Chapter 27: Christmas Eve
Laura and Remington woke the following morning with sunlight bathing their bedroom. A glance at the alarm clock showed it to be shortly before nine. Due at the Pipers by six for a casual dinner, after showering and dressing, Remington turned his attention to prepping food for the following day: bread sauce and cranberry sauce were made and placed in sealed containers; potatoes for the crispy roasted potatoes were pealed and left in the fridge to soak in bowls of cool water; apple and mincemeat pies were baked and left cooling on the counters; and lastly, Christmas pudding was made and stored, too, in the refrigerator. The meal Christmas evening would be a nod to the traditional meals served in both Remington and Laura's homelands: Roasted turkey with herbed apple stuffing, brown sugar and cracked pepper baked ham, crispy roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, Brussel sprouts with maple syrup and toasted almonds, caramelized acorn squash, roasted parsnips, among others. Dinner would be served buffet style so their considerable guest list could dine at their leisure.
Laura watched her husband as he whistled a happy little tune while he prepared the food from where she was sitting at the dining room table, wrapping the last of the Christmas presents. She ticked off the names of those who would be in attendance for dinner the following evening: She and Remington, of course; Donald, Frances and the three children; Abigail; Veronica and Maxie; Monroe and Jocelyn, who would be staying over so the two couples could depart together for their early flight to France; Murphy, Sherry and the twins, who were in LA visiting Sherry's parents. Sixteen people total, including themselves. Another busy holiday for the Steeles. It was hard to believe that this time the year prior, she and Remington were being held hostage at the Agency, along with Mildred and three others. In fact, little about this Christmas resembled the last. Last year, they were only committed, no idea where their future lay, whereas this year they were married and looking forward to what the future held. The year prior, they'd spent a quiet Christmas night alone together in his apartment. He'd surprised her with a tree, she recalled, and tickets to Vail. There is where the only similarity between the two years lay: Last year, Monroe and Jocelyn had accompanied them to Vail, stayed with them in the house they now owned and this year, the foursome would journey together overseas.
As much as she was looking forward to their trip, she was equally thrilled Murphy would be in attendance the following evening. She still missed her old friend and, even more so, she'd never been given a truly adequate opportunity to thank him for his help when she was kidnapped.
Presents wrapped and dinner prepped, they'd gone upstairs together to get ready for the evening ahead. Now, as she climbed out of the Rabbit in front of her sister's house, she took a deep breath and attempted to center herself. Remington would surely meet her mother's exacting demands for proper Christmas Eve Service attire: Pleated dress pants with matching suit jacket, crisp white dress shirt, and deep red suspenders with matched tie and pocket square. She took some solace in knowing that the bracers were for her benefit… a tease, if you will, as he was well-aware she proved to be drawn to admire his long, lean frame all the more often when he wore them. The color of his suit, the red of his tie and pocket square were a point to be made as well, as his clothing selection perfectly complemented her own: his way of announcing to the world at large that she was spoken for.
Nervously, she swiped at non-existent lint on her cream colored, suit jacket. Remington rounded the car and looked her over from head-to-toe. Stunning, was his only thought. Pleated cream dress pants, dark belt, a deep red silk blouse, and the tailored jacket that matched the pants, she was the picture of elegance in his eyes. She'd opted to French braid her hair, tying the end with a matching red ribbon and weaving holly berries through the plait. Red and silver earrings graced her ears, her heart locket hung at her neck. On her wrist, the watch he'd given her a few months before.
"You look lovely," he complimented, grasping her hands. She smiled up at him, but still heaved a sigh of resignation in recognition of the criticism that lay ahead. Slinging her purse strap over her shoulder, she reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed two bags of gifts, while he retrieved the remaining two. Securing both of his bags in one hand, he placed the other on the small of her back as they approached the house, stroking softly in an attempt to relax her.
Scant seconds after the doorbell was pressed, the door swung open and Donald stepped back, greeting them as they entered.
"Remington," he welcomed with a shake of hands and slap on upper arm. Leaning forward, Donald bussed Laura on the cheek. "You look positively festive. Everyone's already begun gathering in the dining room for dinner," he offered, holding his hand out towards the combined dining and kitchen area. Taking a cue from Donald's attire – dress pants, shirt and tie, no jacket – Remington shrugged out of his suit coat.
"We'll be straight along," he told his brother-in-law. With a nod, Donald continued on alone.
Opening the entryway closet door, he hung up his jacket before assisting Laura from hers and likewise hanging it. Turning back to her, he cupped her face in his hands.
"Relax," he urged. "You're here to celebrate the holiday with your family, not to be sent to the gallows." Her eyes flickered away from him.
"Clearly, you haven't spent Christmas Eve with my mother," she disagreed. Digging deep, she found her gumption. Standing up a bit straighter and pulling her shoulders back, a determined gleam lit her eyes. "But being late to the dinner table will only make it worse." He nodded his approval and touched his lips to hers before following her into the kitchen.
The Piper family, sans Donald, and Abigail all looked up from where they were seated at the dining table as the couple entered the dining room. Frances eyed down the children as the prepared to spring from their seats to greet their Aunt and Uncle. As expected of her, Laura moved around the table to press a kiss to Abigail's cheek.
"It's nice to see you again, Mother."
"Hello, Laura, dear. I'm glad you could join us. We've held dinner for you," Abigail informed her, returning the kiss on her cheek.
"Mother, it's only just six o'clock," Frances attempted to intercede.
"Frances, need I remind you, as well, that if one is invited to dinner that is to be served at six, it is customary to arrive earlier, so as not to hold the meal?" Abigail censored. Frances wilted under her gaze, then seemed to rally.
"I don't believe I expressly said dinner was at six, rather that they should arrive at six, which they did." Frances grinned, proud of her clarification. Abigail opened her mouth to speak again when Remington smoothly stepped in.
"Abigail, Frances, my apologies. The fault is entirely mine," he prevaricated, as he held out Laura's chair for her. "I was so caught up in cooking and baking for tomorrow evening that Laura all but had to drag me from the house."
"Remington, dear, there's no need to apologize," Abigail told him, reaching across Frances to pat his hand. "We can't thank you enough for volunteering to host Christmas dinner tomorrow evening. I know it must have been trying, between work and menu preparations."
"No, no. No trouble at all," he corrected. "Laura insisted we close the office for the holidays so we could concentrate on upcoming festivities. There's nothing more important to her than her family, and she wanted to assure the occasion was memorable." Discretely, Laura's hand reached for his under the table and gave it a squeeze of thanks. "Frances, I must say, you've outdone yourself again, it appears." Frances blushed prettily at the praise.
"Oh, it's nothing fancy. I thought we could keep things simple this evening as I'm sure you have an entire feast planned for tomorrow evening."
"I do at that," he agreed, giving her a wink that sent her a-tittering.
The meal was perhaps simplistic – lasagna and a salad with a light vinaigrette – but it was tasteful fare. While Frances did not possess the wide range of Remington's epicurean abilities, what she did cook, he'd found, she always cooked exceedingly well. After the meal, Laura and Remington volunteered for dish duty, but were shooed out of the kitchen by Abigail and Frances, so they joined the fray in the Piper living room instead. Retrieving the bags they'd brought from by the front door, he handed present-after-present to her to position under the tree. Bags emptied they settled on the couch, hips touching, his arm slug around her shoulders as they watched Danny and Mindy crawling around on all-fours around the tree.
"This one's for me," Mindy said gleefully, then pointed to another. "There's one for you Danny!"
"And another one for you here," he answered, doing some pointing of his own.
"What about me?" Laurie Beth piped up, from where she sat on the floor nearby.
"Right here," Mindy pointed again.
"And here!" Danny added. The youngest Piper clapped her hands in jubilation.
Donald watched on with amusement playing across his lips.
"Every year, it never changes," he said aloud. "I remember when I was a child we didn't have any of this opening presents on Christmas Eve bit. No, we were made to wait until Christmas morning," he glanced at his youngest, "until after Santa came, even it meant we never slept a wink! What about you Remington?"
"I assure you, there was no opening of presents on Christmas Eve," he answered, giving his ear a tug. Laura edged herself a bit closer to his side. Understanding the unspoken support, he bent his head and briefly pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "So, this tradition is new, is it?" he asked of Donald.
"New to me. No, this is Frannie's family tradition. It was important to her, so we carried it on after we married."
"The tradition of the ornaments as well?" Donald laughed.
"Of course! The tree is the story of our lives together. First Frannie and I, then Danny, later Mindy and Laurie Beth. Each year as we put up the tree, we add a new chapter. It's my favorite of the Holt traditions," he enthused. The thought gave Remington pause. He'd thought the tradition charming when Laura had first told him of it. But Donald's perspective gave the tradition a richness… a complexity… he hadn't before considered.
Frances peeked her head into the room.
"Everyone come help yourselves to a mug of hot chocolate or hot apple cider." The three children jumped to their feet and ran to the kitchen. Remington raised a brow towards his wife.
"Once the hot chocolate, cider and treats are served it's time to begin opening presents," she explained, pressing a kiss to his cheek and standing.
"Ah, I see."
In short order, the adults were seated on couches or chairs, the children on the floor nearby the tree. It was the responsibility of the two oldest children to distribute the presents to their recipients. Once all were handed out, opening began with zeal.
Laura watched Remington out of the corner of her eye. He seemed frozen in place, simply staring at the gifts sitting upon his lap: A gift from Abigail, a second from Donald and Frances and the last from the Piper children.
"Ponies. I got My Little Ponies, Mommy," Laurie Beth shrieked. Using the cloak of the child's excitement, Laura leaned close to whisper to him.
"You're family, Remington. Enjoy it." She bussed him on the cheek, then returned her attentions to the happy chaos surrounding them.
"Oh my," Frances burst out. "Donald, would you look at this?" As bade, he leaned over and looked at what his wife was holding.
"Plane tickets to Vail? Lift tickets?" Donald turned to look at the Steeles. "This is far too generous. We couldn't possibly—"
"Sure you can," Laura interrupted.
"We'll never find a babysitter at this late date," Frances interjected, even while gazing longingly at the tickets.
"Abigail has generously volunteered to extend her stay to keep the children," Remington told her, putting that concern to bed.
"We'll never find a hotel with availability at this late—" Donald began.
"You'll be staying at our house. There are four master suites upstairs, with a hot tub on the balconies of each. The choice of rooms is yours," Laura said, setting down their last possible objection. The couple glanced at one another, a wide smile gracing each of their faces at the same time. Frances leaped up from her seat and crossed the room to throw her arms around her sister.
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome." Leaning closer she spoke quietly next to Frances's ear. "You might want to open the gift from me discretely. Something to wear for a second honeymoon."
Frances leaned back, eyes shining. The look shared between the two sisters expressed how much stronger their relationship had become in the last year. Rejoining her husband on the other couch, Frances clasped his hand tightly in hers, beaming.
"Holy Pete, six new models to work on! I know what I'm doing this Christmas break," Danny called out. "Thanks Aunt Laura and Uncle Remington!"
"Our pleasure," Remington answered with a smile.
"Laura, Remington. A ticket to Galway, Ireland for next Monday?" Abigail asked, more than a little baffled.
"Given how much you enjoyed your time spent along the Riviera, we thought you might enjoy spending a bit of time Ashford Castle," Remington explained. "You'll also find we've secured train and boat fare for you, and a flight returning home from London. You'll have three days at Ashford, then three days in London. We've a townhouse there that will be opened up for your stay."
"I don't even know what to say." The eyes of Frances, Donald and Laura all settled upon Abigail, trying to recall when the last time was she as rendered speechless. "Thank you," she finally managed. The three pairs of eyes staring all blinked simultaneously. It was the first time in recent history they could recall Abigail graciously accepting a gift while finding no fault in it at all. All three of them considered it on the level of a Christmas miracle.
Remington received three Raymond Chandler hardback novels from Frances and Donald along with a pair of tickets to an upcoming Cary Grant retrospective, and another three Agatha Christie novels from the children.
"Laura once said how much you enjoy both authors," Frances had explained.
And from Abigail, a silk tie with matching handkerchief.
"I know precisely the suit to wear them with," Remington had thanked her, standing and crossing the room to buss her on the cheek, receiving a pat on his own cheek in exchange.
For Laura? A cashmere sweater from Donald and Frances, a selection of novels by Danielle Steele and Jackie Collins from the children. And, from Abigail, three sets of cookbooks and an apron. She tried her best not to roll her eyes at the last.
"Thank you, Mother," she managed, stiffly.
"Maybe with Remington's help you'll learn to enjoy cooking enough that you can take the burden of preparing all the meals off his shoulders," Abigail suggested. Remington reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze, a gesture she accurately interpreted as him letting her know he neither found her lack of cooking skills a deficit nor something that needed mending.
After all gifts were unwrapped and the trash disposed of, Remington stretched out on the carpet to play 'ponies' with Laurie Beth at her insistence, while simultaneously giving Mindy pointers on how to use shadowing to enhance her drawings. Frances moved to join Laura on the couch where she was sitting so they could turn their full attention to Donald, as he read The Night Before Christmas aloud for the entire family. On more than one occasion, Laura had the feeling someone was watching her, and with a shift of her eyes found Remington's eyes resting longingly on her stomach. Unconsciously, her hand settled there and stroked softly. Closing her eyes, she realized beginning a family was rapidly moving in her mind from one day to… soon.
Before long, the family began preparing to leave for Midnight Mass. The children were sent upstairs to change into their church clothes, while Remington helped Donald take several blankets and pillows out to the Piper station wagon. The Pipers had learned from years past that they would have three sleepy children by the time Mass let out. In the meantime, Laura retrieved her and Remington's jackets from the entryway closet. Laying his across the back of a wingback chair, she shrugged hers on, then swept away non-existent wrinkles with a hand.
"Laura, I'm sure Frances wouldn't mind if you used her room to change," Abigail suggested. Laura's back stiffened. Even though she had predicted exactly this conversation before leaving the house, tension still knotted her stomach at the implied criticism.
"There's no need. This is what I'm wearing to church, Mother." Abigail settled a disapproving gaze on her youngest child.
"You're well-aware we always dress for Church…" she sniffed and Laura sighed.
"This is a dress suit, not jeans and a t-shirt," Laura pointed out, somewhat huffily. Remington appeared in the living room for the last two lines of the conversation.
"And you look absolutely stunning, love," he informed her stepping to her side and bussing her cheek. "I know you'd have preferred to wear something a bit more fancy, but with your healing ankle requiring support and all…" he left the thought unfinished. Abigail's eyes shifted downwards, only then recalling her daughter's recent surgery.
"Well, why didn't you just say as much, Laura. It would be impossible to find the proper shoe to accompany a dress when you're still wearing that bulky thing. Concealing it with slacks is certainly the best that can be done." Laura swallowed the groan that threatened to cross her lips. Remington's had squeezed her waist before releasing her and slipping on his jacket.
"We'll see you and the family at the Church, Abigail." Leaning over, he bussed his mother-in-law on the cheek. After he and Laura gathered up their gifts and empty bags, they departed for the car.
Outside, Remington gathered Laura close. Squeezing shut her eyes, she relaxed into his embrace.
"All-in-all a pleasant evening, eh?" She leaned back and looked up at him, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"All-in-all," she agreed, tilting her head back slightly more in a hint, her eyes holding his. Never one to decline when the woman before him was requesting a kiss, he lowered his head. The kiss was the quiet kiss of two people connecting, appreciating one another's presence, yet left her blinking and looking a little dazed when it ended. She vaguely wondered how it is she'd been kissing this man for going on five years now and she still felt the same frisson of excitement course through her each time their lips met.
"We should leave for the Church," she managed, reaching up to swipe her lipstick off his lips with a thumb. Drawing her to him in a final embrace, he bussed her on the forehead and patted her fanny before releasing her.
The services that evening were as familiar as they were comforting, like an old friend found amidst chaos. Remington still marveled at the idea Laura, like himself, had been raised within the Church, a fact that only solidified further his belief kismet had meant for he and she to find each other amongst the billions on the earth. It was their similar life experiences that had both drawn them together and kept them apart for four years, and had over time created a steel-like bond that he couldn't imagine a single person or situation ever being able to sever. Oh, his fears that he didn't deserve this type of happiness, of love… that he'd done nothing in this life to earn it… still persisted, but with each passing day he grew more certain that, unlike days past, it would take more than a single event or person to tear them asunder. It was a potent feeling, one that had him reaching for his wife's hand and weaving their fingers together.
Laura's own thoughts traveled a similar path. A year ago this time, they'd been committed to one another, working toward communicating more honestly with one another, and their relationship had an intimate undertone that was both inspiring and terrifying at once. The months he'd been gone the summer prior had changed the landscape of their relationship, had forced both of them to admit, a least to themselves, that somewhere along the line the connection between them had become so complex, their lives so interwoven, that life without the other's presence not only made no sense, but also left a yawning chasm of emptiness where the other once had dwelled within. When he'd returned home, the pretense that either was whole without the other had ended. That small piece of honesty had brought with it a contentment they'd not known in their relationship before, but in itself was not enough to quell either of their fears… or to inspire either of them to take the risk and admit the entirety of their feelings for the other first. No, as was once typical of them, they'd had to stand at the cliffside of their relationship, peering over into the dark canyon below, knowing the next step would sever everything between them once and for all – partnership, friendship, romance. It was only then that they'd taken a step back, turned and faced one another with stark honesty.
And this had been their reward. Leaning her head against his shoulder, her other hand covered their joined two, her thumb seeking his ring, stroking it. Marriage. A home. Christmas Eve traditions. Peace. Oh, she still had her days when she worried he'd grow bored with it all: domesticity, living on the right side of the law… well, with the occasional steps into the shadows on the dark side of the street where once he'd lived… of her. There were mornings where he arrived far later than normal at the office, or at home in the evenings, which left her fearing she'd seen the last of him, he'd finally packed up and moved on. But those days were rare anymore. All it would take was her eyes connecting with his to see that his passion for her… his love… had not waned, but instead had only seemed to grow with each passing day.
Remington withdrew his arm when Laurie Beth slipped off Frances's lap and scooted past siblings and Laura to get to him. Hiking her up into his lap when she patted his leg in request, he wrapped an arm about the little girl, while she curled up against him and sticking two fingers in her mouth, closed her eyes, then embraced Laura about the shoulders with his other arm. She leaned more heavily against his side this time, drawing his attention.
"Sleepy?" he asked in a low voice.
"Someone was very frisky last night," she reminded him, trying to blink the bleariness from her eyes.
"A certain young woman has but herself to blame for that," he teased lightly, bussing her against her temple. Giving him a wan smile, she turned her attention back to the service.
Then was mortified when a brisk rub of her arm woke her for Communion. She cast a panicked look in her mother's direction suddenly feeling like a ten-year-old who had misbehaved in church. The same hand that woke her guided her down the aisle.
"No one knew but myself, so stop looking as though you stole treats from a nun," Remington laughed softly beside her, while he effortlessly carried their sleeping six-year-old niece.
Less than ten minutes later, service ended and the family adjourned to their vehicles, Remington handing Laurie Beth off to Frances. Joining Laura at the Rabbit, he plucked the keys from her hand then held open the passenger door to her. With a shrug, she got in the car and he closed the door behind her. As he climbed in behind the steering wheel, she hoped the cool night air would help revive her before they arrived home, otherwise her carefully made plans would go to waste.
When they arrived home, Remington closed the gates at the end of the drive with a flick of a button on the remote, then parked the Rabbit in the carport. While the drive had been made mostly in silence, she credited the fact she was still awake to the win column. They parted at the steps upon entering the house.
"I'll be up shortly. I need to stuff the turkey and set it to slow roast," he told her with a brush of his lips to her cheek.
"How long?" He pursed his lips and did a quick mental calculation.
"No more than thirty minutes, I should think." She nodded then climbed the stairs towards their room.
Only once she was out of his sight, did the adrenaline kick in. Shower, hair dried, dressed, sneak downstairs to put his presents under the tree. Do I have time? she wondered.
For six and a half months she'd managed to secret the last of the surprises she'd purchased for his pleasure at Chantal's shop in Cannes. The moment she'd seen this particular ensemble, she knew it was meant for one night and one night alone. Crossing the room to her dresser, she extracted one of her old nightgowns – a shapeless, ankle length, cotton gown that he'd once harrumphed reminded him of the nightgowns married women wore in old westerns set in the nineteenth century. It would never have occurred to him, given his derision for the gown, that it could become the idea hiding place for something. She reached between the gowns fabric folds and pulled out the garment hidden within.
She sighed, seeing again its exquisite perfection. Remington might not have a single memory of Santa Claus visiting him as a child, but the memory of the night Mrs. Claus had wished him a Merry Christmas she was quite certain would not be forgotten for a long, long time. The gusseted corset featured a daring, sheer white panel of lace in the front which would conceal not a centimeter of the flesh of her breasts, narrowing in width along ribs and stomach. The lace adjoined red satin pulled tantalizingly tight by the white, satin ribbons lacing up the back. Gathered white satin trimmed the sweetheart neckline, which dipped daringly low. Red, satin panties trimmed in white. While, gathered satin, like that which trimmed the bodice, made up the belt of the garters, with white bows topping the straps holding up the white, lace like stockings. The outfit was topped by a sheer white, lace robe, held closed by a wide red satin sash, tied into a bow in the front.
Shower complete, towel wrapped around herself, and blow dryer in hand, Laura scrunched her hair as she dried it. Six months after the train wreck of a hair cut she'd allowed herself to be talked into post tuna-boat-marriage, her hair had gained six inches in length and the dreaded bangs were finally blending into the rest of her hair. The man downstairs was eternally fascinated by the curl of her hair when not tamed by a forceful brush combined with heat. Tonight, those spirals would be left free for his fingers to explore. A light brush of color across her eyelids, a dash of mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss, she made no attempt to conceal the sprinkles of color that covered her face over which his blue eyes would travel, transfixed. At last, dropping the towel, she fitted herself into the lingerie, a bit of challenge given it was up to her own devices to pull the ribbons tight then tie them, but she rose to the occasion.
Preparations complete, she studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Confident the ensemble would draw exactly the response she was hoping for, she gave herself a confident nod and a smile. To conceal the outfit in case she ran into Remington before it was time, she pulled on one of his robes which covered her from shoulders to toes. Into its pocket she shoved her hat: red satin trimmed in faux white fur. A quick brush of her teeth and she was ready to gather his gifts and place them under the tree.
She fished the four packages out of her bottom nightstand drawer. She stood to leave the room, then paused. For the past three weeks she'd been considering a fifth and final present, perhaps her biggest present to him of all. She searched her heart, then with a nod of her head, lay the bundle of presents in her hands down on the bed. Opening the top drawer of her night stand she took out notepad and pen, scribbling out a note. Three minutes later, gift and note were secured in a box, wrapped and bowed. On quiet feet, she left their bedroom and made her way back downstairs.
Now, it was all a matter of timing. Shedding his robe and hanging it off the balustrade, she waited. She saw the room ahead of her dim when Remington turned the kitchen light off. Heard the rattle of the door knob as he made certain the French doors off the dining room were secured for the night. Only when the living room turned dark by his hand with a flick of the light switch, did she turn around and bend down as though placing a present under the tree.
Remington rubbed a hand at the stubble on his face as he turned the corner out of the living room into the foyer, coming to a complete stop with a swift intake of breath. There, standing before him in the celestial cast of light from the Christmas tree, was a truly remarkable sight: His petite wife, bent over, placing a gift under the tree, the only parts of her visible, those knockout legs encased in sheer white lace, and a pert little bottom covered in red satin, peeking out from under a short, lace robe. He leaned a shoulder against the doorway, trying to appear casual when he felt anything but.
"I must have been a very good boy for Santa to leave me the one thing I wanted most under that tree," he drawled. Laura grinned a self-satisfied smile before wiping the smile from her face and turning to level an innocent look upon him.
"And what present might that be?" she asked, toying with the bow tied at her waist. It took Herculean effort on her part not to laugh aloud as he leveled a white hot, hungry look upon her, his tongue flicking unconsciously at his lips. His lips traveled her length from head-to-toe.
"A Christmas angel, it would seem." She shook head slowly and took a step forward.
"Maybe not as good as you thought," she said, putting on a show of looking around. "I don't see any angels around here." As thought to prove it, she stepped forward again, and pressing her body to his, raked her fingers through his hair, before drawing his head down. The kiss she bestowed upon him was anything but angelic. She nibbled playfully on his lower lip, before slipping her tongue past to his explore his mouth thoroughly, teasing his tongue with light strokes of hers. His hands sought the bare flesh above stockings, stroked the curve of her bottom. Her fingers traced the outline of his face, before feathering down his neck and stroking the sensitive skin under his ears, drawing a groan from him and leaving him breathing hard when she withdrew.
"No, no angel," he agreed breathily. She stepped back from him, toying with the bow at her waist again.
"A hint, maybe?" His brows raised in understanding.
"I should unwrap you, so to speak?" She tilted her head and batted her eyes at him, exaggeratedly.
"Well, I am a present after all…" Rising to the challenge, he took a step forward, then reaching for an end of the bow, gave it a tug. The sash fell open. With a single finger, he parted the robe, peeking beneath. He swallowed hard at what he found. His blood roared and rushed south.
"Mrs. Claus, I presume?" She wagged her brows at him. Shrugging her shoulders, she let the robe fall to the floor. "Good God," he breathed. "Laura, that cheeky little number could take a man to his knees." Stepping into him again, she lay her hand on his chest, stroking firmly downwards to his belt.
"Mmmm. That wouldn't be a bad place to start," she purred. She pressed against him again, pushing up on tippy-toes so her lips could trail hot kisses along his jaw, before her mouth found the spot under his ear and laved while her fingers massaged his scalp. She blew against the dampness while drawing her fingers down his back. He arched into her and pressed his face into her neck. "Tell me, big guy, have you ever tripped the light fantastic under the lights of a Christmas Tree before?"
"Can't say that I have…" his hands glided from bottom, to waist, then up her back, suppressing a combined moan of pleasure and frustration as his sensitive fingers found the laces of the corset, "…Mrs. Claus." A tug on his hand had him following her to his knees before the tree.
"Maybe it's time for a new tradition to begin then…" she suggested, her amber eyes smoldering as she gazed at him. Removing the hat from her head, she placed it on his, "…Mr. Claus." His hands grasped her waist and urged her to turn her back to him. His lips blazed a trail of heat across her collarbone, and sent goosebumps skittering across her skin. Lifting her hand, she threaded her fingers throughout his hair, the fingers of her other hand tangling with his hand that held her across the abdomen. "Rem?"
"Yes, love?" he murmured.
"Nollaig Shona, mo ghrá." His lips stilled and his she felt the tremor that passed through his body in response to her words, even as his arm tightened about her.
"Ah, Laura, the things you say," he mumbled gruffly. His hands urged her to turn again, before one lifted her chin so their eyes could meet. "Nollaig Shona, mo ghrá. Tá tú an anáil an-an saol a mo chroí." His lips covered hers, and he kissed her in that achingly gentle way of his that made every nerve ending in her body hum with joy and desire. Arms tightening around her, lips never leaving hers, he sank back, taking her with him.
The heat they generated between them warded of any cold they may have felt from the bare floors beneath them. And when they, finally, found the stars together, it was under the soft lights of the Christmas tree. Another Steele Christmas tradition had begun.
(TBC)
