Chapter 14
“YOU KNOW WHAT I’VE been thinking?”
Matthieu lifted a hand and stroked her back absentmindedly, his gaze focused on his emails even as his mind was absorbed by Skye. A day after her outing with his cousin, she was back to wearing his shirts around the apartment, rather than the couture wardrobe Fleur had talked her into, and he was unspeakably glad. He liked her like this. Casual and rumpled and looking as though she was only steps away from his bed at any moment.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have a Christmas tree.”
He frowned, turning to face her, hoping the direction of his thoughts wasn’t obvious on his features. “No. I never have.”
Scandalised, she moved forward in her seat. “Never?”
His laugh was soft. “I spend Christmas with my family. They do the tree.”
“But—what about the weeks leading up to Christmas?”
“Look outside. Paris is covered in wreaths and lights.”
“Well, yes,” she conceded, frowning. “But in here,” she gestured around the palatial room. “There should be something.”
He closed the lid of his laptop and set it aside. “Would it make you happy to decorate a tree?”
“Hey, I didn’t say I was going to do the heavy lifting,” she responded, with an impish lift of her brow.
“Oh, I see.”
“But I’ll happily ogle you while you do the tree.”
He pulled her into his lap, snuggling her down, thinking how great she fitted. “How about we do it together?”
“We do work well together,” she admitted.
“That’s true.” He shifted his weight a little so she fell forward, toppling into his chest, chuckling before she repositioned herself, straddling him and staring into his eyes.
“You really should have a tree,” she said seriously.
“If it will make you happy, I’ll get one immediately.”
“Maybe not immediately,” she said with a quick shake of her head.
His grin was filled with all the sensual heat that was flooding his body. “Is there something else you’d rather do first?”
Her nod was a slow concession. “I think there might be.”
He shifted his hips, drawing her closer. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Much later that afternoon,an enormous fir tree was delivered by four men, and only three minutes later, another two arrived with several shopping bags, gold in colour, which a quick inspection showed to be filled to the brim with ornaments. Not just chain store ornaments but stunning spun glass and gold, with velvet ribbons. “This is exquisite,” she said with a shake of her head, lifting one up to regard it in the evening light.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Where are they from?”
“A little village in the south, made by the same family who’ve been making them for over two hundred years. They learned their craft in Switzerland and each generation has passed the skill down. My mother used to love them,” he said, gruffly, his voice taking on an uneven tone.
He never mentioned his mother. She knew only that the woman had died when he was nine.
She was desperate to learn more, but didn’t want to push him. “Did she?” She murmured, moving to hand the ornament to Matthieu.