‘I’m home.’ Flick pushed the front door closed with her foot and hurried toward the dining table with an armload of paper shopping bags.
Xander rose from his desk to help. Tinsel spilled from one paper bag and a tinkling sound aroused his suspicions about her secret project for the evening.
He slipped both arms around her. ‘Two of my favourite words when you say them.’ Then he pulled her into a kiss aimed at distracting her from her mission. Three nights since Flick had begun coming home to the penthouse and Xander was sure he wouldn’t tire of listening for the ding of the lift arriving on his floor, or the squeaking sound of her work shoes crossing the tiled foyer.
Or her voice as she called a greeting to him. He loved her voice. He especially loved the sound of her pleasure when he kissed her—a soft, low hum that filled him with joy. Like now.
When he finally broke the kiss, her eyes opened slowly, soft-focused and sensual. ‘If I say I’m home again, will I get the same reaction?’
‘Every time.’ He dipped his head, suiting action to words. Kissing Flick anywhere, anytime, was little short of a miracle. The staff on reception hadn’t tried to hide their smiles the first morning he’d exited the lift hand in hand with Flick. And yesterday, when he’d walked into the kitchen and kissed her, Chris had grinned, but refrained from comment. It would come—the knowing I told you so.
Xander looked forward to the moment, and to nudging Chris to look for a woman.
Xander kissed his way down Flick’s neck to the place he knew melted her tiredness and made her cling to him as though she’d never let him go. Being open about their relationship outside the apartment was liberating. He’d not understood what a gift that could be. But the best kisses, his favourite kisses, were still those they shared in the privacy of the penthouse.
‘Are you hungry?’ He nuzzled her ear before leaning back so he could watch her eyes, her expression. ‘I know I am, and not just for food.’
She stood on tiptoes and nipped his lower lip. ‘I’m starving.’
‘In that case—’ Reluctantly he let her go and headed into the kitchen. He removed the alfoil covering a plate and the plastic wrap over onions he’d already chopped.
She lifted her head and sniffed. ‘Is that—’
‘Dinner? Yes. I marinated a couple of steaks and made a salad.’
‘You did?’ Her surprise was gratifying. And a reminder that Flick had cooked every time they’d dined together.
He pulled out a chair and gently eased her onto the seat. ‘Did you think I couldn’t cook? Just because I ordered fish and chips, or picked up an antipasto platter and seafood one time, doesn’t mean I’m incapable.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it, other than that you probably don’t have much time to cook. Can we eat now?’
‘Sure. I’ll turn on the barbecue. Is fifteen minutes soon enough to eat?’
‘Great. I’ll have a quick shower and come and help you.’
‘You can have a lazy shower if you like and then relax—or talk to me while I cook.’ Flick’s workdays were longer as they raced towards Christmas, and he’d adjusted his work hours around hers so they had time together no matter which shift she worked.
She dropped a quick kiss on his mouth and avoided his hands before he could pull her in for another deep kiss. ‘Back in ten.’
He carried the dish of steak and onions onto the balcony and turned on the gas to the barbecue. While it was heating, he set the outside table with plates and cutlery. Before Flick had erupted into his life, the idea of a night at home would have meant working late and falling into bed after midnight, his mind buzzing with problems to be solved and deadlines to be met.
He set the steaks on the grill, stepping back from the hiss and steam and spatter of red wine marinade hitting heat.
A night in with Flick meant comfort and excitement all rolled together—in their bodies joining, and conversation and falling asleep with his arms around her.
He added the onions to the grill. Waking beside her was his ideal of how every day should begin. Her sleepy smile, a finger trailing down his chest … Running late for work because he couldn’t get enough of her.
Flick’s arms slid around his waist and she laid her cheek against his shoulder. ‘I know what your smile means, Mr McIntyre, and no, I need feeding before we get to that.’
‘Spoilsport.’ He dropped a kiss onto her head.
Yes, life was damned near perfect.
***
Flick was about to finish her shift when Christophe called her into his office and closed the door against the clamour of lunch service in full swing.
‘Flick, I’d like to invite you to Christmas Day lunch at my home. I cannot return to my family in France this year so I’m hosting an orphans’ party. I mentioned it to Xander earlier. He thought you’d both be free, but suggested I check with you.’
‘You’ve given everyone two days off and closed the restaurant, so yes, I’m—we’re free.’ Less than a week had passed since she’d moved in with Xander. Her stomach still fluttered and flipped each time she publicly acknowledged their relationship. Would she ever give her complete trust to Xander, or would her parents’ ravaged relationship, and the media frenzy following her break-up with Jason, continue to shadow her? ‘What can we bring?’
‘Nothing. I’ve planned the menu already, but if you would help Nico clear and stack after each course, that would help on the day.’
‘Sure. It’s the least I can do. Thanks, Christophe.’ She headed to the door, her thoughts swinging back to how she planned to decorate the final torte for the evening dessert display.
‘Before you go, I want to tell you one more thing.’
She stopped, her hand on the door handle. Christophe’s voice held an unfamiliar tone. Forget butterflies. Giant bogong moths battered the walls of her stomach. What he thought about her relationship with Xander was no one’s business but theirs. Still, her lover and her boss were good mates. Her grip tightened on the handle. ‘Yes?’
‘Don’t look like you’re heading for the guillotine, Flick. I just want to say I’m very happy you and Xander have got together. It is a good thing.’
She released a quick huff of relief and blinked to clear her eyes of unexpected tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘I hope it works out. But Flick, don’t lose sight of your dream because you’re with Xander.’
***
‘I’m home.’ Flick pushed the door closed, her attention diverted by the gaily decorated walls. Tinsel hung in garlands, draped the light fittings, and in one corner a small Christmas tree stood, half-adorned in purple and gold decorations. A half-empty box of glass baubles sat on the side table next to the tree.
Xander appeared in the doorway to the main bedroom wearing a grin, and a towel around his hips. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his chest.
‘Hmm, something’s changed, but I can’t put my finger on why the room looks different. Maybe I’ve walked into the wrong apartment.’
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Since I diverted your energy from decorating last night, I thought it was the least I could do to make it up to you. Is this okay?’
A breeze came through the open balcony doors and set the tinsel garlands swaying. They fluttered, catching the wall lights. ‘It’s wonderful. Can I help you finish the tree?’
‘Yes, but first …’ He reached for something in the bedroom. When he stepped into the room, his hands remained behind his back. ‘I’ve got something special I need your help with.’
Flick slipped her shoes off and Xander stopped in front of her. The wall lights were reflected in his eyes and the corner of his mouth tipped up, as though he suppressed a smile.
‘It’s maybe the most important Christmas tradition.’ His arm rose above her head.
She tipped her head up to see what he held. His mouth settled on hers in a kiss that scattered all thoughts of decorations and tinsel and Christmas trees. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes, relishing the heat of his bare chest against her cheesecloth top.
Xander lowered the arm he’d held above her head and slid both hands down her back, pulling her closer. ‘I’m glad to see it works.’
‘What works?’ She tugged on his arm. ‘I thought that was my I’m-glad-you’re-home kiss.’
‘Mistletoe.’ He raised his hand and slowly twirled a sprig of fake mistletoe between thumb and fingers. ‘I couldn’t decide on the best place to hang it.’
‘It’s perfect right where it is, but if you get tired of holding it up, you could try nestling it in the tinsel above our bedroom door.’
He let her go and set the mistletoe in a couple of twists of tinsel, and then stood there looking up.
Flick joined him in the doorway. ‘What are you doing? It’s fine there.’
He looked at her and then up at the green leaves and red berries. ‘I don’t think it’s working.’
She nudged him until he stood right beneath the decoration. ‘You have to be standing underneath for it to work.’ She slid her hands up his chest and kissed him again before stepping back. ‘See, it’s working just fine.’
‘I may not move from here.’
‘Or—you could wear a hat with mistletoe attached.’
‘Now there’s an idea.’ He slid an arm around her waist and laughed, a wickedly sexy chuckle.
‘We might not get any work done if you do that though. Speaking of work, Christophe has given us all time off for Christmas, and he’s invited us to his place for lunch.’
Xander dropped his towel on the bed.
Flick’s gaze followed the play of muscles as he reached for a slimline pair of green boxers and pulled them up. Dammit, she didn’t need mistletoe. Xander was kissable at any time—all the time.
‘His orphans’ party—yes. He mentioned it this morning. I thought you might like to go since neither of us have our families nearby.’ He tugged on a plain black T-shirt and a pair of boardies.
Mention of family hit Flick like a bucket of cold water. What was there to celebrate back in Brisbane? A day spent trudging between her depressed father and her angry mother—was there a worse way to spend Christmas Day? ‘I’d love to go. And we can have a sleep-in. No early shift or—’
‘I like your thinking—a Christmas Day sleep-in!’ He picked her up, swung her in a circle and kissed her again before leading her onto the balcony. ‘I set dinner out here again. I hope that’s okay. The breeze is cooler tonight off the sea.’ He busied himself pouring drinks and serving a lasagne with salad onto each plate.
Flick sat, her heart doing a little stumble and catch-up run. Jason had just whinged about her hours, but Xander …
She sniffed and swallowed a lump of emotion. Twice this last week he’d prepared dinner when she was on a late shift. Busy as his work was, he’d rearranged his schedule around her. He’d rearranged his apartment, his drawers, and his life.
A woman can’t ask for more.