Damien's Christmas by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman [Buchman, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

“How in the world can you fall asleep like this?” Damien kept his question silent so that he didn’t wake Cornelia.

Her flannel nightgown hid nothing, wrapping her in a second, almost plush skin. From her freezing toes pressed tight atop his own to her soft hair tucked under his chin, there wasn’t a single point not in contact.

She was asleep.

His body was vibrant with need. He ached to touch, taste, feel, enter.

And she was asleep.

A power ran through him, the like of which he’d rarely felt since his six months in the Marine Corps officer training at The Basic School at Quantico. It was the course that made four years of NROTC and the three summers between look like a lazy-assed cakewalk. For six months he’d done everything from rifle platoon tactics and crew-served weapons—the Marines loved their howitzers and missile launchers—to signals intelligence and ground electronic warfare.

At the end of The Basic School you either became an officer or you became an officer—Marines never quit. But that didn’t mean it was easy or that all graduates were created equal. Screw up and you didn’t get a choice on where you landed—infantry command here I come. Graduate at the top, talk nice to the intelligence instructors, do a tour at Marine Intel, and get recommended straight into National Security Council.

He done it right: every single goddamn step of it for four years of school, a half more at Quantico, and every training course since.

The toughest instructor of them all had been the NSC’s prior senior watch officer. Damien’s first two-year tour at the watch desk had been pure hell and Laslow had made sure of it. Every lousy, impossible, bound-to-come-apart-at-exactly-the-wrong-moment job had somehow landed on his desk. He knew Laslow was behind it, but Damien had survived enough Marine Corps instructors that an asshole Defense Intelligence Agency liaison wasn’t going to get to him.

Then, when his tour was up, he was reassigned to the Sit Room—which never happened. After two more years of Laslow hell, the man had taken him aside.

“You’re it, Feinman. You’re in again, but I’m out. You disappoint me and I’m going to come back from the grave to haunt you.”

“You planning on dying?” The man had been at least seventy even back then—and sharp as hell.

“Wife’s got family in Louisiana. I hate Louisiana. Dying will be a goddamn blessing.”

Last Damien had heard, he was playing in the winning money of senior golf tournaments.

Damien had taken over, providing continuity to the NSC watch team for three more tours since. Any Marine up on the line who said Damien hadn’t earned his captain’s bars could go suck on a hot howitzer barrel. Once he’d made it, Damien had known just how strong he was.

Or thought he had.

All that had been blown away by the strength he felt holding onto the woman in his arms.

Cornelia wasn’t weak, not a single ounce of her. But still he felt truly strong in this moment, protecting her from the world.

Focus on the moment! Laslow had yelled at him.

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