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It’s the same laugh I heard from the kitchen. Head tipped back, nose wrinkled. Big and unguarded and completely at odds with the dark, serious room around her.

I shouldn’t like the sound as much as I do. I definitely shouldn’t be looking at her mouth while she makes it. This is becoming a problem. Actually, that’s inaccurate.

This became a problem the second I walked into the kitchen, and now it’s escalating.

And now I have a creepy-as-fuck elf watching me.

“Daddy,” Shiloh says.

I drag my attention away from my wife.

“What?”

“Mr. Jingles needs to stay,” my son says.

Of course he does.

I look at the elf. Then at my son.

He’s looking up at me with his whole heart in his face. Hopeful. A little nervous. Like this matters. Like I might be the kind of father who takes things away. I don’t want to be that kind of father.

Noelle is watching me too, with her eyebrows raised, waiting.

“Fine.”

Shiloh cheers.

He throws both arms in the air and does a lap around my desk chair, nearly taking out the umbrella stand.

Noelle smiles.

“Welcome to Christmas, Maverick.”

I narrow my eyes.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

“Though I wish he’d find a different place to perch. He’s unnerving.” I suppress a shudder.

Noelle laughs, then turns and walks out.

My gaze drops. Automatically. Black leggings. Plump, round ass.

Fuck.

I look at the ceiling. There’s a sprig of something green taped to the light fixture. I’m not going to ask. I’m not going to look at it long enough to figure out what it is. This is fine. Everything is fine.

I’ve been home approximately twenty minutes, and I’m checking out my wife like a horny teenager.

A wife I specifically told I had no interest in having a physical relationship with.

A wife who agreed to marry me based partially on that understanding.

A wife who, as I now know, is fucking perfect.

Excellent planning, Kane.