“Holly.” He laughed, a tight, rusty sound. “I don’t need three Christmas trees. I don’t need one tree.”
“Weneed trees.” If he wasn’t gritty and stinky, she’d wrap herself around him and nudge him toward the shower. She didn’t have anything clean here, though, and her holiday tee didn’t need a coating of sawdust on it. “Come on, sweetie, go clean up.”
His mouth fell open, a scowl cutting grooves into his brow. “Don’t call me sweetie like one of the damn dogs.”
“Colton.” She pitched her tone to even patience. “You stink. Go shower.”
“Stop telling me what to do.” He flung a hand toward the corner. “And I don’t need a damn tree.”
“Fine.” She lifted a dismissive gesture and twirled her wrist. “We’ll go get trees for my place. You can help me set up.”
Last year, she’d had to prevail upon Mackey because Tick wasn’t around and it wasn’t like she could ask Scott. She’d felt horrible, although Mackey being Mackey, he’d never said a word about lugging trees with her. He was a great friend.
“That’s better.” He finally shut the door. Polo shifted, flicked an ear at him, swatted her tail and subsided into her relaxed blob again. “You’re bossy as hell.”
“Yes.” She clapped her hands, the gesture that tended to send Tick over the edge. “Shower.”
Outrage flared in his dark eyes. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and strode for the bedroom. She bit her bottom lip, a hint of anticipation uncurling beneath her navel. He’d want his own back for that later, and she imagined his revenge would be sexy and inventive.
While he showered, she scrolled through her holiday boards on social media, looking for ideas. The empty mantle drew her attention, his idea for a private commission playing through her mind. She’d get some shots of the blue hole, have him a nice archival-quality canvas made and framed for Christmas.
And maybe a second shot for her house, replace her mass-produced farmhouse sign over the bed with something like that.
Start turning her house into their home.
The shower stopped, water pattering to the tile.
“Holly.” From the bedroom, his voice rumbled with graveled authority. “Get in here and get your clothes off.”
She paused, phone in hand, biting back a smile. Wonder what would happen if she refused? Pondering all those possibilities, she laid her phone aside and uncurled.
“Who’s bossy?” she called, grasping her hem and stripping her tee over her head. “This better be good, Colton, if I’m going to the trouble of taking my clothes off.”
He stood by the bed, naked, aroused, damp hair falling on his brow. That no-nonsense stance said he was about to take control, take her apart, and her body reacted, chest clenching with emotion, womb contracting with a hard grip of desire. Heat bloomed between her thighs, heavy and wet. An irresistible smile pulled at her lips.
Sexy and inventive, indeed.
“You’re serious about getting three?” Colton passed her a paper cup of cider, a cardboard sleeve protecting her palm from the heat. Gravel crunched under their shoes as they walked away from the beverage stand, painted in holiday red and sporting a bright swag of icicle lights.
Holly inhaled the spicy goodness, anticipating a sip once it had cooled some. If she tried now, she’d have a third-degree burn on her tongue. “I am.”
“Holly, that makes no sense.” He sipped, hissed, and grimaced on a hard wince. Lips pursed, he exhaled, and she bit back a soft laugh. The man was normally patient to a fault, until sustenance was involved.
“Living room, bedroom, front porch.” She took a bite of her pretzel dog, a satisfying blend of soft, salty bread and smoked sausage, and waved at the sea of firs. “It makes perfect sense.”
“This is crazy expensive.” He flicked the tag on a tree. He’d scarfed down his dogs while they stood in line for cider, but she got it. A wholly feminine smile curved her lips. He’d expended a lot of energy in the hour they’d spent in his bed. “Why not just buy a set of fake ones?”
Her smile died, lips parted. Buy fake trees? “Colton.”
“It makes more sense—”
“It makes no sense.” She stared at him, horrified. These words were not coming out of him. “Fake trees?”
“Well, yeah.” His face set in earnest lines, he shrugged. “You invest up front, use them for years—”
“It’s not the same.” She shuddered and moved down the line, examining this tree, then that one. The needles had to be right, fresh and lush. She drew in a lungful of the sharp scent, absolutely ready for her home to be filled with the smell. She loved that first sniff when she opened the door at the end of the day, the way the pine wrapped around her like her blankets as she lay in bed and watched the lights glow. “It’s like buying fake flowers. You would never.”
“I would not.” A grin quirked at his mouth before his quiet chuckle manifested between them. Oh, she adored that subtle hit of genuine humor. “Can you imagine Sue if I did?”
