The Navy SEAL's Christmas Bride (4 page)

Without a word, he crossed the room, took her arm and led her straight to the doorway to the kitchen, where a large ball of mistletoe hung prominently.

“You owe me a kiss.”

She made a face. “Let’s get it over with.” She tilted her chin up and squinted her eyes shut.

Get it over with? Surely this attraction couldn’t all be on his side. His body hummed with the knowledge of the kiss to come. Was she immune to him? Could she be when he felt this strong a need to touch her?

He leaned down, lifted her chin with his finger and brushed his lips over hers gently. She tried to pull back—as if that was payment enough for losing the bet. Dan wasn’t having that, though. He tugged her closer and slid one hand to cradle her head and the other around her back to keep her there.

At first she stood rigid under his touch, her mouth resolutely still, but a moment later, just as he thought her stubbornness might ruin the pleasure of this encounter for both of them, she gave in with a sigh, and parted her lips.

Flush with this new victory, Dan pulled her closer still, and tightened his arms around her. Her acquiescence turned him on in a way he hadn’t expected. Maybe because she was an equal, not a worshipper. He deepened the kiss, probing with his tongue, tasting her until his whole body was on fire with the desire to push things further. He couldn’t do that, though. Not with an audience.

Mason wolf-whistled, and Dan blinked, coming to his senses. Sarah stared back at him, looking equally surprised. Her fingers were curled into his shirt as tightly as his were tangled in her hair and for one split second he saw the naked want in her eyes. It wasn’t so much a sexual thing, he realized instantly, although he’d swear she was as aware of him as he was of her right at this moment. Instead it went deeper. She needed a man who could understand who she was—the military side of her as well as the feminine side. He bet most men couldn’t do that. Before he could explore this idea, however, Sarah stiffened and pushed him away.

“That’s enough of that.” Her voice was clipped and she tried to step back. Dan held her in place, confounded by the urge he had to keep her close until he’d discovered everything there was to know about her.

“I don’t think that’s nearly enough of that.” He tried to pull her in for another kiss, but Sarah erupted in a blur of motion. A moment later Dan found himself on the ground. “What the fuck!” He glared up her.

“Black belt in Krav Maga. I’ve been an instructor for the past five years.”

Krav Maga. The Israeli military’s legendary self-defense system. Figured. Dan hefted himself off the floor until he towered over her again. “You won’t be able to do that twice,” he growled. Not now that he knew what to expect. He cursed himself for lowering his guard long enough for her to be able to take advantage of it. This was exactly why he didn’t date women in the military.

Sarah just shrugged. The triumph in her eyes sent his competitive spirt skyrocketing. Before she could react, he grabbed her, kissed her again—a thorough, hungry kiss—then let go, dumping her to the floor. “Black belt in making out,” he explained and left the room.

‡

“T
his is supposed
to be a holiday, not the Olympics,” Regan said to Sarah the following day as Sarah and Dan suited up in borrowed pairs of snowshoes. Dan had challenged Sarah to a cross country race in the cumbersome footgear at breakfast, and to Regan’s dismay, she had accepted. “If you don’t like him, stay away from him. It’s a big ranch!”

“This isn’t about like or dislike. It’s about honor.” Regan was a great friend, but she didn’t understand how frustrating it was to have to constantly prove her worth as a soldier. Sarah had put a SEAL on the floor last night, after nearly beating him on an obstacle course. Hadn’t she proved herself?

Apparently not, because Dan had spent the morning meal dissing everything from her balance beam technique to her self-defense capabilities. As he continually pointed out, he had managed to sneak that extra kiss past her guard, after all.

And what a kiss it was. In the privacy of her own bedroom on the third floor of the Hall last night, she’d replayed both kisses a hundred times. What was it about the man that set her on fire when he touched her? She wasn’t sure what made him any different than the other men she’d dated.

None of them had ever set all her senses alight, though, and none of them had looked at her the way Dan had when he was done—like he’d been stunned by their contact and hungered for more.

She was beginning to think she wanted to get to know him better too. As insane as that was.

She’d die rather than let him know that, though. SEALman was too full of himself already, and why wouldn’t he be with that hard body and handsome face? He was something out of a recruitment poster and she bet lots of women flung themselves at his feet. The same couldn’t be said for her. She knew she was passable in the looks department, and she had all the right curves, but while her military prowess earned her begrudging respect among her fellow soldiers, it didn’t inspire any of the men she knew to fall on their knees and worship her.

More’s the pity.

“He beat you in a race yesterday,” Regan said in a low voice, moving closer. “Why would you try for a rematch? Unless you want to lose so he’ll kiss you again? Dan is pretty cute.”

“I definitely do not want to lose.” Even if the forfeit was only two kisses under the mistletoe today—nothing as lascivious as the scenes she’d concocted in her mind while she tossed and turned last night, waiting to fall asleep in her third floor room. She had to admit—to herself—those kisses did sound like fun, but that wouldn’t impair her urge to win. Or to see Dan run two laps naked around the Hall. “This race is about endurance more than speed. I’ll win it.”

“I don’t know. You’re incredibly strong, but Dan’s in good shape—and he
is
a man.”

He
is
a man
. Sarah bit back a sharp retort. She was sick of people throwing that up to her as an excuse why she couldn’t compete—or win.

“I told you I won’t lose.”

“Okay, okay.” Regan held her hands up in defeat. “If anyone can beat him, you can.”

Sarah softened at the look of pride in Regan’s eyes. Her friend only wanted to protect her. “Thanks.”

“Ready, squirt?” Dan moved into position at the starting line Mason had traced in the snow. They’d agreed on a race course that would take them down to Chance Creek, left around the closest pasture and then back again to the front steps of the Hall.

“Ready, SEALman.” He looked formidable today, dressed all in black outdoor gear. His boots and snowshoes made him an inch or so taller than usual, but then she was wearing boots and snowshoes, too.

Somehow they didn’t make her feel tall at all. Was he hiding lifts in those shoes?

“What do you say, Ella? Double or nothing? You still owe me twenty dollars.” Dan grinned at her over his shoulder.

She laughed. “Deal!”

“On your mark, get set—go!” Mason called the start. Sarah burst off the line in a sprint, but soon slowed to a steady pace. She knew that was the trick to winning this kind of race. Mason had estimated the distance as two and a half miles. That was a long way in snow shoes.

Dan quickly passed her by, but Sarah didn’t let his pace throw her off. The real race would happen in the last half-mile. With any luck, Dan would have worn himself out by then, while she’d have plenty of wind to sprint past him to the end.

The first part of the race was tiring, but uneventful. She followed Dan’s snowshoe prints down the path until she caught sight of Chance Creek. The creek was mostly frozen over, but dark water could be seen here and there and she took care to keep well back from the banks.

She made a hard turn left and spotted Dan ahead of her. He had pulled well back from his initial scorching pace, and soon she caught up with him.

“Krav Maga, huh?” he said when she drew near. “I would have thought knitting was more your style.” He moved easily, breathing strong but not heavily.

She did like knitting, but she wouldn’t tell him that. “I thought flower arranging would be more
your
style, but Regan says she and Ella did all the decorating.”

He sent her a bemused look. “Was that a clumsy attack on my masculinity?”

He was right; it was clumsy. She’d have to do better. “Regan’s touchy about people borrowing her underthings, but I bet Ella would loan you some panties for later. Or are you a thong kind of a guy—” Sarah shrieked when Dan bowled her over and they crashed together into the snow. She landed on her back with Dan braced above her.

“I do prefer thongs. On my women.” He leaned closer. “And if you’re really that unclear about what kind of a man I am, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration.”

Sarah glared up at him. He had her pinned and she could tell it wouldn’t be easy to unseat him, especially now that he knew what to expect.

A lascivious smile spread across his face. “Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t have to prove anything.”

“You pig. Get off of me.”

To her surprise he let her sit up. “Just kidding, squirt. I’m not that kind of guy. When we’re together it’ll be because you begged for it.”

“Fat chance.” She pushed him the rest of the way off of her and got back to her feet, ready to resume the race. He followed her, slipping into stride beside her as she increased her pace again.

“I could be that kind of guy, though. If you wanted me to be. What about it, squirt? Do you like men who take charge?”

She ignored him and fought the urge to run even faster. He was trying to throw her off her stride—trying to tire her out—so he could beat her and get those two kisses he seemed to want so badly. Despite herself, she found herself imagining what those kisses would be like.

And what he’d be like if he
took charge
.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

Sarah body-checked him as if they were playing hockey, dropping her shoulder and leaning in for the hit as she ran. Dan went down hard, but he thrust a hand out, grabbed her ankle, and sent her crashing to the ground, too.

“Damn it!”

“It’s supposed to be a race, Metlin, not a contact sport.”

“Everything’s a contact sport with you!” Whoops—probably not the smartest thing to say.

He was on her in a second, literally and figuratively. As he straddled her hips once more, he leaned in close. “Everything’s a contact sport because you want it that way—admit it. You like me.”

“Like hell.” She struggled underneath him, but he had her solidly pinned.

“Come on. Beg me, Metlin. Beg me to kiss you. You know you want to.” He sat back, settling himself on top of her.

“You are such an ass.” His movement had given her an opportunity, though. A second later she’d dumped him in the snow and regained her feet. She didn’t stay to taunt him or glory in this reversal of their fortunes. Instead, she ran for all she was worth, her clumsy snow shoes whumping with each step. She had to be careful not to tangle her feet, or Dan would catch up and then there’d be hell to pay.

“I know you like me!” he called from where he still sat in the snow. “I can tell by the way you keep hitting me!”

Despite herself, Sarah laughed.

Damn Krav Maga.
It should be illegal to teach that to women. Dan picked himself up out of the snow and chased after Sarah. She was setting a fast pace now, and he tracked her more slowly. Let the little lady tire herself out. He had plenty of stamina left.

Hell, he could go all night long if she cared to.

He stifled a chuckle and thought about Sarah’s laugh. He’d heard it as she raced away and had to smile, although it made him uneasy, too; he didn’t know why his heart soared at the sound. He liked that she had a sense of humor and could appreciate his, sure—but that didn’t justify the extent of the feeling. Suddenly he wanted Sarah to want him back. He wanted her to be as curious about him as he felt about her.

He told himself it was because Sarah Metlin posed a real challenge. She wasn’t soft and sweet like the women he usually dated. He couldn’t flex a muscle and sweep her into bed. He’d have to prove himself to be the kind of man she looked up to.

For one split second, Dan wondered if he could.

He pushed that thought away. Of course he was man enough for Sarah. How much more man could you be than a veteran Navy SEAL? Normally, he’d turn on the charm, show off his muscles, brag a little bit—just a little, mind you—about his time in the service. None of that would work with Sarah, though. She’d ignore his charm, show off her own muscles and brag about her Krav Maga training.

He wasn’t willing to conceded defeat, though. He wanted to learn everything he could about this intriguing woman.

Sarah’s weakness was her competitiveness, he decided. He’d just continue to do what he was already doing—engage her in competitions and steal kisses from her when he won, until he’d kissed her enough that she wanted more.

They rounded the next corner of the pasture, and Dan sped up just a little—enough so that he’d catch up to Sarah before she reached the next corner post. He needed to unsettle her if he was going to win this race—and he knew just how to do it.