Christmas with a SEAL. Tawny Weber

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      Yet now that she was standing in front of Phillip in all her naked glory, she was trembling in her high heels. Part of it was unquestionably desire. But there, beneath the excitement, was fear. What if this didn’t break her creative block? What if she was doomed never to make anything original again? Or worse, what if the sex was so amazing, she wanted more? What if he was so amazing, he became more than a fantasy?

      The closer Phillip stepped, the faster her pulse raced. But it still couldn’t keep up with the tangled thoughts speeding through her head.

      So she did what any smart woman on a quest for pleasure would do. She ignored the fear and focused on the desire.

      Which got easier the closer Phillip came. His green eyes were hot, his look intent as it roamed her body. Figuring tit deserved tat, her gaze shifted. Oh, baby, his shoulders were so deliciously broad. He didn’t have a bodybuilder’s physique; he was too slender for that. But his sculpted muscles were a testament to the physical demands of his career. His skin was pale gold, his chiseled chest covered with a dusting of dark hair.

      Frankie’s fingers itched to touch it, to know if it was silky or crisp. She wanted to slide her hands over those arms and see if her hands could even fit around those impressive biceps. Her eyes drifted lower, following the trail of hair to his slender waist and, dammit, his slacks.

      She wanted him naked. She wanted to see if the rest of him was as delicious as what she’d seen so far.

      She raised her gaze to his face, ready to demand that he drop his drawers and put them on equal footing—nudity-wise.

      But then she saw the look in his eyes.

      He looked fascinated. As if she were the answer to something, something he desperately needed. Her breath caught, her heart clenching at whatever was beneath that look. Then he met her gaze.

      “You’re like something out of a dream,” he murmured. He reached out, just one finger, and skimmed it over the curve of her breast.

      Frankie barely kept from whimpering. She was pretty sure melting into an orgasmic puddle at the first touch would blow her sophisticated facade. Besides, she wanted more.

      So much more.

      Whisper soft, his finger traced a circle around her nipple.

      Desire, sharp and needy, blasted through her, exploding in all the right places. She curled her toes to try to keep from falling out of her shoes.

      Her breath came out in a surprised “Oh.”

      How could such a simple touch feel so good in so many places? Her knees trembled, and she squeezed her thighs together to intensify the pleasure building in her core. She wet her lips. She’d planned to tell him what she liked, how she liked it. But she had a feeling that he’d find so many new ways to pleasure her, ones she’d never even imagined.

      As if reading her thoughts and ready to prove her right, Phillip flicked his thumb over her nipple. Then, before she could even murmur her approval, he pinched it between two fingers, still rubbing with his thumb.

      Desire spiraled in a tight coil, filling her core with wet heat. Excitement built as sensations bombarded her. His thumb was rough, his palm warm. Color exploded against her closed eyelids, the miniorgasm rocking her body.

      She shuddered with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough.

      She wanted more.

      She needed more.

      Her hands raced over his body. He was so hard, so deliciously hard. Done waiting, she skimmed her hands over his rock-hard abs, delighting for only a second before grappling with his belt buckle and ripping at his slacks. They had to go. She had to feel him.

      “Hurry,” she demanded, shoving his pants off his hips. She felt him kick them away, but didn’t have time to do more than suck in a breath before he had her against the wall. His hands gripped hers, pulling her arms over her head. His mouth raced over her throat, down her chest. When he sucked her nipple between his teeth, Frankie bucked against him.

      Her fingernails dug into her palms as she strained against his grip, wanting to touch, needing to give him the same pleasure he was offering her.

      “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s crazy,” he muttered, pulling away. Thankfully not too far, though. Just enough for Frankie to see his face.

      Her breath knotted in her chest. She tried to swallow, but it took her three attempts before air hit her lungs.

      It wasn’t the idea that he would call it quits before they finished what they had started that made her want to cry. It was the look in his eyes.

      There was so much pain in those green depths, and it was buried so deep that she wondered if he even acknowledged it. It tore at her heart, making her want to pull him close and soothe him. To offer her shoulder, to find a way to heal him.

      But she knew he wouldn’t accept it.

      Her goal tonight had been to heal her broken imagination. To use her fantasy as a key to reopen her creative doors.

      Now all she wanted was to make Phillip feel better than good. She wanted him to feel incredible. So incredible that he forgot those secrets tearing at his soul. So incredible that he found peace.

      So incredible that he never forgot her.

      “Why is it crazy to feel good?” she asked, finally responding to his comment.

      She saw the response in his eyes before he said a word. That rigid control of his was shoving aside the passion, replacing it with logic. Talk about crazy.

      Frankie pressed her finger against his lips before he could voice his thoughts. She shook her head, giving him her sexiest look.

      “You do make me feel good, Phillip. So good. The way you touch me, it’s getting me excited. Thinking about what’s coming next, it’s making me so hot.” She rubbed her finger over his bottom lip, her eyes locked on his as she stretched to brush a kiss over that lip. She arched her brow, then without warning, gave him a gentle nip.

      He hissed. His fingers tensed on her hips, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push away from her or pull her closer.

      She figured it was the least she could do to help him figure it out.

      She moved her hand down so both palms were on his chest, circling, caressing.

      “You want me,” she told him, sliding one hand lower to cup the hard length of him pressing against her thigh. “You can have me. All you have to do is let go. Quit worrying. Quit thinking. Just feel.”

      Brows furrowed, he looked as if he didn’t understand. Had he never let go? Never let himself be free?

      Suddenly desperate to give him that, Frankie ran her tongue over his lip. When his eyes glazed, she gave his lip another little nip, then sucked it into her mouth and soothed the flesh with her tongue. At the same time, she curved her fingers around his erection, squeezing gently as she rubbed her thumb over the velvety tip.

      He growled, shifting so their bodies were pressed together, her hand trapped between them.

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