Page 48 of Second Chance Christmas

“There’s nothing sexier than a man brandishing a donut bag in the morning.” She smiled and loved watching his turn a little more devilish.

“Evil plans and all that. I figured after the workout this morning you would need a little pampering.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he mirrored her position against the opposite counter.

“So, you came with a plan, did you?”

“It’s kind of freaky when you read my mind like that.”

She could kiss him. If she dared. Did she? One long draw of his cologne, the coffee as the igniter and fueled by sweet remnants of their morning still causing her clit to pulsate and they might be doing dirty kitchen sex.

Heat rushed into her cheeks at that thought and she moved to hide it behind her large mug.

Temptation on two legs.

Her eyes drew to the scarf tossed on the edge of the kitchen counter. She reached between them and rubbed a hand over the soft material. Its frayed, worn edges only made it look comfortable. Loved.

“You still have it.”

He nodded, leaning in to place a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s my favorite. Most winter days I don’t go without it.”

He took her hand in his and slowly lifted it to his mouth. The stubble tickled her palm as she wrapped his hand around his cheek. She knew whatever this was wouldn’t last past her leaving Dixen, so she soaked it all in while she could.

He pressed a kiss to her palm and said, “You’re thinking too loud again. Ready to get to work?”

She mentally shook herself.

Suddenly she wished she’d taken the time to find a prettier sweater from the clothes her sisters left behind on one of their trips. As it were, she sported a fresh pair of black jeans—thank God for that— and a long-sleeved pullover with the B&B’s logo on it. Nothing fancy or eye-catching.

Max took that moment to bound through the kitchen, using the piles of bags, boxes and packages of decorations as his own amusement. Tinsel clung to his fur and he somehow managed to get garland wrapped around his middle as he nosed through one box after another. “Where did you get all this stuff?”

Aspen gestured upward. “Your attic. Most of them, anyway. The other stuff is from Mom’s. She sends her love and says she’ll see you at the party.”

“Party?”

Aspen cranked an eyebrow up.

All the sex and sugar gave her momentary amnesia. Or her brain was on an Aspen overload. Both. Yeah, definitely both. “Right. Party.” She still had a day to figure out how to weasel her way out of that commitment.

“So, where do you want to get started?” Aspen clapped his hands together and eyed her handiwork from the previous night. “Are you a top to bottom or bottom to top kind of girl?”

She swallowed hard. That was definitely a filthy question to ask and he knew it with how his eyes lit up.

God help her, all day with Aspen?

“Let’s start in the guest’s rooms. Those have the least amount of work in them. A few touch-ups on the paint which I’ll take care of, wood polishing, and Gran wanted to change out the light fixtures that have broken crystals and have dulled over the years.”

“I’ll grab my tool belt from the truck. Just point me to which room I should start in and I’ll take care of the lights while you get the paint.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

A few minutes later Ivy pointed Aspen to the Jane Austen’s themed room filled with lacy throws and pink accents while she took Charles Dickens’s directly across the hallway with its earthy browns and golds. Each theme denoted her gran’s favorite literary classics, designed to give guests a relaxed yet entertaining stay.

She turned to catch a glimpse of Aspen hitching his belt around his waist. His deep blue cotton T-shirt stretched over well-defined muscles as he set out to complete his task. Of all the people she would have never guessed he would be the one to help her, yet there he stood. How he wondered, did her luck change? Because if she knew that answer maybe she could replicate the magic.

HE COULD STILL TASTE her on his lips. She’d been so sweet, so damn passionate it killed him to walk away from her bed when the phone rang. But he knew Ivy Sunday. Push too hard, too fast and she would shut down. Run away again like she had on their wedding day. Back then he’d been too young and foolish and let her go. This time, when she tried to run, he’d make damn sure she didn’t get far. If he were honest with himself, the second he spotted her on the deck, cast iron skillet raised he knew she would be his again.

Aspen tightened the last of the screws for the antique chandelier and made his way to where he left Ivy with her iPod and paintbrush.

How the hell did she manage to look so beautiful in an old pullover and a messy ponytail? He leaned against the doorframe and watched as she lost herself in the work. Her head bopping to whatever tune she had in the queue. He was experiencing Ivy in her element surrounded by the very thing that made her happy. He almost felt like he had a secret window into her soul and he needed to tread softly.

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