Page 172 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
Another little groan eked out of her, and she wrapped her arm and leg around me like a koala clinging to a tree. “I deserved that whiskey.”
“And that’s why I let you have it,” I replied. “You did deserve it. You’re also an excellent present stacker.”
“Well, it’s hardly my first rodeo organising gifts.” She hugged me tighter, pressing her face into my chest.
Her flattening her body against mine did only one thing: make my cock hard.
She stilled. “Thomas! It’s too early for that!”
“You’re the one wrapping yourself around me and rubbing against me,” I grumbled. “What do you expect?”
“Fine, fine. But if we are going to be disturbed in fifteen minutes by an excited child, keep it in your pants.”
“More like ten minutes now.”
“Ugh, my life is slipping away before my eyes.”
“Hardly. You haven’t opened them once this morning.”
“That’s because it’s… What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Seven-thirty and I’ve had five hours of sleep,” she replied. “Are yours open?”
“The woman of my dreams is lying in my arms. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a big, fat suck-up.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
She laughed, finally releasing me and rolling onto her back. “Ohhh. Why did I let my sister get married on Christmas Eve? What kind of stupid idea was that?”
“Better than Christmas Day.”
“Don’t. It was a suggestion.” She sighed and finally opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at me. “I vetoed it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” I propped my head up on my elbow and grinned down at her. “Good morning.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Good morning. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” I lowered my lips to hers and kissed her softly. “You’re finally waking up.”
“Well, the countdown is on, like you said, and—”
“Uncle Tommy!” Danny’s scream cut her off, and it was followed by the hammering of his little fists against the door. “Uncle Tommy! Santa made a meeeeeeeeeess!”
“Just in time,” Sylvie quipped, sitting up with a yawn.
“Uncle Tommy!”
“Yeah, I hear you, buddy,” I called. “Give me a minute.”
“Is Auntie Sylvie in there?”
Sylvie paused, tilted her head to the side, then looked at me questioningly.
“That was not me,” I said firmly. “I’d put my money on it being Zara.”
