Chapter 6
The resort’s underground parking deck is empty—exactly like when I left an hour ago.
Too empty.
Liberty’s gaze sweeps the vast concrete cavern as we descend the ramp. “It would have been spooky to be here alone. Would you have felt that way?”
“In the Teams, you learn to trust your ears, your instincts, your gut. Darkness and solitude don’t bother me. People do. Most people.”
Something flickers across her face—curiosity, but she holds any questions that come to mind behind her pressed lips.
I pull into the garage’s premier parking space and kill the engine. The truck gives a soft shudder, wipers pushing the last of the snow aside before they stop moving.
Down here, in the heated underground hush, it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared.
“That’s the last time we deal with the weather for a few days,” I say. “Totally sealed off.”
Totally alone.
She unbuckles, and moves to climb out.
“Hold on.” I’m out of the driver’s side almost before the words finish leaving my mouth.
Liberty’s smile and the humor in her eyes are a one-two punch as I open her door.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“We’re not going to debate this.”
She slips her hand into mine, letting me help her down. The moment her boots hit the ground, she tilts her face up at me.
“Why do I feel like you’re hard to persuade?” A hint of a smile plays over her lips as she asks.
“Because you know my kind.”
Her smile grows devious, dangerous. “Do I, ever.”
Then she wrinkles her nose at me. “Doesn’t mean I won’t push back.”
“Good to know.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. I shouldn’t be standing this close to her. I damn sure shouldn’t be looking at her the way I am.
It’s like she tilts my whole world. The woman is five-feet-five inches of temptation.
Her boots put the top of her head right at my chin. Perfect for wrapping up in my arms. Which I’m determined not to do.
Too bad other parts of me aren’t listening.
If she took a half step closer, she’d feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
Her scent—deeply feminine, is sweet, warm, and completely intoxicating.
“I can get my bag,” she says, brushing past me, her jacket grazing my chest like a match strike. That simple touch glues my boots to the concrete.
It feels like we’re climbing too close to a dangerous rock ledge. One wrong move and all hell will break loose.
She pops open the back door of my truck and reaches for her overnight bag.
“Liberty.”
She glances back, hair sliding teasingly over her shoulder. “What? I can manage.”
I take one slow step toward her. Everything within me sharpens. The way she’s leaning over is driving me crazy.
“Look out, sweetheart.”
This doesn’t feel like a warning. No, it feels like a promise.
Before anything reckless happens, I grab her bags and guide her through the resort’s over-the-top security system—hand scanner, iris scanner, coded keypad. The works.
My boots carry me into the great room on autopilot as I mentally kick myself a few dozen times.
Do not think about kissing. Or touching. Or beds. Or long showers.
Jesus, don’t think about anything.
“Welcome to Christmas Lockdown,” I joke, except my voice sounds strangled.
Liberty breezes past me, eyes going wide at the decorations. “Wow. Wow. Wow. This is amazing.”
Yep. She is. One thousand percent.
Enchanted by the holiday spectacle, she shrugs out of her coat and drops it across the sofa like she lives here.
My gaze snags on her. The pink sweater. The one I’ve been imagining way too damn often.
“They didn’t decorate the tree,” she says, circling the base of the massive Douglas fir.
“The team was supposed to do it together. You know, some kind of reindeer games, and all that.”
She laughs, and I wish I could capture the sound for some lonely night. The kind of lay-awake night where the house is cold, dark, and too fucking quiet.
“Everything’s here,” she murmurs, looking over all the boxes of ornaments sitting beside a carved-stone fireplace.
Stockings are waiting to be hung. Twisted strands of lights probably meant to be untangled as a group activity that just evaporated into thin air.
Leaving me alone with the one woman I’ve been trying to avoid.
I’m so screwed.
“I’ll be back.”
I make a quick escape down the hall, into the bathroom, where I scrub both hands over my face.
Get. Your. Shit. Together.
You’re a SEAL, not a teenage idiot.
I splash water, count to two hundred, and even give myself the world’s least inspirational pep talk in the mirror.
Then I step back into the great room—and instantly regret it.
She turns toward me, framed by the Christmas lights on the mantle and that ridiculously sexy sweater, and the force of it nearly knocks me backward.
I want everything—her expression, her secret smile, every piece of her she doesn’t know she gives away.
“Spence…”
The way she says my name is soft. Personal. Not a teammate calling me a nickname. Something much more important.
“Yeah?”
“I found your ornament.”
“Mine? What is it? A Grinch?”
“Noooo, silly.” She holds up a glass circle with a photo inside—a picture of me at the gun range. I didn’t even know someone took that shot.
For a beat, I’m stuck inside my own head. The team. My friends. Someone cared enough to make this. And I’m about to fuck everything up if I pursue something with my buddy’s very off-limits sister.
“The guys welcomed me back after I disappeared inside my grief,” I say quietly. “Agile’s good like that.”
She knows my past. At least the broad strokes. That my girlfriend died. And the air between us shifts to heavy and sincere.
She closes her hand around the ornament, nodding. “They make me feel so loved. Reconnecting with my brother has been incredible, but the way everyone here pulled me in… it feels different. Really good.”
“I know. Same here.”
She looks up. “Everyone has an ornament in this box. Me included.”
“We should put them up later.”
She nods and sets mine back into the tissue paper gently. She handles it with such care that something sharp catches at the base of my throat.
I pivot away, needing motion. Needing distance from the energy rising between us.
“Come on,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Follow me. I know what you need.”
And it’s not for me to sink my teeth into that perfect ass.
Goddamn those jeans.
I’d bite down on my knuckle if I weren’t clenching my phone hard enough to crack the screen.
The kitchen is a safe territory. Somewhere to put all this restless, burning energy. “Hot beverage? They stocked this like a winter bunker.”
“Hot cocoa sounds perfect,” she says, her voice hinting at humor. “Since I didn’t get to finish the one at the store before you came flying in like a knight on a shiny horse.”
“That’s some description,” I reply. “But I’m no knight.”
“I’ve never been rescued in a snowstorm before.”
“Well,” I say, muscles along my spine tightening, “I’d like to think you’ll never have to be rescued again.”
The idea of her being stranded somewhere cold, scared. Nope. Not happening. My gut recoils. My protective instincts heading off the chart.
I don’t know how I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, but I will.
“Cheesecake. Oh my God, this must be the one you mentioned. I can see why you already dove in.
“It’s ours to enjoy,” I say, and nearly groan at that word—ours.
“This place is so nice. I couldn’t believe it the first time I came,” she says as a stool scrapes across the floor.
The kitchen is a fortress—two six-burner cooktops, four ovens, a ridiculous island the boss installed. I start gathering supplies just to keep my hands busy and my eyes away from her.
“It’s stocked like Martha Stewart planned a siege,” I mutter with my head ducked to look in a cabinet.
“You know Martha Stewart?” she teases. “Color me shocked.”
“Read about her in a magazine on some base in the middle of nowhere.”
She laughs. “I can’t picture you reading her cooking magazine.”
“You’d be surprised what you’ll read when you’re bored enough in the desert.”
She picks up a plate. “Do you want some more, or should I eat this?”
Cheesecake? Oh, hell no.
“No, you have it.”
She lifts the fork, and something tightens low in my gut. Don’t watch her eat. DO NOT watch her eat.
I yank the fridge open for distraction and find labeled containers: Christmas Eve Dinner. Christmas Day Breakfast. Prime Rib for Christmas Dinner.
More reminders that she and I are alone.
Rattled, I dig around for something. Anything. A fire-extinguisher-size bottle of water would be handy for how dry my throat is right now.
“That fridge is amazing.” She appears at my elbow, brushing close enough to make my pulse stumble. Her scent—lavender and something purely her—slides through my bloodstream, kicking up my adrenaline.
“They really went all out,” she murmurs.
I slug the entire bottle in one swallow like I’ve been wandering the desert for three years.
“Marshall doesn’t do anything halfway,” I say, panting slightly as I back away, needing air before I touch dessert—and I don’t mean cheesecake.
She trails her fingertip along a bottle of champagne, slow enough to be lethal.
Fuck.
Too much.
I can’t take the sight of her, the smell of her, the temptation in every line of her body. I head for the walk-in pantry like it’s a bunker.
God willing, they’ve got oxygen tanks in there.
Because I can’t fucking breathe.