Christmas with a SEAL. Tawny Weber
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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