Her Christmas SEAL (When SEALs Come Home Book 7) by Anne Marsh

looked at Jacks. I looked down at the stack of cards tucked under my arm. He was a good guy, and not just in bed. Damn it.
    I tapped on the window.
    He looked at me through the window, then reached over and pushed the door open. He hadn’t even bothered to lock it. Not that Strong had a crime problem, but I couldn’t shake my own recent memories of car camping and how I’d worried about every noise, every shadow. Guess it was nice to be six plus feet of muscle and testosterone.
    I tossed the stack of cards on the dashboard.
    “You kept them,” I said.
    Jacks surveyed the stack. He didn’t ask what I had or why I’d gone poking around in his things. Just gave an easy nod, like the answer should have been obvious. “I sure did.”
    “Why?” I wasn’t entirely sure what I was asking, but Jacks wasn’t a sentimental guy. He’d have had a reason for carting a stack of cards around with him from one tour of duty to the next, and from Afghanistan back here to Strong.
    He shrugged and scooted back to lean against the other door. “They were from you.”
    Oh. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, but I knew what to do. I crawled into the cab and onto the seat with him. Somehow it seemed natural to just keep moving until my butt was parked on his lap and my head was using his shoulder as a pillow.
    “You never said anything,” I mumbled into his T-shirt. He found my back with his hand and rubbed. For a long time, we just sat like that.
    “Thought I’d missed my chance,” he said eventually. “So I didn’t see the point.”
    I sighed. “That right there? Is why it’s so hard to dislike you.”
    “That’s what frenemies are for.” He flicked me a two-fingered salute. “You love to hate me.”
    “We don’t have the best history,” I admitted. I could be honest. It worried me. I had all these… feelings… for Jacks. What if the frenemy stuff—and our personal history—got in the way of something more?
    He shrugged. “It’s not a bad start.”
    “How so?” This I needed to hear.
    He didn’t answer my question though. “Gotta tell you something, babe.”
    I’d heard that tone before, just not from him. It usually heralded life-changing news, the conversational equivalent of a trumpet blast. I wasn’t sure what to expect. “Should I sit up?”
    “You’re perfect right where you are,” he growled, his arm tightening. Guess he liked my sitting on his lap just fine, which made two of us. I could tell him what else I was thinking—that I wanted to see where we could take this thing between us. That I had feelings for him, feelings I hadn’t planned on or even welcomed.
    “Jacks—” I started, hoping the rest of the words would occur to me.
    He cut me off, pressing a finger against my mouth. Just because I could, I licked the tip, dragging my tongue over the work-roughened skin. Every part of him tasted good. Not sweet—there was nothing sweet about Jacks—but part forest and pine and all wild male. No matter what happened here between us, I’d never tame Jacks.
    “Sometimes when you’re up in the air and the plane’s circling, the ground looks real far away. Got to wonder if jumping’s the smartest thing to do or just a shortcut to the end.” He shrugged, and I drank in the play of muscles beneath the faded cotton. “And then every time I jump, I remember why I do it.”
    “Because you’re an adrenaline junkie?” I traced his nipple with my finger, loving the way his breathing got rougher, harder. I thought either he was mine or working his way up to it, so if I could hurry him along, I’d do it. I might not be able to tame him, but somehow I needed to housebreak him just a little.
    “Because then it’s me and the sky. Got the wind roaring in my ears, the ground swinging all crazy-like beneath me, and if I do what I trained to do, I’ve got a sweet shot at hitting my target, and everything’s gonna be okay. If I hesitate though, it’s over.”
    Okay. I didn’t need that