by Seton, Cora
When he pulled up in front of her bungalow, that sense of rightness hit him again. He’d done this three times now. He’d like to broach the moving in together thing, but he didn’t want to crowd her. There was nothing wrong with bunking down at the firehouse, except that the bunk was a bed built for one and he’d rather be holding Bree.
He got out of the truck. The weather definitely had put the winter chill feeling in the air. California stayed ridiculously hot for far too many months of the year, but Strong was mountain country. The dress code was more parka than bikini.
One of Bree’s crazy ass lawn herd had broken down. The lead reindeer’s head went half way up and then stopped with an audible click and a jerk. The thing had also lost part of its twinkle. He set his French hen offering on the porch, return-tripped it to the truck, and grabbed his toolbox. Time to play doctor.
“Gonna fix you right up, buddy.”
A year ago, he’d been waiting out Christmas with his boots in the sand and his weapon at the ready. Now he was operating on animatronic reindeer. Funny how things could change for the better.
The front door opened and closed and Bree came out onto the porch. She was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with those little shiny mother-of-pearl buttons that marched up and over her boobs, making his mouth water. One quick flick, two or three at the most, and he could undo her like the best of presents. It was Christmas after all. Maybe she’d let him anticipate.
“You fixed Rudy.” She shuffled out to join him, her bright green fuzzy slippers happy-slapping against the concrete sidewalk.
He looked at the reindeer. Either she’d named all six of the reindeer, or this guy had a red nose. He couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter. Instead, he pointed his wrench towards the bag on the board.
“I’ve brought you your third present.”
Her eyes lit up. “You weren’t joking?”
He thought about that for a long moment. If he was being honest, he probably didn’t have too much in the humor department. “French hens are hard to come by. Take a look.”
She opened the paper bag and laughed. “The big question is: did you get barbecue sauce?”
He’d gotten four different kinds, which appeared to be the best kind of answer in her book. While he finished operation Resuscitate the Reindeer, she dug in. Afterwards, it seemed perfectly natural for her to tug him into the house and set the wadded-up bag on the counter.
“So,” she said. “About this date…maybe we could stay in. Watch a movie and call for a pizza later.”
He liked the sound of later so, when she opened the door, he stepped into her, his body brushing against hers.
“Zack? Are you coming in?”
Please God, yes. “I thought we should say hello properly.”
“Oh.” She didn’t move, so he took advantage of their proximity and dropped a kiss on her mouth. A quick hi-there-you-are kiss and yet…
And yet that simple touch rocked his world.
She was sweet and warm and he’d missed her so goddamned much.
“Bree?”
“Yeah?” She sounded as dazed as he felt.
“I’m coming in now.”
He tugged her into the house with him and somehow it felt completely natural. She called for pizza while he flicked through her DVD collection and tried to guess what her secret vice was. The bulk of her collection appeared to consist of Jane Austen historicals or animated kids’ movies. They were really going to have to work on her taste in movies.
“This one.” She leaned over his shoulder and plucked a case off the shelf.
He stared at the cover. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Hercules is one sexy hero.”
He’d had no idea that anyone could be attracted to a cartoon drawing. She laughed and went over to the DVD player to pop in their movie.
“Trust me,” she said. “You’ll enjoy it.”
If it involved couch time with her, sure. Otherwise…color him unconvinced. An hour and a pizza later, he still wasn’t sold on Hercules, but Bree had curled up against his side, her hands tucked against his chest. She’d ceded the remote control to him as well.
“You’re kind of like Hercules,” she said, eyes on the screen where the credits had finally—thank God—started to roll.
“A sexy hero?” The thing was, he was no one’s hero. He didn’t slay monsters and he was no prize himself. He startled at loud noises sometimes. He cursed. And—he looked down—he fucking wore his boots in the house. Still, while he liked the idea of being Bree’s hero, he had a bad feeling that his cheeks were turning red. Some hero.
“Uh-huh,” she agreed, laughter warming her voice. “Did you pull a Hercules when you were overseas and meet exotic local women? Joey’s told me plenty of SEALs-at-a-bar stories.”
He and Joey definitely needed to have a talk. “That’s more myth than fact.”
She grinned up at him. “Again, just like Hercules.”
“Besides, I had you.”
She made a scoffing sound. “We were married for less than two days. We had at least two thousand miles between us.”
Funny. He’d felt closer when he’d read her letters. “Your letters were the hottest thing ever. I’d re-read my favorite parts all the time.”
“You had favorites?” She licked her lips and it suddenly felt hot enough to start a fire in her living room.
“I loved them all but, yeah, if I was picking and choosing, a few would definitely top my all-time fantasy list. You were my favorite pen pal.”
She poked him. “Sexy ladies in port aside, I better have been your only pen pal.”
He knew she was talking about the sexy times in their letters, but…she’d been the only person who’d written to him about anything on a regular basis. His mother had sent the annual Christmas and birthday cards. His dad hadn’t been part of the picture until his dad’s wife had reached out to him and that hadn’t been happy or welcome news.
“You were my only pen pal—and my only lover,” he said. “There haven’t been any other women. I meant what I said in Nevada. I’ve waited two tours of duty to hold you and I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me.”
There was a moment of silence.
“So why didn’t you come and see me when you had leave eighteen months ago?”
Fuck. Was that hurt in her voice? He didn’t know how to fix this.
“I wanted to.”
“Uh-huh. And you didn’t. You went to see your father instead. I would have—” she hesitated.
“Gone with me?” He’d say it for her. It was the least he could do.
“Yeah. But you knew that and you didn’t ask. You didn’t give me the chance.”
“No. I didn’t.” He regretted it too. “You had finals and I didn’t know what I was going to find, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“Marriage isn’t about pretty.”
He took in her face. From where he was sitting, she was so very wrong. “You’re pretty.”
She shook her head. “I need you to let me in, Zack. Just once, give me the truth, pretty or not.”
He had to do that, didn’t he? Otherwise, it didn’t matter how much chemistry they had. “My dad was dying. I got a letter from his wife, asking me to come out to Vegas and see him.”
“To say goodbye,” she said softly.
“Hello and goodbye.” He lifted a shoulder. What else could he say? He’d gone, he’d visited his dad for the first time ever and it had been in a damned hospice. They’d exchanged a dozen awkward sentences that hadn’t been particularly cathartic, but he’d needed to see the man because Regret Mountain was already pretty fucking unscalable in his life. “I’d really like to not say goodbye you to tonight,” he continued.
She nodded and slid off the couch, which was probably his cue that date night was over. Which was okay. He’d wait as long as it took for Bree to change her mind about him, to let him stay and have a relationship with her that wasn’t just on paper.
&
nbsp; “I’m going to lock the door,” she whispered. “Just in case Joey’s lurking out there.”
Thank God. “Good idea.”
He pulled her into his side and they walked to her bedroom together. W.T. was curled up on the pillows. He’d never seen her bedroom, although he’d fantasized about it plenty. She had a queen-sized bed, a delicate, flowery wrought-iron frame that was going to creak like a bitch once they got started. It was covered with a fluffy white coverlet that already bore the furry signs of W.T.’s presence.
She hesitated for just a moment, then turned and threw herself in his arms.
“Just like old times.” He grinned against her mouth as she smacked his shoulder with her palm and then he got busy kissing her. Kissing her was something he could do all night because, Christ, he loved the taste of her mouth. She opened up to him, her tongue tangling with his, making hungry little sounds that just fired him up further. She was so goddamned perfect.
When he finally lifted his head, she stared at him, the heated daze in her eyes the perfect counterpart to how he felt. He wanted to strip her down to her skin, to relearn her in every way possible but, when he tugged at the hem of her shirt, she shook her head.
“You first.” She made a give-it-up gesture and then reached over to kill the light switch. “You get naked and then I will.”
The room was dark except for the soft glow from the electric candles she had in the window. When she tugged back the covers, he could see red flannel sheets, which weren’t the Christmas moose and candy cane extravaganza he’d expected from her. It looked like Santa had some more Christmas shopping to do.
She dropped cross-legged onto the bed and stared at him expectantly, like he was her one-man Chippendale show. Christ. Now he felt awkward. Was this what it was like for women?
Still, he liked the heat in her eyes and he definitely wanted to get naked with her, so he yanked his T-shirt over his head. Her smile got softer and more private as she eyed his abs. Thank God for the SEAL sit-up regimen.
When he bent over to remove his steel-toes and socks, she grinned at him. “Did I mention that I might have a male stripper fantasy?”
Good to know. That was one fantasy she hadn’t written to him about. He popped the button on his jeans, while he considered the possibilities. Chippendales scored higher than a pirate fantasy in his books. At least he wouldn’t need to clench a knife between his teeth or yell Ahoy, love. He unbuttoned, unzipped, and shoved his jeans and boxers down his legs.
She sucked in a gratifyingly deep breath. “Wow. Even better than I remembered. I should have asked for pictures.”
Zack was comfortable in his skin. For years, his body had been simply another weapon in his arsenal, a tool he relied on to get the job done. Now, as she ran a greedy gaze over his naked body, he felt like he was more.
“Come here.” She knelt up on the bed and crooked a finger.
“Are you planning on talking all night?” He didn’t mind, although he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to be able to keep his end of the conversation up. Not once he got her naked.
She shrugged, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when he stepped closer, his knees bumping against the edge of the bed. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”
“I told you before. I have lots of ideas.” Sharing them, though, got a whole lot harder—along with another part of him—when she reached out and ran her fingers down his stomach.
Three Christmases ago they’d had sex in the front seat of his truck. It had been fantastic and hot and more than a little awkward because Chevy hadn’t designed that seat with sex in mind. They’d laughed and touched, stripping down where they could. Kissing where they could.
Taking it slow this time seemed like another fantasy come true, except that he suspected he wouldn’t last long once he was balls-deep inside Bree. She curled her fingers around his erection and he hissed. He made a goddamned, W.T.-worthy sound that only inspired her to trace his dick.
She leaned toward him and brushed a kiss over the very tip of him. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”
Oh. Christ. “You’re still talking.”
She grinned up at him, like she didn’t mind he was close to losing control. “You haven’t stopped me yet.”
It was funny. They hadn’t spent all that much time together, and yet he felt like he knew her. He knew she felt awkward and a little nervous—and that she had a wicked sense of humor and loved to tease. So maybe it didn’t take face-to-face time to get to know someone, if the words you traded on paper were the right words. Because he felt like he’d spent these last months learning all about Bree Medina right up until he’d screwed up big time eighteen months ago and not come home to her when he’d had the chance. She’d stopped writing because he’d been an asshole and shut her out.
He loved her.
He tried the L-word out in his head. When he’d signed his letters, he’d settled for simply scrawling his name. Sincerely was true, but not the right word. He was sincere, but he was also something else. Yours was a given.
But love…
He hadn’t let that thought stick around in his head.
“You need to get naked,” he said gruffly, because he didn’t think he could handle any more confessions at the moment. Plus, he was close to coming in her hand and yeah…he wanted to be inside her in every way possible.
He pulled her shirt over her head and promptly fell in love with her lingerie as well. Her bra was black satin with white lace around the edges. Covered with little pink and yellow flowers, the cups separated her breasts, plumped them up for his touch. Hell, yeah, he liked it.
While he got her naked, she palmed his dick, her eyes focused on her hands. Up. Down. Christ. She was going to drive him crazy so he returned the favor, cupping her breasts. They were as perfect as the rest of her, plump and pale with dark-pink nipples, all puckered up like they were demanding kisses of their own. So he obliged. He stroked her, running a thumb over her nipples, and she exhaled, a soft rush of air he felt on his dick.
“Zack.” His name came out more whimper than not, so he’d finally gotten something right. Her bra unfastened in the back and he undid the clasp. Black satin fell down her arms, the cups slipping down her breasts in the most beautiful tease show he’d ever seen.
She was so. Fucking. Beautiful.
She took her hands off his dick, wriggled, and the bra fell off. Nice. He wanted to take a mental snapshot, to remember this for the rest of his life. Or make up a poem or some shit. He tried to remember those romance novels he’d cribbed from, but he was blank. She was the most amazing woman he’s ever seen and he had no more words.
Instead he touched her. Worshipped her with his body. It was funny how certain lines from their Nevada wedding came back to him now, particularly that part about him worshipping her with his body. He’d always enjoyed sex, but this…was different.
“Zack.” She said his name on a sigh, reaching for his shoulders and toppling them both onto her bed. He could work with that. He undid her skirt and pulled it off, leaving her in just the pink cowboy boots and a black thong. He was definitely a lucky man.
Heat and need filled her eyes and she stared up at him as he eased her panties down her legs and over her boots.
“Have I mentioned how much I like your boots?”
That secret smile was back in her eyes. “I’m getting that idea.”
He’d missed her. He’d missed her smile and the way her eyes twinkled when she was trying not to laugh. The hint of uncertainty when she let him take her clothes off, because for no earthly reason that he could think of, she worried about things like that. She was fucking gorgeous, from her curves to her breasts and the soft mound of her stomach. He loved the way her hair went every which-way when he had her back against the mattress and her head on the pillow, the little flyaway tendrils that tickled his nose and his mouth the softest, prettiest brown like the silky patch between her legs.
He ran his hands o
ver her, kissing her hard and fast, tracing her skin to where she was even softer—and wetter—sinking his fingers into her heat. She gasped and pressed up into him, so he did it again. Slower and deeper, then quicker. Skimming his fingertips over her hard bud.
“You didn’t tell me you were a tease,” she moaned, but it didn’t sound like a complaint.
“You like me.” He rimmed her opening with his finger and pressed in just the smallest distance. She melted around him.
“Now.” She tugged on his shoulders, pulling him towards her.
He took a moment to snag a condom from his pants and pull it on, then he was pushing deep inside her, finally, finally coming home.
“Hi,” he whispered, taking a moment to savor the luscious, wet tug of her body on his before he started moving, taking them both over the edge together.
Chapter Eight
‡
The Christmas lights lit up her bedroom, but the happy red-and-green flash-flash wasn’t the reason she felt so happy. Nope. The cause of that was the man cradling her in his arms.
“Wow. Who knew three French hens and a pizza could end so well?”
Bree had wondered if it could be just sex between them. Guess she had her answer and it was a resounding no way, no how. Apparently, when she’d opened her arms, she’d also opened her heart.
Again.
Zack pulled her up against his chest. One big hand smoothed over her hair, the other held her close. When she stopped talking, she could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. Definitely the best sound ever.
“I’m a big fan of Christmas now,” he said.
There was nothing easy about marriage. She’d known that years ago even before she and Zack had given it a shot. She knew it now. But…she snuck a peek up at Zack. He just might be worth it.
Okay.
Scratch that.
He was definitely worth it.
Even if having sex—making love—with her SEAL left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, and not just because she was naked and had just showed him her O-face. More than once.
