‘It’s massive. And it’s dropping.’ His eyes slid to the floor. ‘You said it wouldn’t drop. There are more needles on my floor than the tree.’
‘That’s just because of Hopeful and his tail. It’s a beautiful tree,’ Louisa said happily, and he stared at her, his attention caught by the shine in her eyes. She was like a child, excitement bubbling out of her like a fountain. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and she was still wearing a soft scarf looped round her neck as she secured the tree in the pot.
She was wearing a soft wool skirt and knee-length boots and her hair tumbled down her back in glorious waves.
Lust, powerful and primitive, thudded through his body and he gritted his teeth, resisting the temptation to push her against the nearest wall and kiss her breathless.
It would be a mistake.
Her dream was happy families, he reminded himself grimly as Hopeful did another circuit of the room, totally out of control. And he didn’t do happy families.
&
nbsp; And she didn’t do lust under the Christmas tree.
Unfortunately for him, their Christmas wish lists didn’t coincide. A relationship wasn’t on his.
‘Sit! You stupid dog.’ Hopeful jumped up and licked him frantically and Mac pushed him away. ‘Louisa, this dog needs a psychiatrist.’
‘He’s just excited about the tree,’ she said soothingly, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes with a gloved hand. ‘He’ll calm down in a minute.’
‘We’ve had him for seven days,’ Mac was forced to point out, reaching out and grabbing Hopeful in an iron grip, ‘and he hasn’t calmed down yet.’
‘He’ll be fine when he’s trained.’
Mac gave up. ‘Where do you want these lights?’ He released the dog with a warning glare that earned him a wagged tail. ‘Anywhere in particular?’
‘Oh...’ She squinted at the tree through narrowed eyes and waved a hand vaguely. ‘Wherever you think. And then we need to fetch your decorations.’
He twisted the lights around the tree. ‘I don’t have any decorations.’
‘What, none?’ He heard the shock in her voice and gave a wry smile.
‘Louisa, this is the first year I’ve ever had a tree in this house.’
She stared at him. ‘And how long have you lived here?’
He shrugged, suddenly feeling mildly uncomfortable. ‘Six years.’
‘Six years!’ She sounded appalled. ‘And you’ve never had a tree before?’
‘I’m never here at Christmas.’ He kept his tone patient. ‘I’m always working.’
‘Well, not for all of it,’ she said, unlooping the scarf and dropping it on the floor beside her. ‘No one can be working for all of it.’
Mac thought of the number of times he’d worked straight through the entire festive season, sleeping at the hospital so that others could have time off. ‘Yes, they can.’
Her brown eyes held his. ‘Only if they have a really, really good reason not to be at home.’
He tensed under her soft, searching gaze. ‘Louisa...’
‘What was your reason, Mac?’
He inhaled sharply and walked over to the window, keeping his back to her. ‘My wife was usually working at Christmas, too.’
‘I see.’
Her tone made it clear that she didn’t see at all.