Holiday Heroes (Wingmen Warriors 13)

He hated that this trip had turned so wrong. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re donating this crèche when it obviously means so much to you.”

“It’s just a material possession.”

“Just a thing? More like a priceless antique.”

“You know I don’t like to talk about money.” She took the wrapped package from the cashier.

“Spoken like a woman who has cash to burn.” He made a more than comfortable living as a general and had invested wisely over the years. But he didn’t have millionaire attached to his name like the Landis family—nor had he ever aspired to such. He’d always kept his eyes focused on missions rather than mansions.

To be fair, he’d never seen any sign of materialism from Ginger. “You get tears in your eyes every time you look at that bag. It’s obviously priceless for more reasons than the money.”

“It’s been in the Landis family for fifty years. There are certainly some sentimental memories attached.”

“Like the Senator Klaus story.”

“Exactly. Matthew and Kyle used to argue every year over where to put the wise men.” She strode past the mulled-wine stand back into the bustling crowd. “Matthew is such a traditionalist, like his father. He wanted them right there in the manger. Kyle, however, pointed out that the wise men really didn’t show up until two years later, so they should be positioned somewhere outside the manger.”

“Careful.” He reached to slide his hand between the velvet bag and a trio of children rushing past. Ginger was carrying around a flipping mint, for God’s sake. What if one of those kids had been a purse snatcher?>He just wished he knew who she’d reached for in her sleep.

Sunrise slatted through the small part in the brocade curtains. Ginger sat at the tiny table, surprisingly rested after only five hours sleep, and munched away at an apple from the complimentary basket. She’d also made use of the room’s coffeepot, but keeping busy did nothing to ease her nerves.

Reality glared beside her steaming mug in the shape of an ugly black gun Hank had left with her while he took his shower.

She had no doubt that it would be the world’s fastest wash up.

Sure enough, the bathroom door opened and Hank’s broad shoulders filled the opening. He wore his uniform again, just the shirt and pants, the jacket with its medals and his long overcoat were hanging in the closet.

In the quiet moment before they had to go back out beyond the safe walls, the reality of all they’d been through—all he’d risked for her—crashed down around Ginger again. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He scrubbed a towel over his short buzz of hair.

“For putting yourself between me and the gunfire yesterday. For finding this safe place for us. For keeping watch so I could sleep.”

“That’s my job.” He tossed away the towel as easily as he brushed aside her words.

“I know, but you still deserve to be thanked.” She rose, leaving her uneaten breakfast, her nerves too on edge for her to put food in her tumbling stomach anyway.

He retrieved his uniform jacket and overcoat from the closet. “You’re scared by what’s waiting outside that door.”

Perceptive man.

“I’m human and that safe house seems far away. I want to see my children again.” She reached to stroke his jaw and couldn’t help but linger along his freshly shaven cheek. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you because you’re protecting me.”

“I’m good at what I do and I’m lucky. Look at how old I am.” He winked before finishing buttoning his uniform jacket and donned his overcoat. He extended her long coat for her as well. “I’ve beaten the odds for years. Now let’s go.”

He tucked the gun into his pocket, thrust her velvet bag into her hand and reached for the door. The wink and that twinkle in his eyes combined with all the adrenaline of the past twenty-four hours did her in.

That—and the memory of the dent in the pillow next to hers.

Ginger covered his hand with hers on the doorknob. “Hank. Wait. Before we go, there’s something I have to do first.”

She couldn’t stop what had been building since the second he’d walked in on her yesterday as she stood in her camisole and she’d seen that flame in his eyes. Since she’d felt an answering heat stoke deep inside her. She saw the question in his gaze. Then the realization. Ginger arched up on her toes and, thank goodness, she hadn’t walked out on this branch alone because Hank’s mouth met hers.

A first kiss. At her age, she’d thought she was past that teenage tingle of awe shimmering all the way to her toes. Apparently not. Her lips parted under his to admit the bold thrust of his tongue.

Nothing teenage about that. He was a hundred percent mature and experienced man.

She looped her arms around his neck and molded herself to him. She’d denied this part of herself for so long it seemed she’d stored a wealth of feelings that were now overflowing. So much so that she feared she might not be able to leave the room for a long time yet, a dangerous proposition for them—literally. They needed to leave.