A SEAL for Christmas

by Leslie North

  “Or something.” He was half-tempted to toss her back into the bed and have his wicked way with her again. Her breathy cries of passion still echoed in his ears and when he licked his lips, he could still taste her there. She was in his blood now, despite their short time together, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he’d live without her when this was all over.

  But he would. Somehow. She had her life back in Al Dar Nasrani and he had his here in the States. Hell, for all he knew he’d be back for another stint in the SEALs anyway. Once he made a final decision on that. One more item on his seemingly never-ending to-do list.

  Honestly, he’d never had this much trouble making up his mind about his life. He was usually a charge forward kind of guy, but this whole re-enlistment thing had thrown him for an unexpected loop. It had been one thing when his buddies were going back with him, as part of their highly secretive and elite SOG—Special Operations Group—called the Doves. But now Daveed and Heath both were out of it. Civilian life seemed to agree with them too. Daveed had Melanie and Heath had his money and his businesses to keep him busy, as well as this case with Aileen.

  What did Murphy have though? Not much, that he could think of.

  For the last ten years he’d ate, slept, and drank the military and the Doves Group and what did he have to show for it? Bunking down on his sister’s couch in his sister’s apartment and a whirlwind, scorching-hot affair with his best friend’s ex. A woman who was so far out of his league he was still amazed she’d want to be with a man like him.

  The time for feeling sorry for himself was over though. If he could make contact with Senator Lawrence tonight and find out what he knew about EnKor and the disappearance of his sister Aileen, then that would lead him one step closer to finding his sister. Once he found his sister, he’d be free to go back into the SEALs again, if he wanted. Most likely, Shayma would be gone then too, back to her life on her gorgeous tropical island, far away from him. Which would be best, for both of them, he supposed.

  She deserved more than he’d ever be able to give her. She deserved a man who could be there for her emotionally as well as physically, a man who’d be able to give her all the finer things in life he couldn’t afford at this point on his modest military salary. Sure, he had money in savings, but with his nomadic lifestyle he wasn’t settled yet. She deserved champagne and flowers and candy hearts. She deserved a happily ever after.

  Murphy didn’t even know what his own future held at this point, let alone whether he could ever take on the responsibility of anyone else’s. He sighed and pulled his starched white shirt from its hanger, tugging it on as Shayma walked over to him to help button him up. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent a tiny electrical storm through his nerve endings, all crashing thunder and flickering lightning.

  “So, why won’t you tell me where you’re going?” Shayma asked, looking up into his eyes, her own narrowed. “It must be somewhere fancy, if you’re wearing a tux.”

  He figured he’d already made enough mistakes with her in their short relationship. No sense adding more lies to the mix. Besides, they’d already argued about his solo act in finding his sister. Shouldn’t come as a big shock to her now that he was following through his plans. “I’m going to crash the benefit gala for the children’s hospital tonight at the MoMA. Senator Lawrence is a special guest and featured speaker. If I can get to him and talk to him about his involvement with EnKor and Aileen’s disappearance, I can hopefully get a new lead on finding my sister.”

  “Good. You’ve reconsidered then.” She finished buttoning his collar then reached for the pair of gold cufflinks he’d laid out on the dresser. They’d belonged to his dad, tiny Army Ranger logos embellished on their front. She carefully slipped them into place. “I’d guess with their connections Daveed or Mel should be able to get you an invite. My father is also a major donor, so—”

  “I haven’t changed my mind about anything.” He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss before releasing her and turning away. “I’m going on my own tonight. The trail’s too hot to risk spooking the Senator by showing up full force. I figure I can bullshit my way past the guards at the doors and then go from there.”

  “I see.” She snatched her clothes from the floor, not meeting his gaze. Her husky voice held an edge now, leaving him in no doubt about her opinion of his rogue mission tonight. She was still pissed. And he was still doing it anyway. He needed answers, dammit. Not that he didn’t want his buddies to have his back, but he couldn’t risk screwing this up. Besides, Heath and Daveed both had their own shit going on. Aileen was his sister, his responsibility. His to protect. He’d fulfill that duty in his own way, at his own time.

  “And what about me, huh?” Shayma tugged on her own clothes, her hair still damp from the shower. “We had a deal, a partnership. I’m just supposed to kiss you on the cheek and wave goodbye and not bother you anymore? Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” No. He pulled out his jacket, covered in colorful ribbons and medals from his various citations and awards during his tours of duty, and slid it on then stared at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his officer’s hat. The word cut like glass in his throat, but he had to make a clean break, had to let her go now before he wouldn’t be able to later. Ship shape, he checked his watch, then grabbed the newspaper from the dresser as he slid his stockinged feet into his shiny black shoes. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to leave things, but right now his heart felt blown apart and he didn’t know how to handle that. Somehow, despite all his wishes and barriers, Shayma had sliced him open and laid all his deepest darkest emotions bare. She’d made him feel things he’d sworn never to feel again—love, trust, yearning, hope. All the things that would break him in the end. And he couldn’t break. Not yet. Not until he’d found Aileen and brought her home again, one way or another. He shoved the paper under his arm on the way out the bedroom door. Murphy didn’t look back at her, because that would hurt too goddamned bad, and kept his voice as steady and cool as he could. “It’s been fun. Please don’t forget to lock up when you go. Have a safe journey back home.”

  He didn’t bother grabbing his coat on the way out the door, just made sure he had his keys and wallet. The cold might do him good now. In fact, the more frigid the temperatures outside, the better. He needed to freeze his heart against Shayma before it was too late. She made him want things, things that were out of his orbit, things that made him want to abandon his goals, abandon his old life, abandon everything except the white-hot connection between them. And that was unacceptable.

  Until Aileen was home and safe again, that had to be his top priority.

  No exceptions. No excuses.

  No matter how badly his heart might be breaking because of it. No matter how badly he wanted to turn right around and run back upstairs and beg her to forgive his callousness and take him back into her arms again.

  Finding his sister was mission number one right now, and Murphy never failed on a mission.

  Never.

  * * *

  Angry didn’t begin to describe Shayma’s mood by the time she got back to her suite at the Plaza. She carried her handbag and the plastic bag she’d used to haul what little she’d had over at Aileen’s apartment back here into the spacious room and slammed the door behind her.

  Done. She was done with men and most definitely done with Murphy Coen.

  After what they’d shared together, after what they’d done last night, for him to leave like that without even a look back was too much. She tossed her stuff down on the table in the foyer and shrugged off her coat before stalking into the living room area. The TV was on. Mel sat in one corner of the large, overstuffed sofa.

  The last thing she wanted to do was talk about what had happened at Aileen’s apartment. Things were still too raw and tender, too confusing. And seeing Murphy in his immaculate uniform? Lord, her heart was still fluttering from that vision.

  Stupid heart.

  “Hey, girlfriend,�
�� Mel said, grinning up at her from beneath the blanket that was pulled up to her chin. A bag of microwave popcorn sat on the cushion next to her. She eyed Shayma’s outfit with a dubious expression. “Nice sweatshirt. Escape from Santa’s workshop much?”

  “Funny.” Shayma crossed her arms and sighed, tried not to think about the day she’d bought this stupid thing, with Murphy. How happy they’d been, how quickly it had all fallen apart. “Where’s Daveed?”

  “He called and said he and Heath were going to check out a new lead on Aileen’s case downtown. He tried to call Murphy too, but didn’t get an answer. Said if I saw you I was to ask you where he was.”

  Going rogue, she wanted to say, but stopped herself.

  Part of her wanted to spill the truth to the guys and let them know exactly what Murphy’s plans were for the night. Would serve him right treating her like nothing more than a pretty toy to be played with and discarded when his whims changed. But the other part of her whispered that he’d never offered her more than a fling. In fact, a fling was what she herself had insisted on. How could she blame Murphy for following her wishes?

  And that’s where the confusion came in.

  She shouldn’t want more with him. The relationship with her parents would be impossible for starters. Not to mention the fact Murphy’s rebellious streak would challenge her at every turn and never give her a moment’s rest if they tried to create a future together. And yet, she couldn’t think of another person she wanted to spend forever with more than Murphy Coen. He was smart and funny and kind and loyal and didn’t take any crap from her or anyone else. He fought for what he loved and believed in and was willing to sacrifice everything to make sure good won out in the end. How could she not love a man like that?

  Her heart sank to her toes and she slumped down on the other end of the sofa opposite Mel. “Oh, God. I’m in so much trouble.”

  Mel frowned and clicked the TV off. “What’s wrong?”

  Shayma shook her head as tears burned her eyes. Putting all her pain and heartache into words was too much right now. She wanted to wallow in her disappointment, cry until she couldn’t cry anymore. Wail and gnash her teeth and generally act like all those silly women in the movies who fell apart when their man was gone. Normally, she couldn’t stand such weak stereotypes, but now, for the first time in her life she understood the power of love… and loss.

  She hiccupped on a sob and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Murphy was gone and it was all her fault and she hadn’t realized until too late how much he meant to her and how much she wanted him to stay in her life.

  “God, Shayma.” Mel scooted closer to her and slipped an arm around her, pulling her close to lend a shoulder to cry on—literally. “Did something happen with Murphy? Did he…” Mel leaned back slightly to stare into Shayma’s face and her posture drooped. “Yep, he did. Oh, man. I’m sorry. Please tell me you didn’t fall in love with him afterward because from what Daveed says he’s a real playboy.”

  Those words only made Shayma cry harder, tears streaming down her cheeks in hot rivulets. She must look a mess, but she didn’t care anymore. What did it matter now anyway? The only man she wanted to take notice of her had walked out the door tonight, out of her life forever. It was so sad. It was so stupid. It was so infuriating.

  Annoyance warred with her melancholy once again. More at herself than anything. She wasn’t some lame idiot who sat around waiting for a man to make everything okay again. She was a college-educated woman with brains and money and enough confidence to forge her own path in life. If only her heart weren’t shattered into a million sharp pieces that all dug and tore and stabbed into her chest like thousands of razor blades.

  As Mel rocked her gently and stroked her hair, Shayma ran through all the conversations she and Murphy had had over the past few days. She was an optimist at heart. There had to be a way to salvage this situation, even if Murphy was too stubborn or blind to see it. She would have to decide what she wanted then make a plan to go for it. Her future was in her hands, if she was brave enough to take it.

  She sat up and swiped the back of her hands over her damp cheeks, her brows knit. “I love him.”

  “Wait. You love Murphy?” Mel asked, her expression confused. “What about Daveed?”

  “What about him? You know it was never like that between us. We talked about it, Mel.” Shayma sniffled and grabbed a tissue. “No. Something clicked between Murphy and I these past few days. He’s like my perfect guy.” When Mel gave her an odd look, Shayma laughed. “Seriously. I know it sounds crazy. He’s like the complete opposite of Daveed. He’s blue collar and alpha tough and he could use some pointers on fashion, but there’s just something about him. When he holds me, when he touches me, it’s like my soul lights up inside. He makes me want to be a better person when I’m with him. Does that make sense?”

  Mel’s slow smile widened. “Yeah, it does.” She tucked Shayma’s hair behind her ear and shook her head. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Shayma exhaled. “And it’s not going to be easy. I know that. He’s got severe trust issues from what happened with his mother. I believe that’s why he’s been so opposed to a relationship all these years. He’s afraid if he cares too much, that person will only leave him in the end, just like his mother did. He expects people to walk out on him, so he does the leaving first to avoid being hurt again.” She pushed to her feet, a proverbial lightbulb going on inside her head. “That’s it. That’s how I can get him back and convince him that I’m different.”

  “Huh?” Mel stood too, her nose scrunched and her pink chenille bathrobe gathered tight around her. “Sorry, but I’m not following. Do you know where Murphy went tonight? Because if you do, then I need to let the guys know.”

  Shayma was already on her way to her bedroom. The gala benefit at the Ritz Carlton would be a high-class extravaganza. She’d need her best gown and perfect hair and makeup if she was going to try and get inside without an invitation. Perhaps her family’s connections would come in handy after all.

  “I don’t have time to explain,” Shayma said, going through her closet to pick out a new burgundy velvet evening gown she’d bought on sale at Bergdorf’s the week before. She laid it on the bed, then took a new pair of Jimmy Choo strappy stiletto sandals out of their box and set them next to the gown. The rhinestone straps of the dress glimmered in the golden glow of the room’s lamps. “I need your help to get ready for a party.”

  “But what about the guys?”

  “The guys can wait a few hours longer.” Shayma grabbed the hem of her grinning Santa shirt and started to tug it over her head. “I’ve got a woman to find and a love to save first.”

  7

  Murphy saluted the security guard at the door to the Ritz-Carlton ballroom with all the pomp and circumstance he could muster. “Murphy Coen, Ensign to the Admiral Chief of Naval Operations, Naval Special Warfare Officer, reporting for duty, sir.”

  The young security guard looked slightly taken aback, his eyes widening at the six-foot-plus wall of muscle cloaked in a military uniform in front of him. “Uh, invitation please?”

  Assuming an at-rest stance and giving the guard a flat look from beneath the brim of his hat, Murphy didn’t budge an inch. “Afraid I forgot it, sir. I’m here as part of Senator Lawrence’s entourage from DC. Personal security.”

  “Oh, um.” The guard looked around, presumably for his partner who seemed to be missing in action at the moment. “I’ll need to check and be sure what the protocol is on that.”

  Sensing his opportunity slipping away, Murphy gazed around at all the well-dressed couples milling about then lowered his voice. “Please, dude? I’m late already and I don’t want to get in any more trouble. I’ll owe you one. Next time you’re down by the docks, let me know and I’ll get you a free, personalized tour of a destroyer.”

  “Seriously?” The guard grinned. He looked about twenty-two and was still green behind the ears whe
n it came to his duties, that much was obvious to Murph. “That’d be so cool!”

  “So?” Murphy tilted his head toward the elaborately decorated ballroom beyond. “Can I head in?”

  The guy glanced around then back to Murphy. “Go. But if anyone asks, it wasn’t me who okayed it.”

  Murphy tipped his hat to the guard then headed inside, glad that went a lot easier than he’d expected. The Ritz was done up for Christmas in style. Huge trees festooned with glittering golden ornaments towered at least twenty feet into the air on either side of the massive stage set up for the evening’s presentations at the far end of the room. Pink and bluish lights shown down from overhead, casting the silver and iridescent tables aglow in the pastel shades of a winter wonderland. Against one wall was a dance floor and a small band playing carols. On the opposite wall was an hors d’oeurve spread and what appeared to be an open bar. Murphy headed that way first. Not to eat, but to get a good stiff drink to clear his head and steel his resolve.

  Memories of Shayma kept running through his head—the look on her face when he’d walked out, the sound of his name on her lips, the faint smell of cinnamon in the air that would always remind him of her from now on. He swallowed hard and ordered a whiskey neat from the bartender then scanned the crowds for his quarry. From the pictures he’d seen online, Senator Lawrence was a portly, mid-sixties-ish man who looked downright kindly when he smiled. His hairline was receding and his shoulders stooped slightly forward when he stood. Some of the photos showed him wearing glasses, some not, which meant they weren’t a necessity for him to see. From the articles Murphy had read about him, his senate colleagues described him as sharp and smart and devoted to his causes. That sounded fine, on the surface. But Murphy had learned a long time ago to look deeper, where the darkness lurked.