The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

of semi-arousal all night, and her body was already alive with the memories of what they'd done, already soft and yielding and wanting him.
    He was hard in an instant, kissing her deeply and breathing raggedly, inside her a moment later, and she was right back there. To sheer bliss. She closed her eyes and tried to simply hang on to him and let him do with her what he would, and in her head she was thinking, Stay with me, Sam. Stay.
    * * *
    They woke abruptly the next time, woke to find Zach sitting on their bed tugging at Sam's arm. Rachel blinked twice, not quite sure she was awake and this was real. But there they were, in their bed, thankfully mostly covered. Sam jerked the quilt up around them both and looked at Zach, who was chattering a mile a minute, and frowned.
    "What?" he said, breaking into the stream of excited chatter.
    "It's Christmas!" Zach said, pure glee on his face. "Isn't it? Isn't it morning yet?"
    Sam frowned once again and looked at the clock. "It's six-fifteen, Zach."
    "Isn't that morning?"
    "Technically, I suppose so."
    "And Santa came?"
    Sam rubbed his hands over his face and turned to Rachel for help. "It is morning?"
    "Morning comes extra early on Christmas Day. I think it's a rule," she said. "A Christmas rule."
    "Can we go downstairs!" Zach asked. "Can we go see!"
    "In just a minute," Rachel said. "It's cold down there. Give us a minute to build up the fire and check and make sure that Santa's already gone. He doesn't like for anyone to see him, you know. If you catch him, and he gets mad... Well, we wouldn't want him to get mad at us."
    "Uh-uh," Zach said quite seriously.
    "Why don't you go see if Emma's ready to get up," she suggested.
    "Okay!" He bounced off the bed and took off at a dead run, yelling Emma's name as he went.
    "Well, if she's not up yet, she will be," Sam said.
    Rachel just grinned. It was the best Christmas ever. She gave Sam a quick kiss on his mouth and got out of bed herself, gasping as her feet hit the cold floor. She opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of her warmest pajamas and fled into the bathroom to throw them on.
    "I want to turn on the lights on the tree and in the windows and grab the camera before they get down there," she said, coming out of the bathroom.
    Sam snagged her with an arm around her waist and pulled her to the side of the bed. He still hadn't put on anything. "You need clothes," she said.
    He gave her a dazzling, disheveled Sam-in-the-morning smile. "I think you're almost as excited as they are."
    "Maybe I am," she admitted. "I want them to have a great day. I want you to have one, too."
    "I will." He studied her for a moment, not letting her go, then put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, "I still love you, Rachel."
    She let out a shaky breath and felt tears flood her eyes. "I'll always love you."
    "Hey, I got Emma!" Zach called out from the doorway. "Are you two comin'? Should we get Grace? I think I hear her, too!"
    "Go on." Sam nodded toward the stairs, his gaze steady on hers, and for a moment, he looked so much like that beautiful, bad boy from days of old, the one she'd fallen in love with in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Her heart just melted. "I'll contain them somehow and buy you a few minutes down there."
    Rachel turned and rushed to the doorway and sent Emma and Zach to get Grace, who she could hear babbling in her room. She allowed herself one quick glance at her husband, sitting there in her bed watching her with an expression on his face that warmed her entire body, before she ran downstairs to check on what kind of job Santa had done.
    The day was a blur from there on, of presents and too much food and utter chaos. The kids were beside themselves with excitement. Zach was ripping into packages and practically dancing. Even Emma seemed especially pleased with the clothes Rachel had picked out and the CDs that came at the suggestion of two of Rachel's nieces. Grace mostly played with the empty boxes, patting their sides, climbing in them, crawling under them, hiding inside, and trying to eat the wrapping paper.
    "She's like a puppy," Sam said, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room and laughing at her antics. He grabbed her every now and then to take away wrapping paper when it became necessary, putting her inside the biggest boxes himself, and getting her out when she was tired of one and ready for another.
    By midmorning, the floor was covered with boxes, paper, toys, and clothes. Sam had cleared a path in