Page 15 of Christmas With the Navy SEAL Mountain Man
"Merry Christmas."
I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her, memorizing this moment of perfectpeace."Merry Christmas,Leah."
As she falls asleep in my arms, I stare at the Christmas lights reflecting on her ceiling, feeling more at peace than I have inyears.Tomorrow, there will bequestions.Complications.Reality.
But tonight, for the first time since I returned from Afghanistan, I don't feelalone.
And that terrifies me more than any battlefield evercould.
CHAPTER SIX
LEAH
Morning light streams through my window, painting golden patterns across rumpled sheets. I stretch languidly, every muscle pleasantly sore from last night's activities. The space beside me is empty but still warm, the pillow bearing the indentation of Aaron's head.
For a moment, panic flutters in my chest. Did he leave? Regret everything and slip away while I slept?
Then I hear it—the quiet clink of mugs in my tiny kitchen, the rich scent of brewing coffee drifting through the apartment. He stayed. Not only stayed, but he's making coffee.
I allow myself a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. Last night had been... incredible doesn't begin to cover it. Aaron Wilson, with his gruff exterior and gentle hands, had shattered every expectation, taking me apart and putting me back together with an intensity that left me breathless.
The memory of his weight above me, his voice rough with desire as he claimed me, sends heat rushing through my body.Who would have thought the solitary mountain man would be so passionate, so attentive, so utterly consuming?
Slipping from bed, I pull on an oversized sweater that falls to mid thigh and pad barefoot into the kitchen. Aaron stands with his back to me, wearing only his jeans, his broad shoulders and muscled back on glorious display in the morning light. The tattoo between his shoulder blades—what looks like mountains with coordinates beneath—shifts as he reaches for mugs from my cabinet.
For a moment, I simply watch him, drinking in the domesticity of the scene. This powerful man, scarred and beautiful, moving through my kitchen with unexpected grace.
"Morning," I say softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turns, and the sight of his face—relaxed, stubble a shade darker than yesterday, blue eyes warm with sleep—makes my heart skip. He's holding two mugs of coffee, and the slight curve of his lips can only be described as a shy smile.
"Morning." He extends one mug to me. "I hope you don't mind. I figured you'd want coffee."
"Mind? You can make me coffee every morning." The words slip out before I can consider their implication, hanging in the air between us.
Every morning. As if this is going somewhere. As if one night of passion means anything beyond mutual attraction and good chemistry.
His expression shifts, something guarded replacing the openness of a moment ago. I sip my coffee to hide my embarrassment. It's perfect—strong and black, exactly how I like it.
"How did you know how I take my coffee?" I ask, desperate to move past the awkward moment.
"I pay attention." He leans against the counter, his own mug cradled in hands that had mapped every inch of my body last night. "You drink it black at the event. No sugar, no cream."
The fact that he noticed such a small detail makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "You were watching me before we even spoke?"
A flush creeps up his neck. "Hard not to. You're the most colorful thing on the mountain."
The compliment, delivered in his straightforward way, makes me smile. I step closer, into his space, drawn by the heat of his body. "And here I thought you were determined to ignore my existence."
His free hand settles at my waist, warm through the thin sweater. "I tried. Didn't work out so well."
"I'm glad it didn't." I rise on tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard against my lips.
He sets his coffee aside and pulls me closer, his large hands spanning my waist. "Last night..." he begins, then pauses, searching for words.
"Was amazing," I finish for him, hoping to ease whatever struggle is playing out behind his eyes.
He nods, relief evident in the relaxing of his shoulders. "Yeah. It was."
