The Soldier's Holiday Vow by Jillian Hart

try to logically explain away his soft spot for her with all kinds of reasons, but that didn’t disguise the truth.
    â€œThe wreath looks great.” She considered the ornament and moved it an inch to the left. The frail branch dipped down, swaying with the silvered ball. “Come help with the ornaments.”
    â€œI don’t have the knack for it.” That, and it would mean he would have to be near to her. Bad idea. “I’m a terrible ornament hanger.”
    â€œYou did fine with the wreath.” She had no idea how appealing she was, like a carol. She flipped a lock of hair behind her shoulder and chose another ball from the box. “I’ll take my chances. Come help me.”
    His feet moved him forward and he learned something new. It was impossible for him to say no to her. Impossible to keep the walls up and the defenses strong.
    â€œDon’t know how much help I’ll be.” Gone were the days of his boyhood, where he was the one in charge of the tree. Of his little sister wanting decorations and his mother, lost to depression, having left them to make what Christmas they could. He chose a blue ball from one of the boxes, liking the sprinkles of glitter that formed the star of Bethlehem, and slid a hook through the eye. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    â€œGet over here, Gloomy Gus.” Gloomy was the last thing she could possibly be, wreathed by the richly colored lights and twice as radiant. “That would look perfect right here.”
    Good thing he had control of his heart. He stalked toward her, the perimeter around his feelings reinforced. He shouldered close to her, teeth gritted, ignoring the wish tempting him. Easy to see how it would be for the guy who landed her as his wife, Christmas seasons just like this, each one better than the next. He hung the ornament where she’d indicated, and the glistening blue orb made the twig bow dangerously.
    â€œIt’s not going to hold,” he warned her.
    â€œSure it is. Have a little faith.”
    â€œFaith, sure, but this is a matter of physics.” He was captivated by the mystery in her expression. He shifted away and pretended interest in choosing another ornament, but in truth, it was to study her more. He grabbed a hook just as the limb slumped, the ornament tumbled and bounced down the tree.
    He caught it before it crashed to the floor. “See, Galileo was—”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know who Galileo was.” She batted him in the arm, a light playful slap.
    His perimeter shattered, his defenses fractured. There was nothing left of his will. He could not hold back the rising tide of his adoration. He was not that strong.
    â€œNext you will bring up something about Ptolemy and the stars.” She took the holy star from him and hung it on a bough.
    He was staring again. Way to go, Hawkins. He tried to act casual and reached into the storage bin. Maybe there would be something in here he could hang on the front porch and get some fresh air and his head clear.
    â€œWhat’s that?” She swept close, luminous with the blinking lights. When he didn’t answer, she bent to take a look, squinting in the dark. “It’s plastic mistletoe. It’s a family tradition to hang a sprig over the front door. When we were little, Dad would chase us for a raspberry kiss every time he came home.”
    â€œI can picture it.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. It wasn’t really in her way, but he took the excuse to touch her. To close the bridge between them. He caught her hand in his and lifted it over her head. He didn’t know what made him do it. It just happened. His lips fit over hers in one tender brush—that just happened, too.

Chapter Seven
    I t was a perfect kiss. For an instant, September’s eyes drifted shut and she let the sweetness sweep through her. It was something out of a dream. His mouth was patient and not demanding, and