Chapter 25
Ava
Christmas explodes across the suite.
There’s no better word for it.
One second, I’m quietly soaking in the cozy charm of a family Christmas while firelight flickers, logs crackle, and cinnamon and pine drift through the suite.
And the next?
Three separate crews arrive and transform the penthouse into what can only be described as Santa Claus winning the lottery.
Then immediately spending it all on steroids.
The smaller tree from earlier is gone.
Which is honestly a little heartbreaking because I loved that tree.
I spent an entire hour last night stringing popcorn by hand while the kids pelted each other with marshmallows.
This new tree?
This thing belongs center stage at Buckingham Palace.
It’s enormous. Twelve feet tall and still nowhere near the vaulted ceilings.
It’s also real.
Very real.
So real, in fact, that I’m mildly horrified by how many spiders have suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
At this point, I’ve made it a game.
Whoever spots a spider first and successfully summons Harrison to deal with it wins the round.
So far, Ollie’s crushing the competition.
And as much as I’d love to torch the thing to ash, I won’t.
If Harrison’s said it once, he’s said it a dozen times. “There’s nothing like the real thing.”
I glance over at Harrison, currently orchestrating Christmas like a tactical operation while my children follow him around like tiny holiday cult members.
My children.
Just the thought still steals the air from my lungs a little.
Along with the fact that my giant, ridiculous lumberjack crossed half the country just to make Christmas perfect.
I don’t think anyone’s ever loved me this hard before.
Harrison slips up beside me, warm and solid, handing me hot cocoa overloaded with marshmallows.
“Is there anything that would make this more perfect?” he whispers in my ear.
“Though next year, let’s do a quiet little Christmas in New York. Mountains. Family. Maybe a little snow.”
“Snow…” He frowns thoughtfully.
That is not the face of a man hearing casual conversation.
That is the face of a man mentally launching a military operation.
He turns toward Freddie.
“Can you make it snow?”
Freddie blinks. “…Sir?”
“Did I stutter?”
Okay…
How much eggnog has my lumberjack had?
A chime sounds from the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I say quickly. Because if Harrison somehow ordered live reindeer, I’m officially drawing the line.
Especially since Connor has regaled me with tales of reindeer poop roughly the size of compact cars.
I pull open the door.
“Chase.”
He looks like he rolled out of bed. Scruff. Flannel pajama pants. A wrinkled hoodie.
I smirk. “How many women did it take for you to flee the scene?”
“Just one.” He grins. “An emotionally unstable one who insisted I get my ass out of bed on Christmas and grab her this…”
He wheels forward my purple suitcase covered in sugar skulls.
I smile instantly. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“And this.” He lifts a gift bag dramatically. “Christmas miracle.”
Oh.
The photograph.
I snatch the bag from his hands and peek inside.
The framed picture of Harrison and me on our wedding day stares back at me.
That moment.
That impossible, accidental, life-changing moment that somehow tied me forever to the giant lumberjack currently trying to weaponize Christmas.
A strange ache blooms in my chest.
Because every time I look at this picture, I feel it all over again.
The way he looked at me.
The way he held my hand.
The way something impossible suddenly felt inevitable.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Chase shrugs like it’s nothing. “When my best friend texts me twelve times in a row, it’s not like I have a choice.”
“In my defense, at least half of those were memes.” I laugh and step aside. “Do you want to come in?”
“Sure.”
But the second he steps into the suite, Chase’s easy expression vanishes.
“What’s he doing here?”
He… who?
I turn to see him looking straight at Harrison.
He and Freddie stare at each other, the nerve of this fucker written all over their faces.
Great.
They definitely heard Chase.
I can practically see Harrison imagining chalk outlines on the marble floor.
Testosterone.
Exactly what every Christmas needs.
I force out a nervous laugh. “Very funny. You remember my husband, Harrison.”
Right on cue, Harrison appears behind me, warm hand sliding possessively along my waist.
“Is there something you need, Chase?”
He says Chase’s name like the man keyed his truck.
Chase shakes his head. “I won’t be staying. I was just dropping these off for Ava.”
Harrison looks between us. “How did you get her suitcase?”
“I have a key to her place.”
Oh, shit.
I practically see the thermal nuclear reaction detonate behind Harrison’s darkening eyes.
I smooth a hand over his chest immediately. “Chase was just bringing a few of my clothes.” I lift the gift bag slightly. “And my gift. To you.”
By this point, I’m trying to prevent a homicide in Christmas pajamas.
I lean up toward Harrison and lower my voice. “He’s a friend. Don’t be rude.”
A muscle jumps in Harrison’s jaw.
“I’m never rude,” he says, in the exact tone of a man moments away from becoming deeply rude. “Please, Chase, come in. I’m happy to show you around my penthouse,” he continues evenly. “There’s my butler. And this is my wife.”
Well, well, well…
Hello, Mr. Jealous.
I’ve never seen this side of Harrison before.
All possessive growl and barely restrained jealousy.
Is it wrong that my immediate thought is wanting to see what this version of him is like in bed?
Zac slides in like he detected a disturbance in the force.
“Chase Cartwright,” Zac says, shaking his hand. “Zac Donovan.”
And just when I think Zac’s about to arm wrestle him into the marble floor, he grins.
“Big fan, man. That last fight scene you did was epic. I doubled my Krav Maga training afterward. True inspiration.”
Chase laughs. “It’s all about rotational force. I’ve learned to keep my base under me and rotate through the strike.”
Fanboy Zac points toward the kitchen. “You coming in?”
The growl rumbling out of Harrison’s chest probably just registered on the Richter scale.
“Just for a minute,” Zac insists. He smacks Harrison’s chest. “My wife’s in there and she will absolutely lose her mind.” He lifts a brow. “Won’t she?”
And no matter how close my husband is to spontaneously combusting, I know Harrison.
He’d never deny Hannah anything.
The smug look Chase throws to Harrison doesn’t help.
“Sure,” Chase says smoothly. “Just for a minute.”
A minute turns into an hour.
Most of that time with the kids glued to Chase like he’s a Marvel actor handing out free puppies.
Which, honestly?
Fair.
The man’s charisma knows no bounds.
Everyone gravitates toward him.
Everyone except Harrison, of course, who’s been sprawled across the couch glaring at Chase the entire time.
I snuggle in beside him. “Where’s Freddie?”
“Playing Grandpa Santa to his grandkids.”
Ah.
So now my husband’s free to commit felony-level jealousy uninterrupted.
Across the room, Chase demonstrates a move while everyone tries it, laughing and having the best time.
A kick. A spin.
It’s basically a black belt hoedown to Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.
At this point, Harrison’s probably three minutes away from Googling whether movie stars decompose faster inland or by the sea.
“I love my gift,” I say sweetly. “Pride and Prejudice. First edition. Someone’s getting lucky tonight.”
He grunts absently, clearly having no idea what I just said.
I try to lighten the mood. “Apparently the song was right,” I murmur. “Everybody really was kung fu fighting.”
Harrison doesn’t even blink.
“Is that guy ever leaving?” he mutters.
I bite back a smile. “Maybe we should make the most of it.”
He doesn’t budge. Though the vein throbbing in his neck looks ready to burst.
All that pent-up possessive energy needs somewhere to go.
I slip my hand into his. “We should leave.”
“Why doesn’t he leave?”
Jeez. He’s tense.
And too busy fantasizing about digging a shallow grave to take the hint.
Softly, I nip his ear.
“Bedroom.”
His eyes fly to mine.
Finally. Proof of life.
Loud laughter erupts across the room, and before he can spiral back into plotting a homicide, I murmur, “Now, Mr. Evans. Or I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
That gets him on his feet.
We move quickly down the hall. I shut the bedroom door behind us and lock the door.
A smile finally lifts as I hand him the gift bag.
“Open it.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the frame carefully from the bag.
His expression goes completely unreadable.
My stomach twists.
“Do you like it?”
Carefully, he sets the frame on the nightstand.
Then he pulls me into his lap, his mouth crashing against mine.
We kiss hard. His tongue tangles with mine, his grip on my face almost painful.
Then, without warning, he pulls back.
“Are you leaving me for Pierce Maddox?”
I burst into laughter. Full-on, can’t-breathe laughter. “W-what?”
“Answer the question, Pix.”
I stare at a man who’s clearly lost his mind. “No, crazy man. I’m not.”
He narrows his eyes. “You sure?”
“That’s like asking if I’m sure I don’t want to French kiss a stapler.”
“He still wants you. Along with half the male population on earth.”
I cup his face, still smiling. “Only half?”
His expression turns deeply offended. “Not helping.”
I laugh.
He catches my wrists and pins them lightly against the mattress. “You know what? I’m starting to think you enjoy making me spiral.”
“Oh, absolutely.” I grin up at him. “You’re very cute when you’re jealous.”
He punctuates every word with a deliberate thrust.
I shift against him, heat curling low in my stomach. “Still dressed over here.”
His fingers tighten on my hips. “Not for long.”
The intensity in his gaze turns molten, all that possessive energy finally finding somewhere to land.
“Clothes off, Pix.”
I do as he says. Slowly, of course, because I like living dangerously.
“Hands and knees, Pix.”
My pulse stutters as his clothes hit the floor behind me. Warm hands sweep down my back, caressing my ass. Two thick fingers dip between my legs.
“Soaked.” He pumps his fingers in, and out. Then his tongue glides in. He moans in appreciation as he licks me deep, deeper…
I’m trembling, barely managing to keep myself up.
Then, he’s in front of me, his fist wrapping my hair as he tugs my head back, forcing my eyes to his.
“Use your words, Pix.” His voice is low. Feral. “Beg for what you want.”
And all I want is to please him. “Please fuck my mouth, Mr. Evans.”
The muscle in his jaw flexes hard enough to make my pulse jump. Something dark and hungry flashes across his face.
His grip on me tightens, and I lick around the length of him as his head falls back in pleasure.
How the hell did we stay away from each other so long?
I take him all the way in, down my throat.
“Fuck,” he groans.
He slides in and out, slowly at first, until we find a rhythm.
He makes me take him, long and deep. Every rough breath and broken curse out of him is a match between my legs.
“More,” I beg around him.
Whatever restraint he’d been clinging to finally gives way.
He rides my mouth in punishing strides, and I want it.
With a deep moan, he comes in a rush.
So hard. So fucking hot. He comes in a rush, and I swallow it down. Every drop.
He floats down and slides out. The look on his face nearly wrecks me.
Awe.
Hunger.
Love.
All tangled together.
His lips finds mine over and over, each kiss softer than the last.
“I need you, Pix,” he whispers.
I smile against his lips. “You have me, lumberjack.”
It takes approximately five seconds for him to be completely worked up again, locked and loaded and ready for more.
I stare at him. Sir. Be serious.
He spreads my legs and slides in deep. Our mouths fall open as we stare at each other.
He feels so good.
He cups my face gently, his eyes searching mine in that quiet way he always does. Like my body speaks a language only he understands.
He’s checking if I’m okay despite the fact there’s a skyscraper between my legs.
I reply by taking his thumb into my mouth.
I suck, and that wicked grin works up his face.
Slowly, carefully, we find each other’s rhythm. Heat. Friction. Pleasure building so fast it steals the air from my lungs until I’m crying out against his hand.
His breath punches out of him as he comes apart, coming hard enough to pull me under with him.
Every rough sound and broken breath out of him feels addictive. Explosive.
Like something I could spend forever chasing and still never get enough of.
Together, we’re absolute fire.
And I never want it to end.