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“What about you?”

“I’ll have some, but I think one of us has to keep his wits. That cat is stoned,” he commented, glancing down at the floor where Galahad rubbed himself lasciviously over the mouse.

“Well, seeing as he’s fixed, he can’t ever have sex. I just figured he should have a little thrill for the holiday. I’m counting on getting some thrills myself.”

Roarke lifted a brow. “I can help you with that, too.”

“Maybe I was talking about cookies.”

He dropped onto the couch, full-length beside her. And fastened his mouth on hers.

“Not drunk yet,” she murmured.

“Not done yet, either.”

“You gotta close those doors if you’re going to start fooling around. He may be going out, but the spirit of Summerset haunts these halls.”

“I’m simply kissing my wife.” He propped them both up, longways, so that they could watch the fire, sip wine. And neck.

“Nice.” She took a breath, breathed him, and let every cell in her body relax. “I may not leave this room, hell, this couch, until after Christmas.”

“We’ll have to take turns getting provisions. Feeding ourselves and the fire.”

“Okay. You first.”

He laughed, brushed his lips over her hair. “You smell delicious.” He sniffed down to her neck. “You’ve put something on.”

“I can take a minute now and then.”

“And it’s appreciated.”

“Did you get in touch with your people in Ireland?”

“I did, yes. It appeared to be a madhouse of baking and babies, which suits them very well. They wish you a happy Christmas.”

“You’re okay, not being over there?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.” He turned her face up to his, met her lips. “Exactly. And you need more wine.”

“Already got a buzz going.”

“Likely because you didn’t have lunch.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew I forgot something.” She took the wine he poured. “After I get plowed, and make love to every square inch of you, I’ll eat a ton.”

Since he was up, he went over, closed the parlor doors.

From the sofa, Eve grinned. “Come over here, and start unwrapping me.”

Amused, aroused, he sat at her feet. “Why don’t I start down here?” he suggested, and slipped off her shoes. Then he pressed his thumbs to her arch, made her purr.

“Good spot.” She closed her eyes, drank a little more wine. “Tell you what, later, you can get plowed and I’ll do you.”

“Someone has the Christmas spirit.” He kissed a bracelet around her ankles.

“You can’t avoid it, it’s winging around out there left and right.” Lovely little sensations shimmered up her legs. “You can dodge, but eventually it beans you.”

She opened one eye when he unhooked her trousers. “Quick work.”

“Want slow?”

“Hell, no.” She grinned, reared up and grabbed him, spilling wine on both of them. “Uh-oh.”

“Now look what you’ve done. We’ll have to get out of these clothes. Hands up,” he said, and tugged her sweater over her head. “Here.” He handed her back her wine, put both her hands on the bowl of the glass. “Mind that now.”

“Prolly had enough.”

“I haven’t.”

He stripped her, then himself. He took the glass from her, upending it so drops scattered over her breasts, her torso.

She looked down, looked up. “Uh-oh,” she said again and laughed.

He licked wine and flesh, letting the combination go to his head while she moved and moaned under him. She arched up, a trembling bridge, when his hands roamed over her.

Then she locked around him, arms, legs. And rolled hard. She plopped on top of him, giggling. “Ouch.”

“Easy for you to say.” She’d stolen his breath in more ways than one. To pay her back he rolled her over. With lips and fingers he tickled her into shrieks, aroused her into gasps.

She was riding on foolishness and passion, a giddy combination with the wine flowing through her. When he was inside her, still laughing breathlessly, she chained her arms around his neck.

“Merry Christmas,” she managed. “Oh, God.” She came on a gasping laugh, then dragged him with her.

“Merry Christmas,” he said and shot her over, one last time.

She lay, all but cross-eyed, staring up at the tree. “Jesus, talk about putting a bow on it.”

Later, at his