Her Christmas SEAL (When SEALs Come Home Book 7) Read Online Free PDF Page A

crashing in a spare cabin on the tree farm was that my commute was painfully short. I could be home in under a minute. First though, I had to show Jacks my wreaths.
    I trudged over to the small display shack, Jacks hot on my heels. I might not have my art gallery yet, but I’d had a darned good time grouping the wreaths on the wall. A girl made do with what she had.
    “Wreaths,” I snapped and waved a hand at the wall. “Pick one. Pick them all, but do it quickly. I’m off in the clock in a few.”
    Naturally, he ignored the Christmas display.
    “Give me your phone,” he grunted, holding out his hand. He had great hands, big and strong. Sun bronzed, too, from being outdoors so much and because Jacks really wasn’t much for protective gear. A wicked-looking scar slashed across the back of his right hand—he was probably lucky he hadn’t lost a finger or three. I had no idea how or when he was injured. Could have been when he was overseas with his SEAL team, or maybe it was a smoke jumping injury.
    “You’re not deleting my pictures,” I told him. A girl needed all the leverage she could get with a guy like Jacks, plus he’d blackmailed me since we were six. This was my chance for a little payback.
    He shot me a look. “Don’t make me take it.”
    We both looked down at the front of my elf costume. Lots of women tucked their phones into their bra straps. It was an occupational hazard of not having any pockets. Still, just the thought of Jacks sliding his fingers inside my shirt and over my boob—even if it was just to grab my phone—did something to me. Melty, hot, swirling things that I would never, ever admit to.
    “Stick your fingers in there and die,” I informed him cheerfully. “You want a wreath or not?”
    “I want your phone,” he repeated.
    “Which is not for sale.”
    “Uh-huh,” he said, and nothing in those two syllables announced I agree with and respect your position, Holly. He was going to push me on this. We both knew it. And sure enough, somehow he was right behind me, the front of his legs brushing the back of mine. The man moved like a ninja—maybe it was a required skill in the military—and it was a good thing I was half-frozen from our tree-hunting trek, because otherwise the slide of his denim over my almost-bare skin might have shut my brain down entirely. He was big. He was in my space. And God bless him, he was warm . No matter how annoying he was, I wanted to cuddle up to him like an electric blanket.
    “Let’s negotiate.” He rumbled the words against my ear.
    “The only thing for sale here are Christmas wreaths.” I stabbed my forefinger toward the wall of wreaths. The other elves and I essentially worked on commission. We tipped the trees, we made the wreaths, and then we got fifty percent of the sticker price when the farm sold one of our creations. Unfortunately for me, despite my love of art, I’d never been particularly good with a glue gun or with arts and crafts. Maybe that was why I appreciated good art so much. My wreaths were amateur time compared to the effort of some of the other girls—my bows lopsided and my decorations disappearing like the cash in my checking account.
    “Do you work on commission?” His hands came down on either side of me, caging me in place.
    “You’re evil.”
    “I’m negotiating. The wreaths are for sale. Tell me which ones and how many.”
    How could one man be so tempting? I got ten dollars a wreath, and I personally had six wreaths hanging on that wall. Sixty bucks meant grocery shopping and not eating ramen noodles twice a day even if I made a payment to myself in my college account. When the University of California opened admissions in November, I’d be ready.
    “I want my phone back,” I warned him. No way could I afford to replace it.
    “You bet,” he agreed. “We got a deal?”
    “Those six wreaths on the end.” It pained me to admit it.
    I waited for him to say something about that particular selection,