In a smooth movement, he leans back against the front of the armchair, and pulls me up onto his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting to get as close to him as possible.

Tilting his head to the side, he smiles devilishly. “Christmas hasn’t even started yet.”

“We’re going to decorate the tree?”

“After our cocoa, yes.”

Earlier he dragged a huge cardboard box up from the lower-level storage room that, to my surprise, had a synthetic Christmas tree inside. When I said I assumed that he’d want a real tree, he told me the smell of pine always gave me migraines.

I, of course, had no idea, and I’d rather not find out if it’s still true.

Playing with a long lock of his hair, I’m captivated by the shadows dancing along the beautiful angles of his face. “Do we have time for a little break before we start decorating the tree?” I ask coyly.

Sliding his hands down to cup my ass, he pulls my body even closer to his, and I can feel him pushing against me through our jeans.

“Does that answer your question?” he murmurs, leaning down to press his warm lips to the top of my cleavage peeking out of the V-neck of my sweater.

Gasping, I bury my hands in his hair, embracing his head as his lips trail a tantalizing damp path over the curve of my chest. Slowly, he moves his hands from my ass up to my waist, then farther to my breasts, kneading his fingers into my flesh with want. Hooking his fingers in the neckline of my sweater, he tugs it and my lacy bra down until my breasts spill out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, bowing his head down into my skin, inhaling deeply.

My head falls back with a low, breathy moan as his lips encircle my nipple, his wet tongue and piercing flicking, slow at first, then fast—taunting and sucking. I grind myself against him, reveling in how thick and hard he feels even with our clothes between us. He works my other breast with his hand, gently squeezing, rubbing his thumb roughly over my nipple in time with his mouth, expertly building my need for him.

Panting shamelessly, I pull his shirt up and whisper in his ear, “Take this off.”

His sexy, cocky-but-irresistible smile curves his lips as he pulls his shirt up over his head. “Take yours off too, sweetheart.”

I do, and moments later, we’re removing the rest of our clothes in a frenzy of hands and wild kisses.

“I want you right back where you were,” he growls as I lift up off him to slip out of my jeans and panties.

Lord. His voice does such things to me… melts me, soothes me, and turns me on beyond words.

His touch is right up there with his voice. Especially when his hands are on my waist like they are right now, holding on to me possessively as I straddle him.

He cradles the back of my head with one hand, my hip with the other, and pulls me down to him. My mouth to his, my hips to his. His cock nudges my wet entrance, and I slowly lower myself onto him, loving how his eyes close with pleasure as I take him deeper.

We kiss deeply, a tangle of tongues and moans as our bodies move fluidly together. Seeking, thrusting, clenching. Pushing us to the edge together.

My body certainly remembers him, just as my heart does. There’s no doubt there, no lapse, no gray area.

If only my brain would get on board.

As we make love on the thick blanket in front of the fire, a sense of déjà vu waves over me.

Or maybe it’s a memory.

Whatever it is… I’m spellbound. Swept up in the magic of the holiday and this man, and loving every minute of my life.

As we decorate the tree with the new ornaments we purchased a few days ago, the boxes of old ornaments, taped shut and labeled down in the storage room, seem to be calling me. Thinking of them down there tugs at my heart. Those carefully wrapped ornaments are sentimental. Mementos of our history together.

Our First Christmas.

Baby’s first Christmas.

A porcelain, heart-shaped frame with old Teddy’s photo, which hung by a red ribbon.

I know this because I peeked in the boxes.

It was Asher’s idea to buy new ornaments as part of our fresh start, and they’re beautiful. Shiny, bright, and new. Unlike the ornaments in the old musty boxes, which are all different shapes and colors and wouldn’t make the tree look nearly as pretty and put together as the one we’ve just finished decorating.

A little niggling ache inside me wants those old ornaments on the tree, not hidden away. It doesn’t seem fair for Asher and Kenzi not to see ornaments on our tree that hold sentimental family memories.