Abbie woke to the click of the bedroom door closing. The space beside her was warm but empty. Will had just left. Cracking open one eye, she fumbled for her phone, knocking her anxiety meds off the bedside table in the process. According to her display, it was 7:38 and she had a text from Chitra.

Merry Christmas, Aunty!

Attached was a picture of baby Jaya dressed as a tiny Santa. Abbie smiled, and fell back to sleep before she could reply.

When she woke again, it was slower, sweeter, easier the second time around. Winter sun spilled through the curtains to bathe her face. The mattress beneath her shifted as Will slipped back into bed.

“Abbie-girl,” he murmured. “I’m cold.”

Such a bad liar. Will must’ve just gotten back from his run, which he insisted on every day—yes, even Christmas Day—not because he was a gym owner who had to maintain a certain level of fitness, but because, for reasons she would never understand, he really fucking enjoyed it. So maybe he had been cold for a minute, out there in the frost. But after a couple miles and a hot shower, he must be warm again.

And yet, when his big hand smoothed over her side, she shivered.

“I know you’re awake.” She could hear the grin in his voice. Could feel it against her skin, his body curving around her as he kissed the back of her neck.

“Yes,” she admitted, “I’m awake.” Then she rolled over because neck kisses were wonderful, but mouth to mouth was better.

He was beautiful, as always. Golden and glowing and looking at her with a love so intense she could practically feel it—warming her as surely as the blankets around them, holding her tight like this bed held off the early-morning chill. Wrapped up in this man was her favourite place to be. And these days, she was confident—even in her wobbly moments—that he felt the same.

“I love you,” she murmured, and trailed her fingers down, down, down, over the planes of his beloved body.

Will grunted as his lips glided over hers. “I love you back, baby.”

She smiled against his mouth and wrapped her fingers around the hot, hard length of him. “Merry Christmas?”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he agreed. Then he cupped her aching sex with one big palm and sucked in a breath when he found her wet.

She was still naked from last night. He was naked from the shower. He pushed her onto her back and palmed her hips with desperate hands. His body settled between her thighs, and just that—just the weight, the heat, and maybe the knowledge that he wanted her again—lit Abbie up like the spark of a match.