“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips playing at her neck. “I like it. In fact…I’m a little turned on by it.” His hands slid under the hem of her shirt, his palms sliding up her body, taking the shirt along for the ride. “That’s wrong, right?”

His palms found her breasts, the nipples already taut and aching for his touch. A hot wave of arousal washed through Suzanne’s belly, and she shut her eyes and arched her back. “Only if it’s wrong for me to be turned on, too.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his thumbs stroking her nipples. “You’re the artiste.”

Suzanne moaned as the aching spread to her thighs and her butt and right between her legs. She turned in his arms, needing to be closer, whimpering when she found his mouth right there ready for her, losing herself in the heady heat of his kiss. But still, she needed to be closer, snaking her arms around his neck and rising on her toes.

As if sensing her need, Grady slid his hands under her ass and hauled her up, separating her legs, fitting them on either side of his hips and holding her tight as he strode her over to the rug, lay her down, and showed her art came in many, many forms.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Suzanne didn’t know what time it was when she woke to Grady stirring beside her and the lights blazing in the house.

“Electricity’s back,” he said, rising to his feet.

Suzanne squinted at the clock, battling the sudden assault to her pupils and the sticky cling of deep sleep fogging her brain. Just after eleven p.m. A little over twenty-four hours since Grady had come back to the cabin to wait out the storm. “Something’s different,” she murmured.

“The wind. It’s stopped.”

Suzanne blinked, tuning in to the sounds instead of the sights of tinsel and a butt-naked Grady. It was eerily quiet after the banshee howling that had been creeping her out. “You’re right.”

The overhead lights suddenly flicked out, and Suzanne’s eyeballs relaxed. The lights around the windows went next, then the flash of the lights outside the cabin. All that remained was the red glow of coals from the fire and the tree lights blinking merrily, as if to celebrate the passing of the blizzard.

It was so pretty, Suzanne’s heart ached with it. She’d always wanted this—the tree, the presents, the lights. It was like a Christmas trifecta. Add in the fire, the cabin, the snow, and the bittersweet ache of new love, and she’d hit the Yuletide jackpot.

Grady went to the window near the tree and peered out. “It’s stopped snowing as well.”

A sudden spike of alarm smashed through her romantic Christmas fantasy. “You’re not going out there in it now, are you?” Surely that was not advisable?