by Tawny Weber
“I don’t have one. Maybe I just need to put some socks on.”
“You don’t have a coat?”
He sounded so shocked she had to laugh.
“What can I say?” she told him with a shrug. “I grew up in southern California. I don’t need much in the way of winter clothes.”
“You must at least have some sort of winter wear.”
“Jackets, sure.” She shrugged. Noticing that he was looking at her like she’d grown an extra head, she thought fast. “I do have a ski parka.” She waited a beat before honesty forced her to admit, “But it’s in storage with my ski equipment.”
Solving the problem, Mitch pulled her around so her back faced his front, wrapped his arms tight around her waist and shifted her upward. Her feet were off the tiles, her body suspended against his. She wasn’t sure what super SEAL power he’d called on, but she suddenly felt as if her entire body was filled with heat.
Maybe it was lust. She hoped so. Because it was starting to feel scarily close to some other L word.
“You ski?”
“Sure. It’s a great workout, and always makes me feel better about having extra whipped cream on my post-ski hot chocolate. There’s this little lodge in Vail that adds homemade peppermint sprinkles to theirs at Christmas. I almost went back this year just for that treat alone.”
“Does your family join you to celebrate when you travel?”
Join her? Livi almost asked why, but she stopped herself. He didn’t need to know how dysfunctional her meager family was.
“I went with friends last year,” she said instead. Then, shivering from something other than cold, she added, “It’s hard to believe it’s almost Christmas.”
“And we’re standing outside in bare feet,” Mitch said with a quiet laugh, taking the hint she hadn’t realized she’d tossed out. “Let’s go inside. You can make hot chocolate.”
“You want hot chocolate?” she asked with a narrow look as they returned through the kitchen.
“Sure.”
So she made hot chocolate.
“What’s with the frown?” she asked, noting that the furrow between his brows had deepened as she heated milk and opened a bright red tin to add shaved chocolate into mugs. “Do you prefer a different kind?”
“I don’t know yet.” He took the mug she handed him, peered into it suspiciously and took a sip. He got the same look in his eyes as he’d had earlier when he’d watched her get naked. Excited, eager and very, very appreciative. This time his sip was closer to a gulp. “This is amazing.”
“Oh, good.” She sipped hers to test it, then added another sprinkle of chocolate shavings and stirred it. She lifted the tin in question, but Mitch moved his mug away as if protecting its contents. Livi giggled. “I’m sorry I don’t have whipped cream or peppermint.”
“This is perfect.” He gestured for Livi to precede him and followed her into the living room. She curled up on the corner of her couch, her feet tucked under her and the blanket still wrapped tightly around her shoulders as he sat next to her. “I had no idea hot chocolate could taste like this.”
He finished his and set the mug on the table, looking so wistful that Livi laughed and handed him what was left of hers.
“You sure?”
“Enjoy,” she encouraged. She’d rather watch him, anyway.
“I always thought hot chocolate was brown powder in a pouch poured over water heated in the microwave,” he told her. “That’s how my mom always made it. She did add tiny marshmallows to it at the holidays, though.”
“So hot chocolate is a holiday treat for both of us,” she murmured, liking that connection.
“Speaking of.” He made a show of looking around the room. “Christmas is only a few days away. When do you put the rest of your decorations up? Do you wait for Christmas Eve?”
Decorations?
For just her?
“The rest of them?” she asked, instead of admitting she didn’t own any decorations. Derrick had taken the ones they’d bought together when he’d left as an extra “screw you” gesture, and she’d never bothered to replace them.
“You have lights up.” With the now empty mug, he moved his hand toward the lights strung just below the crown molding around the room.
“Oh, those. They aren’t exactly traditional holiday lights. They’re blue and purple instead of red and green.” Before he could comment, she said, “I’ll bet you’re a traditional guy all the way, right? Red and green lights, mistletoe and holly, carols and hot chocolate.”
He stacked her drained mug under his on the table and shot her a grin.
“Don’t forget my stellar rendition as a reindeer in the school play, my tromping through snow with my dad to cut down a tree and haul it home on my toboggan, or my searching for gifts before they were wrapped—the beginning of my stealth ops training.”
“Did you ever get caught?” Livi asked eagerly, suddenly voracious to know anything and everything she could about him.
“I was never actually caught in the act,” he said, his eyes dancing at what must be a delight of memories. “But it was funny. I always found something hidden away, though it never ended up under the tree. It took me four years to realize my parents must have left some sort of triggering device or tell, so they’d know if I found the gifts. I asked the old man about it once when I was at the academy. My mom did all the shopping, but he was in charge of hiding those gifts. He said he’d figured it was good practice in case I wanted to go into intelligence.”
“Intelligence. That’s like spy stuff, right? So did you want that?”
Mitch laughed and rested his arm on the back of the couch so he could play with her hair.
“Nothing that glamorous, and no. I always wanted to be a SEAL. The intelligence training, both early on and later from the Navy, is an asset, though. The old man takes credit for that.”
Had her mother ever talked about her accomplishments like that? Livi didn’t think so. Certainly not with the same loving pride she could see Mitch had gotten.
“It sounds as if you and your dad are close,” she said, delighting in the image of him as a young boy. His parents clearly adored him. She wondered how much that unconditional acceptance played into that bone-deep confidence of his.
He shrugged, accepting that closeness, that unconditional love, as his due. What must that feel like?
“He’s a great guy. My grandfather is an admiral, a real hard-ass.” Mitch’s smile was so affectionate Livi realized that must be a compliment. “That’s a hard act to follow, but the old man didn’t try. I asked about that once when I was a kid. I was trying to figure out how I was going to live up to their reputations.”
“What did he say?” Livi leaned forward, fascinated. What kind of kid thought of those things?
“He told me he’d walked the same path but didn’t walk in grandfather’s footsteps. That I’d walk my own path, side by side, if I chose.” Mitch shrugged, as if trying to shake off a little of the heavy emotion in his voice.
“Will you tell your own child that some day?” she wondered, a little part of her heart shying away from the difficult question. But she could imagine it so clearly, she wasn’t able to resist asking.
“I doubt I’ll have any. I’d want to be the kind of father my own was, but given my career, I don’t see that happening.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I guess that’s part of my path, isn’t it? Choosing not to go that route.”
Despite the grief stabbing at her heart, Livi managed to smile.
Looked like she really had found the perfect guy.
9
LIVI HAD FORGOTTEN what morning looked like, given that she’d spent the last few in Mitch’s arms, sleeping off sexually induced exhaustion.
Except this morning they’d both woken at six, too hungry
to have more sex until they’d refueled. But when she’d suggested her usual, a bowl of Greek yogurt and fresh fruit, Mitch had looked at her as if she’d just asked him to wear her panties. Shocked, amused and a little horrified.
He’d handed her a glass of juice, settled her on a stool and taken over her kitchen. Until she’d started watching a bare-chested Mitch bustling around in her kitchen, whipping up pancake batter and chatting about the holidays, she’d had no clue how sexy cooking could be.
“You take hot breakfast to a whole ’nother level,” Livi teased him when they sat down at the bistro table on her balcony. “It’s enough to tempt a woman into wanting pancakes for two every day.”
“A high compliment from a woman dedicated to breakfast for one,” he said with a laugh.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, truly curious.
He frowned and handed her the bowl of fruit.
“Why else would you be single? A woman with your looks, personality, brains? It has to be by choice.”
It did? Was that a bad thing? Before she could ask, Mitch continued.
“You know, as much as anyone ever had a choice.”
Livi frowned at him.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged.
“It’s nice to believe we have a vast array of options in life, but in reality they are pretty limited. Gender, nationality, even family and upbringing, they all craft the bulk of our life choices.” He stabbed at least half a dozen pancakes to transfer to his plate before handing her the platter. “It all factors in to the point that the vast majority of our life choices are predetermined.”
Still holding the pancake platter aloft, Livi could only stare as she worked through that concept. Even after looking at it this way, then that, she still wasn’t sure if she agreed or not.
She did know that Mitch baffled her.
They’d spent every moment of the last week together, and at times she’d felt as if she’d known him better before he’d knocked on her front door.
Livi frowned as she watched him pour enough syrup over his pancakes to make her teeth hurt.
“What?” Mitch grinned before offering her the bottle. “I left you some.”
She blinked and shook her head. Brow still tight, she lifted a jar of fruit preserves before opening it and spreading a light layer over the golden crust of her pancake.
“I was married,” she blurted out, the words surprising her as much as him.
Well, that took his attention off his pool of syrupy pancakes. She actually felt him come to attention from all the way across the small white table.
Setting his fork and knife on the sides of his plate, Mitch gave her his full attention.
She suddenly felt as if she’d stepped onto a stage in front of hundreds of people, all of whom were judging her body, her personality and even her morals.
Livi wanted to squirm. She’d rather her confession be shrugged off with a good-natured smile, sort of like her preference for fruit over syrup had.
“How long were you married?”
“A couple of years.” She made a show of cutting off a piece of pancake and eating it with exaggerated pleasure. He didn’t take the hint. Just waited.
Livi grimaced and, with a regretful look at her breakfast, set her fork down. Preserves were best on hot pancakes. If she’d known they’d be delayed because of an uncomfortable conversation, she’d have stuck with syrup.
“My divorce was finalized in February, but we split over Christmas the previous year,” she said. “It’s old news, really.”
“You must have been pretty young when you married.”
“Twenty.” She lifted her fork, but he was still giving her that intense peer-into-her-soul-and-scoop-out-secrets look. So she set the fork back down again and folded her hands in her lap. See, this would be a great time for her to be confident enough to tell him she didn’t want to talk about it. She could say it was uncomfortable, tell him it wasn’t a big deal and suggest he let it go.
So why didn’t she? She’d wanted Mitch and she’d gone after him. She was a strong woman. A capable, intelligent, savvy person capable of standing up for what she wanted. Even if all she wanted was to avoid something.
Livi lifted her chin, deliberately picked up her fork again and cut a piece of pancake.
Then she sighed.
Maybe Mitch was right.
Maybe she really didn’t have a lot of choice when it came to standing her ground. It certainly didn’t feel as if she did.
“His name is Derrick. He’s an athlete turned investment broker and he lives in New York now.” What was she supposed to say? How did one describe an ex-husband to a new lover? This discussion had socially awkward written all over it.
“What happened?”
“Sometimes things just don’t work out,” she said with a shrug.
From Mitch’s narrow-eyed look, that wasn’t nearly enough information.
But nothing had a greater guarantee to send a man screaming into the night never to call again than a woman talking about infertility issues.
Admitting she’d been a gullible idiot who’d gotten fleeced didn’t appeal a lot, either.
Then she thought of something safe to say and gave Mitch a big smile.
“He actually launched my career as a fitness expert.”
“He inspired you to teach others to get in shape?”
“Well, no. I already had my degree and certifications and was working as a personal trainer when we met. He was a ball player, semipro, who’d come to me for training on the recommendation of some friends.” Recommendation, dare—they were almost the same thing. “We’d only been married a few months when he was injured. He got the idea from his physical therapist, who’d just done a spot as an extra in a fitness video. One thing led to another. We formed Stripped Down Fitness and my new career was born.”
Her words were upbeat and she knew her smile was perky and bright. It was her on-camera smile, after all.
But she felt as if Mitch’s sharp eyes saw right through the cheer.
“The Fit To Be Naked videos? That seems like an odd thing for a man to encourage his wife to do.”
Livi frowned. Was he judging her?
“And why is that?” she asked, stiffly.
Mitch obviously wasn’t a highly trained special ops expert for nothing. He clued in immediately, his smile soothing as he reached across the table to take her hand.
Livi moved it out of reach.
“I’m not suggesting there’s anything wrong with those videos, or with your involvement,” he said carefully. “I simply don’t know many men who would be comfortable with their wife being dubbed The Bump-and-Grind Queen.”
“Would you?” Well, look at that. She was the type to stand her ground.
“I’m not married.”
Her finger now tapping her plate, Livi silently tilted her head to the side and waited.
Mitch watched her with narrowed eyes before shrugging one shoulder.
“I’m not a jealous ass. I don’t have a problem with others thinking the woman I’m with is sexy and desirable or knowing she’s damned good at what she does,” he said slowly, as if taking an extra moment to check each word for hidden explosives. “But isn’t that the point? You’re damned good at what you do. Didn’t you have a strong reputation as a trainer before this series of videos? I suppose I’m simply surprised that your ex would choose to steer you in that particular direction.”
That particular direction.
He obviously didn’t mean training or producing videos. She was a little surprised he knew anything about her reputation pre−Fit To Be Naked, but at least he hadn’t dug up the demise of that reputation. Her finger still tapping against the side of her plate, Livi debated explaining exactly how her o
nce famous client list had been whittled down to a handful of strippers and a few housewives. But it was so difficult to know when the right time was to tell your current lover that your ex-husband had stolen from investors and left you holding the bag. That seemed like the kind of conversation that was better had over dinner. Not breakfast.
“Actually, it wasn’t my ex who pulled together the Fit To Be Naked craze. All the credit for that goes to my current manager. Pole-dancing workouts were starting to take off and she saw a way to take the newest fitness craze to a higher level.”
Tension tying knots in her stomach, Livi wanted to see what he’d say next. She wasn’t ashamed of the direction her career had gone in. Had Billy Blanks been ashamed of combining kickboxing and fitness when he’d created Tae Bo? Was Beto Perez bumming over bringing Zumba to life? Of course not. Because they were effective, engaging workouts that provided more than just exercise. They offered inspiration. Maybe she was inspiring people to master a hip thrust instead of an uppercut, but the results were the same. They were captivated enough to stick with the program and see results.
“I’d say you must have jumped quite a few levels to get where you are now. It takes some major connections to make an impression on the US Navy,” he told her with a laugh.
The knots in her stomach loosened a little.
“Maybe. Or maybe I just have a well-connected manager.” Or well-connected aunt. Or—Livi remembered the conspiratorial look between Roz and her mom—probably a combination of the two.
“That’d be the manager you called ‘pushy’?” he asked with a smile. Since he finally picked up his fork again and started eating, Livi managed to smile back.
“That’d be her. She’s pretty amazing. Intimidating.” Especially if you were her daughter. “I don’t think there’s anything she’s set her sights on that she hasn’t managed to pull off.”
“Maybe I should thank her for the idea for the SEAL workout, then,” he teased. Then his expression turned serious, watchful. “It sounds as if she’s done some great things for your career. Do you prefer her direction to the one your ex had you on?”
