds fast, or this sucker was going to put him down.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten,” he said, dismissing the petty officer without a glance. Partially because the guy was standing directly in a pool of sunshine and Phillip was pretty sure looking directly at the bright light would make his eyeballs explode. But mostly because he needed all of his focus, his entire concentration, to put one foot in front of the other.

He made it to the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of aspirin out of his toiletry bag, and dry-swallowed two pills. A steaming shower, a hundred push-ups and three bottles of water from the minifridge later and he felt like he’d live.

He glanced at the bed and winced.

He didn’t do one-night stands.

He didn’t have sex with strange women.

And he certainly didn’t fall in love after seven hours. Hell, he didn’t even believe in love, so falling was pure impossibility.

Wasn’t it?

Phillip felt as though he was losing control. Everything was spinning out of bounds, even his own thoughts.

He wanted to know what the hell was wrong with him.

But he wasn’t going to figure it out now.

He’d told Lane ten minutes, and he was never late.

Well, almost never. There was the notable exception of when he’d been captured by a sadistic drug kingpin with an unhealthy interest in infiltrating the Navy SEALs through torture and intimidation.

Shoving the memories aside along with the nagging pain still pounding at his head, Phillip grabbed his few belongings, tossed them in his bag and headed for the door.

His hand on the knob, he glanced at the bed again.

The image of Frankie’s body spread beneath him filled his mind. The memory of her touch, of how it had felt to lose himself in her bombarded him.

He shook his head, hoping the pain would dislodge the thoughts. The sooner he put Las Vegas and last night behind him, the better. He wasn’t worried about the memories. He’d just shove them in that same locked part of his mind where he kept all thoughts of his days as Valdero’s guest.

* * *

FRANKIE SAT IN her studio, as she’d dubbed the third bedroom in her grandmother’s cute little house, and tried not to scream. In her fist, she clenched the hideously lumpy mangled silver that had started out as a necklace.

What had happened?

Where were all the colors, the brilliant images and all that amazing creative juju?

She’d been sure she had it when she’d tiptoed out of Phillip’s room. She’d had trouble sitting still on the plane ride home, she was so excited to get her hands on her tools. All it would take were a few pieces, maybe a dozen, to reestablish herself. A month or so to build up an inventory, maybe prep for a show.

By the time she’d unpacked her suitcase, she’d been able to see it all clearly. Her rise from the ashes, a celebrated return to glory. She’d have a stylish new condo by spring, be traveling around the country from gallery showings to high-end buyer meetings. Her pieces would be featured on television, in Vogue, maybe even in a movie or two.

And then she’d walked into her studio, smiling so big her cheeks hurt, and started to create.

Crap.

Frankie opened her fist to glare at the dull, unevenly linked spheres.

Every other thing she made was pure crap.

She knew she should be grateful that it wasn’t every single thing. She was doing fine with simple pieces, reproductions of her earlier works.

But she was an artist. Not an assembly line.

And an artist created new pieces, dammit.

Ready to scream, she threw the failed necklace on the table, the force sending the silver bouncing to the floor. Frankie got to her feet, tossing aside her apron since its weight only slowed down her pacing.

What was she going to do?

She glanced at the ornaments ready for packaging, each exactly the same except for the name and date etched and echoed in gemstones.

Christmas was in a little more than a month.

What was she going to do after that? Make Valentine’s ornaments? Fancy hangings to commemorate weddings and babies?

Frankie shoved her fingers into her hair, tugging to relieve the pressure.

How could any of that be considered creative? It couldn’t. It just couldn’t.

What had gone wrong?

After that night with Phillip, she’d felt the creative energy.

She’d seen so many pieces in her head, uniquely beautiful, each one in her signature quirky style.

After months of seeing nothing, it had been amazing. Like her birthday, five Christmases, graduation and incredible sex all rolled into one.

Incredible sex...

Heat washed over her, images flashing through her mind. Memories of Phillip, gloriously naked and poised over her body. Memories of that night, the orgasms—oh, the orgasms. So mind-blowing, so delicious.

She took a deep breath, her thighs trembling. She closed her eyes as heat coiled inside her, low and tight. Colors, images, designs flashed. So close. So, so close.

Maybe she could draw them. If she could get the images from her imagination onto paper, maybe—

“Frankie, the mail is here.”

Frankie bit back the curses that wanted to tumble off her lips. She’d been so close. It was like being caught reading a naughty magazine just when you got to the good part.

But a girl didn’t snap at her grandma, no matter how delicious that good part might have been. Instead, Frankie plastered on her brightest smile and turned to the door.

“Thanks, Nana,” she said, walking over to take the stack of envelopes. “I thought you were going to be at the seniors’ center this morning.”

Looking a good ten years younger than her sixty-five, Josephine O’Brian stood a foot taller and a half foot wider than the granddaughter she’d raised since Frankie’s fourteenth birthday when a car accident had taken both Josephine’s daughter and son-in-law.

“I was at the seniors’ center for a while. But with Millicent and Olivia both on another cruise, it wasn’t much fun.”

“What about Deidre?” Frankie asked, referring to the fourth woman in her grandmother’s close-knit group of friends.

“Off to her sister’s for a couple of weeks.”

Nana frowned and started to tidy the studio. Frankie had given up asking her not to. Apparently, the housekeeping urge was too deeply ingrained to ignore.

That, or she was bored. Nana was the only one of her friends not yet retired. While the others traveled and visited, she stayed faithful to her post at the Bankses’ house. Since the elder Bankses had died almost three years back, she’d started taking short trips, long weekends. A year ago, Frankie had tried to convince her to actually retire, but Nana refused, saying the estate still needed her.

It was that loyalty, her devotion and her forty-plus years of service that had netted Josephine O’Brian a place in the Bankses’ will. As long as a Banks owned the estate and Mrs. O’Brian was the housekeeper, she could live rent-free in the housekeeper’s quarters at the back of the estate.

Sometimes Frankie wondered if part of the reason Nana wouldn’t retire was because she had to look out for her flaky granddaughter.

Guilt, misery and frustration settled in Frankie’s gut. Despite the failure of her business, Nana insisted that her granddaughter continue designing. Five months ago, Frankie had started looking for a real job, something that would provide a regular income. Her grandmother had pitched a fit to end all fits, giving Frankie a solid understanding of where she’d gotten her temper.




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