her body exuded . . . The sweetness of her mouth . . . The way her arms held him, fierce, possessive, loving . . . Things were shifting inside him, changing, settling into a new order.
He held her and he thought she was the most beautiful . . . the most precious . . .
“Um . . .Max . . . ”
“Mmm?” It was all he could do to get a sound out.
“The turkey.”
“Bigfoot can take care of himself,” he said, in a voice he scarcely recognized. “For now . . . For now, one turkey has to take a backseat to you.”
*
She’d come all the way to Australia to see Harold before he died.
She hadn’t come here to fall in love with Max Ramsey.
This was complication upon complication. Falling in love with a puppy was going to tie her life in knots. Falling in love with Max was impossible.
How could she be melting into this man’s arms and thinking this was where she wanted to be for the rest of her life.
She couldn’t be. She had to be back in New York by New Year.
But . . . Don’t think forward. Max wasn’t thinking forward. He was plundering her mouth. He was making her melt and he was surely only thinking of right here, right now.
Right here, right now was surely all that could matter. Oh, but he made her feel . . .
And that was the trouble. He made her feel like she’d never felt before in her life. Like he was the other half of her whole.
Like she’d found her home.
She couldn’t stop. She was kissing and being kissed. She was falling deeper and deeper and deeper . . .
Manhattan. New York. In less than a week she had to be on that plane. Do not let yourself . . .
How could she not? The strength, the heat, the gentleness, the pure, arrant masculinity . . .
The way he’d cradled her puppy. The way he’d cared for Harold.
The way his family loved him.
Max . . .
Impossible, impossible, impossible, but he was kissing her still and in that kiss, anything was possible. Anything at all.
For this moment, nothing else could matter. For this moment, the turkey wallowed beside them and neither of them cared.
For this moment, Christmas was on the backburner. For now, everything was on the backburner.
There was only now. There was only each other.
“Uncle Max? Uncle Max?”
Yeah, okay, other things did matter. Somehow, they broke apart as five-year-old Vicki knocked—and entered. They were at least three inches apart by the time she saw them.
“Wow!” She stared at them in wide-eyed astonishment. Luckily, the bird was more astonishing than they were. “What’s that?”
“The turkey,” Max managed. He’d drawn back from Sarah, but he was still loosely holding.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re defrosting it for Christmas dinner,” Sarah added.
“Has Santa come yet?”
“No, and we’ve been looking all the time,” Max told her. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“I heard noises. I thought Santa might be in the bathroom.”
“He’ll be waiting until everyone’s asleep.”
“Then you ought to go to sleep,” Vicki said severely. “You’re keeping him away.”
“Right,” Max said, hugging Sarah closer. “But you go first.”
“Stop making noises.”
“We will.”
“Okay.” She glared at them. “I don’t want Santa not coming because you’re cuddling Sarah.”
“Got it,” Max said. “No cuddling.”
“Okay.” And Vicki beamed. “Not long now. Go to bed and pretend, even if you can’t sleep.”
And she headed off to do just that, leaving Sarah and Max a good foot apart.
With a turkey.
“Wise advice,” Sarah said. “Go to bed, Max.”
“You go to bed.”
She gazed at him for a long moment and then she rose. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Just like that?
“I know pig stubborn when I see it,” she told him. “You won’t let me splash my turkey in private, and if I stay here we can’t keep our hands off each other. Which is stupid, no matter how we look at it. I’m going back to Manhattan by New Year.
He held her and he thought she was the most beautiful . . . the most precious . . .
“Um . . .Max . . . ”
“Mmm?” It was all he could do to get a sound out.
“The turkey.”
“Bigfoot can take care of himself,” he said, in a voice he scarcely recognized. “For now . . . For now, one turkey has to take a backseat to you.”
*
She’d come all the way to Australia to see Harold before he died.
She hadn’t come here to fall in love with Max Ramsey.
This was complication upon complication. Falling in love with a puppy was going to tie her life in knots. Falling in love with Max was impossible.
How could she be melting into this man’s arms and thinking this was where she wanted to be for the rest of her life.
She couldn’t be. She had to be back in New York by New Year.
But . . . Don’t think forward. Max wasn’t thinking forward. He was plundering her mouth. He was making her melt and he was surely only thinking of right here, right now.
Right here, right now was surely all that could matter. Oh, but he made her feel . . .
And that was the trouble. He made her feel like she’d never felt before in her life. Like he was the other half of her whole.
Like she’d found her home.
She couldn’t stop. She was kissing and being kissed. She was falling deeper and deeper and deeper . . .
Manhattan. New York. In less than a week she had to be on that plane. Do not let yourself . . .
How could she not? The strength, the heat, the gentleness, the pure, arrant masculinity . . .
The way he’d cradled her puppy. The way he’d cared for Harold.
The way his family loved him.
Max . . .
Impossible, impossible, impossible, but he was kissing her still and in that kiss, anything was possible. Anything at all.
For this moment, nothing else could matter. For this moment, the turkey wallowed beside them and neither of them cared.
For this moment, Christmas was on the backburner. For now, everything was on the backburner.
There was only now. There was only each other.
“Uncle Max? Uncle Max?”
Yeah, okay, other things did matter. Somehow, they broke apart as five-year-old Vicki knocked—and entered. They were at least three inches apart by the time she saw them.
“Wow!” She stared at them in wide-eyed astonishment. Luckily, the bird was more astonishing than they were. “What’s that?”
“The turkey,” Max managed. He’d drawn back from Sarah, but he was still loosely holding.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re defrosting it for Christmas dinner,” Sarah added.
“Has Santa come yet?”
“No, and we’ve been looking all the time,” Max told her. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“I heard noises. I thought Santa might be in the bathroom.”
“He’ll be waiting until everyone’s asleep.”
“Then you ought to go to sleep,” Vicki said severely. “You’re keeping him away.”
“Right,” Max said, hugging Sarah closer. “But you go first.”
“Stop making noises.”
“We will.”
“Okay.” She glared at them. “I don’t want Santa not coming because you’re cuddling Sarah.”
“Got it,” Max said. “No cuddling.”
“Okay.” And Vicki beamed. “Not long now. Go to bed and pretend, even if you can’t sleep.”
And she headed off to do just that, leaving Sarah and Max a good foot apart.
With a turkey.
“Wise advice,” Sarah said. “Go to bed, Max.”
“You go to bed.”
She gazed at him for a long moment and then she rose. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Just like that?
“I know pig stubborn when I see it,” she told him. “You won’t let me splash my turkey in private, and if I stay here we can’t keep our hands off each other. Which is stupid, no matter how we look at it. I’m going back to Manhattan by New Year.
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