The Christmas Catch

James Taylor, but probably hadn’t listened to his music in years.
    “Mind if I put it on?” he asked.
    “Sure. The stereo’s right over there,” she said, pointing to a cabinet near the bar.
    “What’s Christmas Eve without music?”
    “You’re right,” she agreed. “We should have thought of it sooner.”
    John inserted the CD and a sappy yet sexy rendition of Baby It’s Cold Outside began to play. “An oldie but goodie,” he said.
    “With a new twist.”
    Rich dark waves spilled to her shoulders as her cheeks took on a gentle glow. She was gorgeous in that pretty white sweater and jeans, her deep brown eyes sparkling in the soft light. Outside the windows, snow fell lightly, gently streaking the darkness. It was John’s best Christmas Eve in recent memory. Maybe ever.
    “You look really nice tonight,” he said, his voice growing raspy. “Beautiful.”
    “Thanks,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “I was just thinking that you look great too.”
    John sensed inside that he shouldn’t do it, but an even louder inner voice said he’d be a fool to stop himself. Here he was, alone with a gorgeous woman on Christmas Eve, and John could think of only one thing he wanted—to close the distance between them. He’d been longing to hold her all week, and now he had the perfect excuse. He approached her and set down his wine. “Care to dance?”
    John held out his hand and she took it, letting him guide her off the sofa and into his arms. She was so warm and feminine against him, the light scent of her wildflower perfume in the air. Firelight cast shadows on the wall as they gently swayed to the music. John pulled her close and she sighed softly, while his heart beat like big kettledrum. He had the feeling he was falling, sinking into depths he’d never known. As long as she went there with him, he didn’t care if they ever came back.
    At last, the CD ended and she looked up. There was a longing in her eyes, deeply beautiful. John led her to the threshold separating the great room from the kitchen. His voice was husky with desire as he spoke below the mistletoe.
    “It’s not such a silly tradition.”
    “No…” she said, tilting up her chin.
    John brought his mouth to hers and kissed her sweetly at first, and then with the all-consuming passion he’d restrained these past several days. He wrapped her in his embrace and she moaned, molding into him. That was all the encouragement he needed to cradle her head in his hands and deepen his kisses, his hands eager to explore her body. She was all woman, and she was all his. He ached to carry her to the sofa and drive home that point, making her cry out with pleasure and delight.
    “Mommy!” a small voice called.
    Tyler bounded down the steps, Mason barking loudly and following after him.
    John and Christine broke their embrace as John hitched his belt and Christine quickly straightened her sweater. Tyler sensed their interaction and halted his descent. “Oh,” he said, absorbing the scene.
    “Ty!” Christine said, flushed. “What are you doing up?”
    “I heard something outside.”
    “It was probably just the wind,” Christine told him.
    “No,” Ty protested. “I think it was Santa and his reindeer!”
    John and Christine exchanged glances.
    “We’d better go and check,” he said.

    Christine and John leaned out the bedroom window, spying nothing but a craggy old tree scraping the shutter.
    “It was just an old oak, little fellow,” John said reassuring Tyler. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.” Christine’s heart warmed at how natural it seemed for John to interact with her boy. He really was very good with children, with Ty in particular.
    Tyler’s face fell with disappointment. “Are you sure it wasn’t Santa?”
    “Santa hasn’t gotten here yet,” Christine said.
    “And he might not come,” John said, forcing a stern look, “if you don’t go back to sleep.”
    Tyler snuggled down under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.
    “I’d probably better hit the road,” John told Christine.
    “Are you sure?” She desperately didn’t want him to go, but knew deep inside that he should. She couldn’t exactly ask him to stay the night, not with Ty in the house. It wouldn’t be right. Maybe it wouldn’t even be right for her. They were leaving in less than a week. As wonderful as John’s kisses were—and they’d been knee-melting terrific—it was likely better for Christine to not get in any deeper.