Christmas with a SEAL

Then slowly, an inch at a time to avoid jangling any of the metal disks, she pulled her dress on. Her eyes never left Phillip’s sleeping form as she felt around in the dark for her shoes. She checked the hidden zippered pocket, assuring herself that her key card was still there.

She needed to leave. Now, before he woke up.

But she couldn’t bring herself to.

Knowing she was taking a huge risk, she tiptoed on bare feet to the edge of the bed. Just to look at him one last time. Even in sleep, he didn’t look peaceful.

He looked like a warrior, reliving battles in his dreams.

Her heart ached, curiosity screaming to know what had hurt him so badly.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

He would never tell her.

Besides, she didn’t do rescues.

Especially not ones that would break her heart.

Moisture, salty and warm, slipped into the corner of her mouth as she stared down at him.

She wiped her hand over her cheek, realizing it was covered in tears.

She had to get out of there.

With one last look, she reached out as if to touch his cheek, but didn’t let herself get that close. Instead, she forced herself to leave. Frankie opened the heavy door carefully, wincing as light from the corridor slanted into the room, temporarily blinding her.

Blinking against it and the tears still burning her eyes, she glanced back once, then carefully closed the door behind her.

Her shoes dangling from her fingers, Frankie leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath through her nose.

Phillip had been right.

This had been crazy.

The only saving grace was the fact that she was sure she’d never see him again.

And maybe, eventually, she’d convince herself that was a good thing.

4 (#ulink_c8afe7d0-835a-5753-bc49-da595b35bef4)

A VICIOUS POUNDING dragged Phillip from the sleep of the dead.

His head throbbed, nausea churned in his gut and his eyes felt as if someone had sandblasted them before adding a coating of gasoline.

Holy crap, was this what a hangover felt like?

Phillip pressed the tips of his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping if he pushed hard enough the burning would fade. Or maybe his eyeballs would just pop on out. Whatever worked.

The pounding didn’t stop.

It wasn’t until he groaned that he realized it wasn’t inside his head.

The door. Someone was knocking.

He peeled his eyelid open, sure he could hear a layer tearing off his eyeball, and squinted.

Hotel room?

Damn.

Las Vegas. Lara’s wedding. Horrible dancing, noise and...

He flew from the bed, dragging the sheet with him.

“Frankie?” he asked, yanking the door open.

“Sir?”

Phillip squinted, his teeth clenched against the pain. Instead of a cute redhead with sexy freckles, a dark cloud stood in his doorway.

“Lane?” he muttered, pressing his fingers against his lids.

Shit.

Why was the petty officer here? They were still off duty, weren’t they? Hadn’t it only been one night? And if he was at the door, where had Frankie gone? Phillip turned back to the room, searching for her.

“We were all meeting for breakfast before heading for the airport,” Lane reminded him. “You missed breakfast so I came to see if you’d changed your plans.”

Breakfast?

Phillip squinted across the room, realizing the heavy drapes were closed tight.

It was morning?

He strode over, shoved the covers aside.

Nobody was there.

Damn.

He didn’t bother looking in the bathroom. He knew she was gone.

“Hell.” He sighed, dropping to the bed.

“Sir? You okay?”

“I think I slept with Frankie,” he muttered.