Christmas with a SEAL

by Tawny Weber

  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,

  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. I hope, too, that you have a fabulous holiday, filled with warm wishes, joyful memories and lots of great food!

  Hugs,

  Tawny Weber

  Tawny Weber

  Christmas with a SEAL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  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 Harlequin 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, 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.

  Books by Tawny Weber

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  462—COMING ON STRONG

  468—GOING DOWN HARD

  492—FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

  513—BLAZING BEDTIME STORIES, VOLUME III

  “You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs…”

  564—RIDING THE WAVES

  579—IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE MISTLETOE…

  “A Babe in Toyland”

  592—BREAKING THE RULES

  612—JUST FOR THE NIGHT

  656—SEX, LIES AND MISTLETOE

  660—SEX, LIES AND MIDNIGHT

  688—BLAZING BEDTIME STORIES, VOLUME VII

  “Wild Thing”

  726—NICE & NAUGHTY

  738—A SEAL’S SEDUCTION

  739—A SEAL’S SURRENDER

  750—MIDNIGHT SPECIAL

  778—NAUGHTY CHRISTMAS NIGHTS

  783—A SEAL’S SALVATION

  791—A SEAL’S KISS

  811—A SEAL’S FANTASY

  COSMO RED-HOT READS FROM HARLEQUIN

  FEARLESS

  To browse a current listing of all Tawny’s titles,

  please visit www.Harlequin.com.

  Big hugs to Helen Sibbrit and Kristin Betthauser

  for a great title!

  Thanks, sweethearts.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Excerpt

  1

  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. Bu
t 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 weeke
nd 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.