A SEAL for Christmas (All I want for Christmas is... 2)

“And it’s an awful one.” Mel straightened and gave him a stern look. “Shayma loves you. She wants to make a future with you. You have a choice, no matter how blind you seem to be to that fact.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger for emphasis. “Now, if you really want to get what you deserve, mister, you’ll pull your head out of your ass and hightail it over to JFK airport before that wonderful woman gets on a plane and goes back to Al Dar Nasrani, where her parents will probably foist her off on some other wealthy sheik at the first chance they get. The way I see it, you two are perfect for each other. She’s smart and funny and puts up with all your moody crap. You’re a better person when you’re with her and you’d be nuts not to hold on to Shayma for dear life and thank your lucky stars every day that she wants to be with you.”

Well, shit. Murphy hadn’t exactly thought about it like that. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems and concerns that he hadn’t really thought about what life would be like for Shayma when she got back to her home. She’d told him arranged marriages weren’t uncommon where she was from and her parents had already matched her off once to Daveed. Now that she was headed back to Al Dar Nasrani again in disgrace—at least according to her parents—they’d be eager to foist her off on some unsuspecting wealthy man, preferably one who could bring substantial real estate holdings or political connection to the tabl

e. Her country might be more modern than most, and Christian, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t resort to the old Arabic ways when it suited them.

He hazarded a glance over at Daveed for confirmation.

“I don’t know what they have planned for her once she gets back to Al Dar Nasrani. My communications with my own family are still strained after the ending of our agreement.” Daveed shrugged. “She’s a strong woman though. My country is quite liberal regarding women’s rights. Others? Not so much. It would depend on whom she was engaged to and where she’d live. Regardless, she would be under her husband’s rule. It’s their way.”

Fuck. In Murphy’s opinion, their way sucked.

Murphy still believed that Shayma could do so much better than him. He’d try to open up to her more, try to let her inside, but it would be a slow process. Might take months, years even, for him to totally allow her to know all of him—every sordid nook and cranny of his past. But he did love her too, and if he was going to try with anyone, it would be her. He’d have to stay here, in New York, try to make a new life for himself outside the military too, but for her, for a chance at forever for them, he’d do his best. Maybe Heath or Daveed could pull some strings for him with their government contacts and get him in with a private security firm. Maybe he could stay with Aileen until he got a place of his own to share with Shayma.

Maybe…

His pulse kicked up again as a fresh wave of adrenaline flooded his system. Not from danger or fear this time, but from anticipation. Anticipation of a life with the woman he was head over heels for.

He rushed over to where his Navy jacket still laid on the bed in Shayma’s room and slipped it on. A hint of her spicy perfume filled him with warmth and want as he walked back out to put on his hat and button up. “JFK you said?”

Mel nodded, a smile twitching the corner of her lips. “Go get her, Ensign.”

Murphy headed to the door with a curt nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

9

Shayma sat huddled at a table near the windows of the Air Emirates VIP Lounge, staring out at the frigid, snowy night. She’d fared better than expected flight-wise, snagging the last seat in first-class on the last flight back to Al Dar Nasrani before the Christmas Eve rush began. It cost her a pretty penny at the reservation desk, but money was the least of her concerns now.

Hands wrapped snug around her mug of hot cocoa, she swirled a peppermint stick in the hot liquid and let her mind wander back over the events of the last week and a half. Hard to believe a month prior she’d been sitting in her parent’s mansion on the island with no idea she’d lose a fiancé and gain the love of her life so soon.

Snow plows drove by on the runways outside, their blinking lights atop the trucks flashing in the darkness like beacons. The weather had deteriorated since they’d left the senator’s party earlier. In fact, her cab driver here had warned her if the snow got much worse they might cancel outgoing flights until things settled down. Honestly, it didn’t matter to Shayma. She would stay here at JFK for as long as it took to get back home again.

Home.

Growing up, she’d always loved her tropical island paradise and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Now, after everything that had happened with Murphy, she couldn’t conceive of living without him. Her poor heart felt ripped to shreds and her head ached from tears and indecision. Should she stay or should she go?

In the end, she’d had no choice. Some people never learned to appreciate what they had until it was gone, and unfortunately Murphy Coen seemed to be one of them. Her too, truth be told. Sure she’d treasured every second she’d spent with him, but she never really thought about what it would be like when it was all over.

Horrible. Heart-wrenching. Humbling. That’s what it was like.

It felt like there was a Murphy-sized hole in her chest, gaping and raw, that would never heal, not while they were apart anyway. But he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in the long-term with her. She had to respect that. If she loved him, she had to abide by his wishes. Period.

Didn’t make her feel any better, but then her pain was all she had left of him now, so she’d hold it tight, in place of the man she missed so much her bones ached.

“May I get you something else, ma’am?” the waiter asked. He was a shorter Arabic man who reminded Shayma a bit of her father, only younger. She gave him a polite smile and shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

He bowed slightly then left her to her thoughts again. She pulled out her phone and checked her messages. Several from Mel and two from Murphy. She swiped them away, not up to reading them right now. Things still felt too tender and twitchy when it came to this trip to New York. She typed in a quick text to her mother, letting them know her flight number and arrival time so they could send a driver to pick her up at the Al Dar Nasrani airport.

Her phone buzzed a moment later with a response.

Glad to see you’ve come to your senses.

We have much to discuss upon your return.

Shayma cringed a bit before shutting off the phone. Her parents expected her to make a good match, marriage-wise, and even though they’d acquiesced in the end with regards to Daveed, it didn’t mean they’d given up their matchmaking ways forever. She imagined her father had arranged meetings with all sorts of eligible young men of their country to sweep her off her feet. Too bad a certain stubborn American male had already knocked her for a loop where love was concerned. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever regain her emotional equilibrium again.

And her parents meant well, deep down she knew that. They loved her, but they were from a different time, a time where women needed a wealthy husband to care for and protect them. Unions were made not for love, but for advantage, either monetarily or politically. Shayma had defied their logic when she’d broken things off with Daveed. They wouldn’t take kindly to having her do the same again so soon.

Perhaps Murphy wasn’t the only rebellious one in their relationship.