Page 65 of The Forever Christmas Tree

He grabbed her hand and kissed the fingertips. “I haven’t been asleep at all. Do you think I’d waste the little time I have with you by sleeping?” He tucked her to his side with an arm around her shoulders and her face resting on his chest.

The “little time.” Yes, he was right about that. So little time! Not to be wasted! “Hmmm. I guess not,” she murmured. “And, yes, I like what I see.”

“Vice versa, baby. Very vice versa!” he said, making a growling noise against her neck. Then, “Tell me about your work in California. What is a typical day like?”

She was the one lying on her back now, and he was propped over her.

“I’m not sure there is a typical day, but, even when we’re not out on a live op, or preparing for a mission, we always, always have to be in shape. That means exercise every day, and not just five-mile runs before breakfast. It’s carrying a log, climbing the cargo net, sugar cookies on the beach, drownproofing, surf penetrations, every kind of body torture imaginable, all to make us be in the best physical condition at any one time. You never know when your body’s ability to survive in the wild will be tested.”

“What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?” he asked, a fingertip idly tracing the scar on her neck. He was fascinated by that scar, or perhaps repulsed, she wasn’t sure.

Snuck into a Syrian compound, dressed in full burka, to help rescue three Marines who’d been imprisoned for a year. HALOed into hostile territory in Afghanistan. Took enemy fire in Nigeria. “I can’t really tell you.”

“Or you’d have to kill me?” he quipped.

“Something like that.”

“You ever shoot anyone? No, forget I asked that. Do you have any trouble killing someone?”

“Not at all. The tangos we go after—that’s a SEAL name for bad guys—these are the dregs of the world. Evil-to-the-core terrorists.”

Ethan cringed at her words. “I don’t like that you have to do these things.”

“Someone has to. Besides, I choose to. In fact, I’ll probably re-up in June.”

He shrugged. “I just wish—”

She interrupted him. “Tell me about your work.”

He seemed reluctant to give up his questioning, at first, but then he acquiesced. “The first couple years after you left, I worked with my dad on tree farming, until his death. I soon learned that he loved the farming aspect, but was an incompetent businessperson. He didn’t go out and seek customers or new markets, just waited for people to come to him.”

“Where did you learn to do those things?”

“A few nighttime college courses, some online, but mostly instinct, and I guess an aptitude for business. We sell trees to some of the largest wholesalers and department store chains, and I just bought additional land to expand the business. The key to the future is hiring aggressive salesmen and some young people with innovative ideas for what the future holds. The world is changing fast, even for something as simple as Christmas trees.”

“I can see that you love what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know about love, but I’m content with it now.”

“Tell me about your daughter.”

“Ah, Cassie is what makes it all worthwhile.”

“So, no regrets?”

“Oh, I have regrets, all right, but Cassie makes up for everything.”

Wendy felt oddly hurt at his words. By regrets, she knew he referred to her.

“Will you come with me and Cassie to the pool tomorrow?”

She hesitated. It’s best to make tonight be a one-off. Best not to establish any connections with his daughter. Best if I leave right now and don’t look back. “Sure,” she said.

“In the meantime, I think I need a few swimming lessons of my own.” He stood suddenly, unconscious of his nudity, although she was very aware of it if the sudden lurch in between her legs and the ache in her breasts were any indication. Extending a hand, he pretended to leer at her as he said, “Come see my pool, Flipper.”

His pool was the claw-foot tub in the bathroom, one she was more than familiar with from days gone by. In the soapy water (courtesy of his daughter’s bubblegum-scented bubble bath), he showed her a few moves he’d learned over the years. Then he had to check out every inch of her body to make sure she was in as good a shape as she’d proclaimed all the special forces men and women had to be.

He licked the bubbles off her breasts and sucked the nipples into hard points of almost painful arousal. He cupped her buttocks and coaxed her to take him into her as he watched. He kissed the dimples in her lower back, which she informed him were called “Venus dimples” these days, an indicator of a woman’s sexuality. He seconded that opinion with more kisses in that region.