A Christmas Together

by Tara Quan

  “My name is Karl.” He closed his hand over hers. His palm was callused, his fingers rough against her softer skin. All of a sudden, her throat seemed so parched that swallowing required conscious thought. She wasn’t the type of woman who received overt sexual advances. An IQ high enough to keep her several years ahead of her age group in school, relatively plain looks, and social awkwardness combined to make an effective man-repellant.

  “Captain—”

  “Karl.”

  “Fine, Karl it is. You’re seriously hitting on me?”

  He nodded, crinkles bracketing his eyes. “Seriously. By the way, Brennan is a mouthful, so I’m calling you Bree.”

  Startled by his declaration, she forgot to protest being nicknamed after a type of cheese. “Like, in a romantic way…”

  “Is there a platonic way of hitting on someone?”

  “I guess not.” This new development, combined with his inexplicable presence, warranted further investigation. “When did you decide to hit on me? Before or after you showed up?”

  Once again, he lifted a single eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of stalking?”

  She could spot a prevarication from a mile away. “Are you denying it?”

  “Why bother?” He shrugged. “I looked up your address. This place being on the bottom floor of your apartment building saved me the awkwardness of banging on your door.”

  “At 8:00 a.m.,” she added

  “Good thing you’re a morning person.”

  “Do I want to know where you looked up my address?” Since she had a high enough security clearance to guess what Special Forces unit he belonged to, his ability to locate her didn’t come as a surprise.

  He lifted one hand, palm facing forward. “I’ll have to plead the Fifth.”

  She probed at the flaw in his entire assertion. “If you’re that attracted to me, shouldn’t you have asked me out when we met?”

  “I was too sleepy to think straight.”

  She had to give him props for honesty.

  “By the time the gears in my brain started churning, you’d marched of in a huff and didn’t hear me running down the hall shouting your name.”

  His accusing glare prickled enough for her to liberate her hand from his grasp, but she couldn’t help but feel flattered by the image. No one had ever run after her for any reason. “You could have called…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He grabbed her purse and rifled through it. A second later, he held up her smartphone. “Aha! I knew it wasn’t charged. How could I be so sure, you might ask?”

  She feigned a cough. “I’m guessing you did call?”

  “A couple dozen times. Why buy an overpriced fancy-schmancy gadget and not turn it on?”

  At the time of purchase, she’d had every intention of using the damn thing to its fullest potential. But forgetfulness had a way of turning battery-reliant electronic devices into paperweights. Since she preferred to dwell on personal faults as little as possible, she changed the subject. “If you found me so interesting, why did you sleep through my briefing?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at you until you woke me up, and your PowerPoint slides had itty bitty little bullet points with numbers in them. I came off a seventeen hour flight, so sue me.” Pausing, he squinted at her. “Wait, no, you’re a lawyer—stop and rewind. How about I buy you a drink to make up for my bad behavior? Actually,” he pointed at the two empty coffee cups, “I already did.”

  “I thought you said the second cup was free?”

  “Okay, then let me grab you an actual drink. One with alcohol in it.”

  She made a show of glancing at her wristwatch. “It’s eight-fifteen in the morning.”

  “Spoilsport. How about I buy you one of those fancy latte things that cost an arm and a leg. Which one do you want?”

  Since sexy in-shape good-looking confident men didn’t grow on trees, she was tempted.

  He lifted her purse and dangled it in the air. “Don’t make me take this hostage.”

  Talk about impatient. She leaned into the backrest. “I’d love a grande half-caff non-fat sugar-free peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream.”

  His jaw dropped. The victory lasted all of five seconds.

  “The whipped cream makes the whole non-fat sugar-free thing pointless, but it’s your arteries.” He curled onto his feet. “Do I even want to ask what a peppermint mocha is?’

  He sounded so put out she had to grin. “It’s a Christmastime special. They list the ingredients on the chalkboard by the cash register.”

  “Isn’t it still November?”

  She fluttered her lashes, only realizing afterward the gesture might be construed as flirting. “As far as stores are concerned, the holiday season starts the day after Thanksgiving.”

  He shuddered. “There are certain things I don’t miss when I’m deployed—consumerism sure as hell tops the list.”

  *

  Everything had gone much better than expected. Having lived long enough to hit the big three-O, Captain Karl Reed was well aware he didn’t have the best effect on women. They liked him fine as long as he kept talking to a minimum. Too many sentences in a row, and things went downhill. Something about the way his mind worked didn’t jive with most members of the opposite sex, and he’d never cared enough about any particular female to hold his tongue. Luckily, Washington, D.C.’s bar scene provided ample opportunity for brief commitment-free hookups.

  With Brennan, he didn’t need to think through every word before saying it. It could have something to do with her being as socially awkward as he—in a different way, perhaps, but at an equal level, or so he’d like to think. He’d showed up in her yuppie neighborhood half-believing he’d take one look at the chick and have the warped rose-colored glasses shatter. His obsession made no sense, and part of him had chalked it up to post-deployment euphoria. Blonde hair aside, the woman was a stereotypical geek. With thick spectacles, messy chin-length tresses, and ill-fitting clothes, she had no business causing him sexual frustration.

  His first impression of her hadn’t been positive. He’d arrived late for a useless classified briefing to find a bony silhouette next to a projected screen. Gesturing widely, her arms and hair flying in odd directions, she struck him as a math-and-law-obsessed Energizer Bunny, a combination he hadn’t thought possible. But after listening to her blabber for close to an hour, he’d lost the fight to stay awake. He woke to the feel of a small finger jabbing his shoulder. Once cleared, his vision had been filled with golden hair, creamy skin, and deep green eyes.

  Turned down in an adorable pout, those full luscious lips had triggered the urge to bite and taste. But by the time his brain had kicked into gear, she’d stomped off. According to his fellow unit mates, his snores had interrupted her speech to a comical degree.

  Dismissing the odd attraction as a side effect of prolonged separation from Western civilization, he self-prescribed the cure of a night on the town. But for the first time in his adult life, he’d reacted to Dupont Circle’s frenzied clubbing scene with ambivalence. Sexual frustration convinced him to find out the woman’s address, and curiosity prompted him to pursue his investigation several steps further.

  Returning to her table with the promised drink, he paused to savor the view. Watching her lap at the frothy whipped cream, he couldn’t decide what astounded him more—her attractiveness, or how well she’d managed to hide it. A thick unflattering hoodie and baggy jeans made her petite body resemble a rumpled tree trunk. Closer inspection brought attention to her unblemished baby-like skin, silky hair, and what might be subtle curves. A pointed nose, sharp chin, and gold-fringed eyes should have given her the appearance an oversized elf, but a lush mouth and slanting cheekbones added much-appreciated sexiness.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me drink coffee.”

  “Not really.” Especially since it gave him all sorts of ideas about what kissing her might feel like.

&
nbsp; “Don’t you want your own drink?”

  “I’ve already had two.”

  They stared at each other. He’d never learned how to make small talk and doubted he’d gain the ability within the next few minutes. Glancing at her book, he suggested, “Why don’t you finish your novel? I’ll sit right here and watch you. You won’t even notice me.” Okay, even he realized the proposal came out creepy.

  She seemed oblivious. “You’re kind of big and looming.”

  Somewhat surprised she hadn’t yet gathered her things in preparation for a swift escape, his mouth opened, and even dumber words tumbled out. “I’m trained to be silent and stealthy. I could walk up to you and snap your neck, and you’d never see it coming.”

  He waited for the woman to jump up and run in the opposite direction, something that often happened long before he’d put this many feet in his mouth.

  “I doubt it. I have an odd reaction when you stare at me.” Gesturing at her forehead, she continued. “You know the pressure between your eyes when there’s something pointy in front of your face? Well, I get it at the back of my neck when you’re around. Weird, right? Any way…” She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I thought you embedded Air Force guys are sent over to call in drone strikes. The kung fu stuff is left to the Navy and Marines.”

  A sense of absolute certainty hit him like a blow to the gut. If he didn’t go after this girl with everything he had, he’d be the biggest idiot of the Twenty-First Century.

  She waved her palm in and out of his line of vision. “Hey. You okay? Did I say something classified by accident?”

  She might have, but it wasn’t why he’d lost the ability to form sentences. “No. Yes. I’m not sure. You spooks are more anal about these things anyway. Not that I’m calling you anal…” He came close to clamping his hand over his mouth to stop the verbal diarrhea. “And no, I got recruited into the unit out of the Academy, probably because I grew up speaking Arabic. So I…err…do some of the kung fu stuff, too.”

  She placed her chin in the cradle of her hands. “CIA people are kind of anal, myself included. So are your parents Syrian? I’m guessing from your skin tone, and the way your name is spelled.”

  He’d known he had the hots of this woman. What he hadn’t expected was that he’d like her. “Nah. My deadbeat all-American Dad gave me the super dark tan. Mom’s Lebanese, and she’s as fair as they come.”

  She pointed her nose at her half-filled coffee cup. “Do you want to try some?”

  He tasted the saccharine concoction and winced. The drink was more artificial sweetener and milk than it was coffee. “Wow. This is really awesome.”

  “The drink?”

  Choking, he slid the container back to her side of the table. “No. Dating someone who knows what I do for a living.”

  “This isn’t a date.”

  “Sure it is.” He nodded for emphasis. “We’re in a public place at a table with two seats. I paid for your coffee.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “If this is a date, what’s your next play?”

  He hadn’t thought this through beyond “Hello,” which he’d forgotten to say. “Can I take you to,” he looked down at his watch, “breakfast?”

  Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Her cheeks dimpled. “Where?”

  He tried to recall his walk from the Metro station. “The burger joint down the street?” he hazarded, his fingers crossed the place had opened in the past twenty minutes.

  “I don’t have a whole lot of experience, but I think you might be pretty bad at the whole hitting on women thing.”

  “You figured this out now?” Having not engaged in many lengthy conversations with the opposite sex, he’d never crashed and burned on the verbal front with this much flair, or enjoyed female company more.

  When she leaned forward, he mirrored her position. “I’m a picky eater,” she informed him in a stage whisper. “You need to come up with a better idea.”

  “You must have made plans to do something before I showed up,” he murmured back. “What was it?”

  She shook her head. “That won’t work. I was about to go to the farmer’s market to grab some groceries.”

  He jumped up. “It totally works.”

  “You want to shop for groceries with me?”

  “I haven’t bought fresh food in ages. It’ll be fun.”

  She swept him from head to toe with her gaze. “It’s a long walk. Aren’t you freezing in a T-shirt?”

  “It’s a balmy forty degrees.” He pointed at the knee-length wool coat she’d draped over the back of her chair. “If you’re wearing this today, what happens when it starts snowing?”

  “I hibernate.” She stood, reminding him of their difference in height. Without the high-heels she’d worn a few days ago, the top of her head didn’t even reach the center of his chest. “Are you sure you want to come? Shopping for organic locally-sourced veggies doesn’t seem like your thing.”

  He grabbed her coat and held it up. “You’re cooking this stuff afterward, right?”

  Turning, she slid her dainty little hands into the armholes. “Of course.”

  When she swiveled around, he attempted what in his head approximated a charming grin, but chances were high he’d bared his teeth like a crocodile. “Am I invited?”

  “To my apartment?”

  He managed to keep the smile on his face. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Chapter 2

  “I deserve a kiss.”

  Karl stood with his back against Brennan’s door. He’d overstayed his welcome a few hours ago, but his legs seemed to have grown roots on the tile. No part of him wanted to leave.

  His host fluttered her blonde lashes. The thick fringes appeared cartoonish behind her oversized glasses. “You don’t deserve anything. I cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All you did was eat all my ice cream.”

  This might not be the best time to ask why her ice cream was olive green, ball-shaped, covered in sticky dough, and had Japanese lettering on the packet. He focused on the argument he’d prepared while loading her dishwasher. “I spent twelve dollars on five tomatoes. Forking over the cash went against everything I believed in, but I did it to make you happy.”

  “Those were heirloom tomatoes, and you admitted they tasted delicious.”

  “Delicious, but not filling, which is why I compensated with dessert.” He decided not to comment on how the same tomatoes could have been purchased for half the price at the grocery store opposite her apartment. “I also paid an arm and a leg for wilted mushrooms.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “That’s how shiitake mushrooms are supposed to look, and you scarfed them down with the quinoa risotto.”

  He placed his palms on her shoulders. “Bree, you’re an excellent cook.”

  Her brows arched.

  “Considering you don’t own butter, you’re a fucking genius. But if this is going to work, you’ll need to explore this great place called Costco.” Though her spacious two-bedroom apartment, stainless steel appliances, and fifty-inch flat screen suggested the CIA paid a great deal better than the military, he had to object to her shopping habits out of sheer principal. No one should spend as much as she did on a home-cooked meal. He’d grown up watching his mother haggle for hours over a dollar’s worth of vegetables, which meant he’d learned young how not to get ripped off. Brennan veered in the extreme opposite direction. Judging from her expression, she might never have even heard of the wholesale supermarket he’d mentioned. “You do know what Costco is, right?”

  She crossed her arms. “Of course I do. I choose to shop local. It’s better for the environment.”

  He snorted. “Please. That’s a load of hippie bullshit, but we’ll have this debate later. For now, let me point out how well I behaved during the entire ordeal. Instead of laughing at the ridiculous prices or dragging you to a supermarket, I carried your bags and stayed quiet. Then I ran out to buy the wine you asked for even though it cost a
n arm and a leg. You ended up cooking with it.”

  “If it’s not good enough to drink, it’s not good enough to eat.” Her brows furrowed—a facial expression he’d learned to interpret as quizzical rather than angry. “Are you this cheap about everything?”

  The scent of rosemary and oregano wafted off her hair. The woman somehow managed to smell better after cooking than before. The list of things he liked about her had grown dangerously long. “For my admirable and uncharacteristic restraint while shopping, I’ve earned a reward.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted. “You did. Three meals plus popcorn and dessert.”

  He wondered if she’d noticed him placing his hand on her lower back. He waited half a second before pulling her closer. She had enough of a spine to stand her ground and argue, so if she objected, he doubted she’d stay quiet. Thus far, there’d been no indication she didn’t like the presumed intimacy. “I want more.”

  Turning them both, he nudged her closer to the entryway wall. When he had her trapped, she tipped her head back. “I have a rule about not kissing on a first date.”

  Unable to resist the temptation, he traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “By my calculation, we’re on our fifth date.”

  “Talk about wonky math.”

  Her lip balm glistened on his skin. She seemed addicted to it, which might explain why her mouth was the softest he’d ever touched. “We’ve spent over twelve hours together.”

  “So?”

  He smelled wine on her breath. She’d sipped less than half a glass, but the alcohol had nonetheless turned her face a gorgeous shade of pink. Entranced, he smoothed the back of his fingers over her warm cheek. “Our first date was the coffee shop, the second breakfast, and the third lunch. The god-awful DVD we watched puts me at four, and dinner makes it an even five.”

  Cradling her nape, he angled her head to optimize exploration. Her eyes growing wide, she drew in a sharp breath. “I…I guess that’s about right.”

  Sensing weakness, he shifted forward. “So you agree this kiss is overdue.”

  “I wouldn’t go quite as far.”