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  “Once in a while it has crossed my mind.”

  “We missed Christmas Eve.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “But it’s still not morning. We can pretend it’s still Christmas Eve.”

  She considered gravely. “I don’t see any problem with that. I wouldn’t find it difficult to pretend at all.”

  “Tell me what would be a romantic Christmas Eve for you, Andrea.”

  She smiled suddenly, a soft, melting smile. “I just had it.”

  His smile answered her. “But you didn’t open your presents.”

  “But I did. The best present of all.”

  He couldn’t help it; he had to kiss her, had to kiss her until her eyes glazed and she melted into softness in his arms.

  “What if I told you,” he asked huskily, “that there’s a present under the tree right now for you.”

  “For me?”

  “For you. I was going to risk your undying wrath and drop it by the BOQ this morning.”

  He gave her his robe to wear, a thick royal blue terry cloth robe that dwarfed her, but for once in her life Andrea didn’t mind being made to feel small. Dare pulled on his jeans and a gray sweatshirt, and they returned to the living room hand in hand.

  “Brandy?” he asked.

  “I’d really like coffee, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. But it might keep you awake.”

  The smile she gave him stirred the banked fires in his loins. It became a feat of willpower to walk the short distance into his kitchen and make the coffee.

  Together they sat on the couch, Andrea with her legs tucked under her, sipping coffee and eating cookies.

  “At my place in Montana,” Dare said, “I have a fireplace. Two, actually. One in the living room and one in the master bedroom.”

  “You have a house there?”

  “Yep. And right now we’d be sitting in front of a blazing fire. Outside, snow would be falling gently on the deck, and I’d have the floods on, so we could see it through the glass doors, behind the Christmas tree.”

  “Sounds nice.” The words were a sigh.

  “It is nice,” he agreed. “I’ve had the house for five years now, and I spend my leave there. There’s always enough snow for skiing. And the summers are super. I practically live outside when I’m there.”

  “Where are you from originally, Dare?”

  “Montana.” He kissed her, running his tongue along her lips. “You taste like chocolate chip cookies. Want your present?”

  Her eyes looked dazed. It tickled him to death that his kiss could daze his cool Captain Burke.

  “But, Dare, I don’t have anything for you.”

  “Oh, yes, you do.” He kissed her again, this time slipping his hand inside the terry robe to cup her breast. Andrea trembled, leaning into him. “You have plenty for me,” he murmured against her hair, “and I plan to open my presents again and again.”

  He drew away reluctantly and went to the tree, picking up a medium-sized box. “I figured this would make you furious enough to splutter at me. Maybe now it won’t.”

  He stood over her uneasily while she tore away the red paper. She could tell he was nervous about it, so she drew the moment out, glancing up at him with that devilish gleam he knew so well.

  “Captain Burke,” he said finally, “do I need to remind you that it isn’t wise to keep your CO in uncomfortable suspense?”

  “Why are you in uncomfortable suspense, Colonel? What is it? A chastity belt?”

  He gave a muffled laugh. “Worse. I saw it at the mall, and from the minute I saw it I was possessed. I had to give it to you, even if you threw it back in my face. Go on. Open it.”

  “Sounds to me like you were the one being unwise, sir,” she said primly, and then gasped as she opened the box.

  Inside was green silk, beautiful, brilliant green silk. Lifting it gently from the box, she tested its softness and admired its loveliness. It was a peignoir, she realized.

  “Will you put it on?” he asked huskily.

  She raised her face slowly, and he saw tears sparkling on her lashes.

  “Andrea? Andrea, if it offends you, throw it away.” He was suddenly panic-stricken. Her spluttering fury was one thing. Her tears were altogether something else.

  “It doesn’t offend me,” she said, a catch in her voice. Rising, she took the box with her to the bedroom.

  He had touched her, she realized as she slipped into the peignoir, her hands trembling almost too much to manage the bows. He had reached down inside her and found an Andrea that had never been allowed to exist. In there somewhere was an Andrea who wanted to be beautiful for a man, an Andrea who loved beautiful things, who craved the softness of silk and the heat of a man’s need. Inside, buried in the tomboy, hidden in the officer, was a woman, and Dare had found her and touched her.

  There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door, and Andrea stood before it, looking at herself in emerald silk. The peignoir concealed nothing, really. It was meant to be viewed only by a lover. She looked at herself and realized this was how Dare saw her, realized that he had guessed at something she’d never known about herself. To him, she was all the things she believed herself to be, but she was also more, much more.

  He was right. Yesterday she would have thrown it in his face in fury. Tonight she hurried back down the hall to share her discovery with him.

  Dare was pacing, scared to death he’d offended her beyond bearing. He called himself seven kinds of idiot for giving in to the compulsion to give her that gown.

  “Dare?”

  He turned swiftly. Andrea stood just inside the living room, wearing the peignoir. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her, her every curve outlined in clinging, soft silk. Her eyes were shining at him, as if he’d given her the most precious gift in the world.

  “Is it…?” She hesitated. “Is it what you hoped?”

  “You’re everything I hoped for,” he said huskily, deliberately changing the pronoun. “And more. Andrea, you’re stunning.”

  She smiled then, and fresh tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t know this was me, Dare,” she said unsteadily, and then she flew into his arms.

  He held her tenderly, kissing away the tears. “Andrea, sweetheart, you’re not upset?”

  “No, sir,” she answered forthrightly. “Somehow I’m tickled to death.”

  “Quit calling me sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He lifted his head, looking down into her gently smiling face. “If you call me sir when I’m making love to you, I’m going to be very upset.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her lips twitched, and her damp eyes gleamed wickedly.

  “Andrea, you drive me to the edge of madness.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  There was only one way to deal with this insubordination, he decided. Scooping her up easily in his arms, he carried her back down the hall to bed. In a very short while she was no longer sir-ring him. She was saying his name in a very satisfactory way indeed.

  This time he turned the bedside lamp on, a warm glow across the silk of Andrea’s peignoir. For the longest time Dare caressed her through the silk. It was little barrier to his hands, and the glide of its cool smoothness on her skin provided her with a newly erotic sensation.

  “I bought this gown right after Thanksgiving,” he told her softly as he shaped her breast with his hand and watched her nipple tighten against the silk. “I lost count of the nights I lay here in the dark and imagined you just like this.”

  She drew a soft, shaky breath. “Did you?” Her insides were turning liquid. It had never entered her head that she might be the subject of his fantasies. “I thought about you, too,” she admitted unsteadily.

  His blue eyes lifted to hers. “Did you?” With thumb and forefinger he teased an exquisitely sensitive nipple. “Did you imagine me touching you like this?”

  Her eyelids fluttered heavily. “No.”

  His