Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set

by Debbie Macomber

  Steve was undressing.

  * * *

  Feeling deliciously warm and content, Carol woke two hours later to the sound of Steve rummaging in the kitchen. No doubt he was looking for something to eat. Smiling, she jerked her arms high above her head and stretched. She yawned and arched her back, slightly elevating her hips with the action. She felt marvelous. Stupendous. Happy.

  Her heart bursting with newfound joy, she reached for Steve’s shirt and purposely buttoned it just enough to be provocative while looking as if she’d made some effort to cover herself.

  Semiclothed, she moved toward the noise emanating from her kitchen. Barefoot, dressed only in his slacks, Steve was bent over, investigating the contents of her refrigerator.

  Carol paused in the doorway. “Making love always did make you hungry,” she said from behind him.

  “There’s hardly a damn thing in here except sweet potatoes. Good grief, woman, what are you doing with all these leftover yams?”

  Carol felt sudden heat rise in her cheeks as hurried excuses crowded her mind. “They were on sale this week because of Christmas.”

  “They must have been at rock-bottom price. I counted six containers full of them. It looks like you’ve been eating them at every meal for an entire week.”

  “There’s some pie if that’ll interest you,” she said, a little too quickly. “And plenty of turkey for a sandwich, if you want.”

  He straightened, closed the refrigerator and turned to face her. But whatever he’d intended to say apparently left him when he caught sight of her seductive pose. She was leaning against the doorjamb, hands behind her back and one foot braced against the wall, smiling at him, certain he could read her thoughts.

  “There’s pumpkin, and the whipped topping is fresh.”

  “Pumpkin?” he repeated.

  “The pie.”

  He blinked, and nodded. “That sounds good.”

  “Would you like me to make you a sandwich while I’m at it?”

  “Sure.” But he didn’t sound sure of anything at the moment.

  Moving with ease around her kitchen, Carol brought out the necessary ingredients and quickly put together a snack for both of them. When she’d finished, she carried their plates to the small table across from the stove.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, setting their plates down.

  “I’ll get it,” Steve said, apparently eager to help. “What would you like?”

  “Milk,” she responded automatically. She’d never been overly fond of the beverage but had recently made a habit of drinking a glass or two each day in preparation for her pregnancy.

  “I thought you didn’t like milk.”

  “I … I’ve acquired new tastes in the past year.”

  Steve grinned. “There are certain things about you that haven’t changed, and then there’s something more, something completely unexpected. Good God, woman, you’ve turned into a little she-devil, haven’t you?”

  Carol lowered her gaze and felt the heated blush work its way up her neck and spill into her cheeks. It wasn’t any wonder Steve was teasing her. She’d been as hot as a stick of dynamite. By the time he’d undressed, she’d behaved like a tigress, clawing at him, driven by mindless passion.

  Chuckling, Steve delivered two glasses of milk to the table. “You surprised me,” he said. “You used to be a tad more timid.”

  Doing her best to ignore him, Carol brought her feet up to the edge of the chair and pulled the shirt down over her legs. With feigned dignity, she reached for half of her sandwich. “An officer and a gentleman wouldn’t remind me of my wicked ways.”

  Still grinning, Steve lounged against the back of the chair. “You used to be far more subtle.”

  “Steve,” she cried, “stop talking about it. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing me?”

  “I remember one time when we were on our way to an admiral’s dinner party and you casually announced you’d been in such a rush that you’d forgotten to put on any underwear.” Carol closed her eyes and looked away, remembering the time as clearly as if it had been last week instead of several years ago. She remembered, too, how good the lovemaking had been later that same evening.

  “There wasn’t time for us to go back to the house, so all night while you strolled around, sipping champagne, chatting and looking sedately prim, only I knew differently. Every time you looked at me, I about went crazy.”

  “I wanted you to know how much I longed to make love. If you’ll recall, you’d just returned from a three-month tour.”

  “Carol, if you’ll recall, we’d spent the entire day in bed.”

  She took a sip of her milk, then slowly raised her gaze to meet his. “It wasn’t enough.”

  Steve closed his eyes and shook his head before grudgingly admitting, “It wasn’t enough for me, either.”

  As soon as it had been socially acceptable to do so, Steve had made their excuses to the admiral that night and they’d hurriedly left the party. The entire way home, he’d been furious with Carol, telling her he was certain someone must have known what little trick she was playing. Just as heatedly, Carol had told Steve she didn’t care who knew. If some huffy admiral wanted to throw a dinner party he shouldn’t do it so soon after his men return from deployment.

  They’d ended up making love twice that evening.

  “Steve,” Carol whispered with ragged emotion.

  “Yes?”

  “Once wasn’t enough tonight, either.” She dared not look at him, dared not let him see the way her pulse was clamoring.

  Abruptly he stopped eating, and when he swallowed, it looked as if he’d downed the sandwich whole. A full minute passed before he spoke.

  “Not for me, either.”

  Their lovemaking was different this time. Unique. Unrepeatable. Earlier, it’d been like spontaneous combustion. This time was slow, easy, relaxed. Steve led her into the bedroom, unfastened the buttons of the shirt that she was wearing and let it drop unheeded to the floor.

  Carol stood before him tall and proud, her taut nipples seeming to beg for his lips. Steve looked at her naked body as if seeing her for the first time. Tenderly he raised his hand to her face and brushed back a wisp of blond hair, his touch light, gentle. Then he lowered his hands and cupped the undersides of her breasts, as though weighing them in a delicate measure. The velvet stroke of his thumbs worked across her nipples until they pebbled to a throbbing hardness. From there he slid the tips of his fingers down her rib cage, grazing her heated flesh wherever he touched her.

  All the while, his dark, mesmerizing gaze never left hers, as though he half expected her to protest or to stop him.

  Carol felt as if her hands were being manipulated like a puppet’s as she reached for his belt buckle. All she knew was that she wanted him to make love to her. Her fingers fumbled at first, unfamiliar with the workings of his belt, then managed to release the clasp.

  Soon Steve was nude.

  She studied him, awed by his strength and beauty. She wanted to tell him all that she was feeling, all the good things she sensed in him, but the words withered on her tongue as he reached out and touched her once more.

  His hand continued downward from her rib cage, momentarily pausing over her flat, smooth stomach, then moving lower until it encountered her pelvis. Slowly, methodically, he braced the heel of his hand against the apex of her womanhood and started a circling, gyrating motion while his fingers explored between her parted thighs.

  Hardly able to breathe, Carol opened herself more to him, and once she had, he delicately parted her and slipped one finger inside. Her eyes widened at the stab of pleasure that instantly sliced through her and she bit into her lower lip to keep from panting.

  She must have made some kind of sound because Steve paused and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

  Carol was incapable of any verbal response. Frantically she shook her head, and his finger continued its deft movements, quickly bringing her to an exploding release. Wave
upon wave of seething spasms, each one stronger, each one more intense, overtook every part of her. Whimpering noises escaped from deep within her throat as she climaxed, and the sound propelled Steve into action.

  He wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the bed, laying her on top of the rumpled sheets. Not allowing her time to alter her position or rearrange the sheets, Steve moved over her, parted her thighs and quickly impaled her.

  His breathing was ragged, barely under control.

  Carol’s wasn’t any more even.

  He didn’t move, torturing her with an intense longing she had never experienced. Her body was still tingling in the aftermath of one fulfillment and reaching, striving toward another. Her whole person seemed to be filled with anxious expectancy … waiting for something she couldn’t define.

  Taking her hands, Steve lifted them above her head and held them prisoner there. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her head. The action thrust him deeper inside Carol. She moaned and thrashed her head against the mattress, then lifted her hips, jerking them a couple of times, seeking more.

  “Not yet, love,” he whispered and placed a hand under her head, lifting her mouth to his. Their kiss was wild and passionate, as though their mouths couldn’t give or take enough to satisfy their throbbing need.

  Steve shifted his position and completely withdrew his body from hers.

  Carol felt as if she’d suddenly gone blind; the whole world seemed black and lifeless. She started to protest, started to cry out, but before the sound escaped her throat, Steve sank his manhood back inside her. A shaft of pure light filled her senses once more and she sighed audibly, relieved. She was whole again, free.

  “Now,” Steve told her. “Now.” He moved eagerly then, in deep, calculated strokes, plunging into her again and again, gifting her with the sun, revealing the heavens, exploring the universe. Soon all Carol knew was this insistent warm friction and the sweet, indescribable pangs of pleasure. Her body trembled as ripple after ripple of deep, pure sensation pulsed over her, driving her crazy as she remembered what had nightly been hers.

  Breathless, Steve moved to lie beside her, bringing her into the circle of his arms. An hour passed, it seemed, before he spoke. “Was it always this good?”

  The whispered question was so low Carol had to strain to hear him. “Yes,” she answered after a long, timeless moment. “Always.”

  He pressed his forehead against the top of her head and moaned. “I was afraid of that.” The next thing Carol was aware of was a muffled curse and the unsettling sound of something heavy crashing to the floor.

  “Steve?” she sat up in bed and reached for a sheet to cover her nakedness. The room was dark and still. Dread filled her—it couldn’t be morning. Not yet, not so soon.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You’re leaving?” She sent her hand searching for the lamp on the nightstand. It clicked and a muted light filled the room.

  “I’ve got the watch today,” he reminded her.

  “What time is it?”

  “Carol, listen,” he said gruffly, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” All the while he was speaking, Steve’s fingers were working the buttons of his shirt and having little success in getting it to fasten properly. “Call what happened last night what you will—the holiday spirit, a momentary slip in my better judgment … whatever. I’m sure you feel the same way.” He paused and turned to study her.

  She leaned forward, resting her chin on her raised knees. Her heart was in her throat, and she felt shaken and miserable. “Yes, of course.”

  His mouth thinned and he turned his back to her once more. “I thought as much. The best thing we can do is put the entire episode out of our minds.”

  “Right,” she answered, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. It was working out exactly as she’d planned it: they would both wake up in the morning, feel chagrined, make their apologies and go their separate ways once more.

  Only it didn’t feel the way she’d anticipated. It felt wrong. Very wrong.

  Steve was in the living room before she moved from the bed. Grabbing a thin robe from her closet, she slipped into it as she rushed after him.

  He seemed to be waiting for her, pacing the entryway. He combed his fingers through his hair a couple of times before turning to look at her.

  “So you want to forget last night?” he asked.

  “I … if you do,” she answered.

  “I do.”

  Carol’s world toppled for a moment, then quickly righted itself. She understood—it was better this way. “Thank you for the poinsettia and candy.” It seemed inappropriate to mention the terrific lovemaking.

  “Right.” His answer was clipped, as though he was eager to be on his way. “Thanks for the dinner … and everything else.”

  “No problem.” Stepping around him, Carol opened the door. “It was good to see you again, Steve.”

  “Yeah, you, too.”

  He walked out of the house and down the steps, and watching him go did crazy things to Carol’s equilibrium. Suddenly she had to lean against the doorjamb just to remain upright. Something inside her, something strong and more powerful than her own will demanded that she stop him.

  “Steve,” she cried frantically. She stood on tiptoe. “Steve.”

  He turned around abruptly.

  They stared at each other, each battle scarred and weary, each hurting. Each proud.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  Three days after Christmas, Carol was convinced her plan had worked perfectly. Thursday morning she woke feeling sluggish and sick to her stomach. A book she’d been reading on pregnancy and childbirth stated that the best way to relieve those early bouts of morning sickness was to nibble on soda crackers first thing—even before getting out of bed.

  A burning sense of triumph led her into the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror as though her reflection would proudly announce she was about to become a mother.

  It had been so easy. Simple really. One tempestuous night of passion and the feat was accomplished. Her hand rested over her abdomen, and she patted it gently, feeling both proud and awed. A new life was being nurtured there.

  A baby. Steve’s child.

  The wonder of it produced a ready flow of emotion and tears dampened her eyes.

  Another symptom!

  The book had explained that her emotions could be affected by the pregnancy—that she might be more susceptible to tears.

  Wiping the moisture from the corners of her eyes, Carol strolled into the kitchen and searched the cupboard for saltines. She found a stale package and forced herself to eat two, but she didn’t feel any better than she had earlier.

  Not bothering to dress, she turned on the television and made herself a bed on the sofa. Boeing workers were given the week between Christmas and New Year’s off as part of their employment package. Carol had planned to spend the free time painting the third bedroom—the one she planned to use for the baby. Unfortunately she didn’t have any energy. In fact, she felt downright sick, as though she were coming down with a case of the flu.

  A lazy smile turned up the edges of her mouth. She wasn’t about to complain. Nine months from now, she would be holding a precious bundle in her arms.

  Steve’s and her child.

  Four

  With his hands cupped behind his head, Steve lay in bed and stared blindly at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. For the past hour he hadn’t even bothered to close his eyes. It wouldn’t do any good; every time he did, the memory of Christmas Eve with Carol filled his mind.

  Releasing a slow breath, he rubbed his hand down his face, hoping the action would dispel her image from his thoughts. It didn’t work. Nothing did.

  He had never intended to make love to her, and even now, ten days later, he wasn’t sure how the hell it had happened. He continue
d to suffer from a low-grade form of shock. His thoughts had been in utter chaos since that night, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to her or where their relationship was headed now.

  What really distressed him, Steve realized, was that after everything that had happened between them, he could still want her so much. More than a week later and the memory of her leaning against the doorjamb in the kitchen, wearing his shirt—and nothing else—had the power to tighten his loins. Tighten his loins! He nearly laughed out loud; that had to be the understatement of the year.

  When Carol had stood and held out her arms to him, he’d acted like a starving child offered candy, so eager he hadn’t stopped to think about anything except the love she would give him. Any protest he’d made had been token. She’d volunteered, he’d accepted, and that should be the end of it.

  But it wasn’t.

  Okay, so he wasn’t a man of steel. Carol had always been his Achilles’ heel, and he knew it. She knew it. In thinking over the events of that night, it was almost as though his ex-wife had planned everything. Her red dress with no bra, and that bit about placing decorations on the tree. She’d insisted on standing on the chair, stretching and exposing her thigh to him … his thoughts came to a skidding halt.

  No.

  He wasn’t going to fall into that familiar trap of thinking Carol was using him, deceiving him. It did no good to wade into the muddy mire of anger, bitterness, regret and doubt.

  He longed to repress the memory of Carol’s warm and willing body in his arms. If only he could get on with his life. If only he could sleep.

  He couldn’t.

  His sister, Lindy, had coffee brewed by the time Steve came out of his bedroom. She sat at the table, cradling a cup in one hand while holding a folded section of the Post-Intelligencer in the other.

  “Morning.” She glanced up and greeted him with a bright smile. Lately it seemed his sister was always smiling.

  Steve mumbled something unintelligible as a means of reply. Her cheerfulness grated against him. He wasn’t in the mood for good humor this morning. He wasn’t in the mood for anything … with the possible exception of making love to Carol again, and that bit of insight didn’t suit him in the least.