Page 95 of The Christmas Trap

Her throat moves as she swallows, and I continue.

"I also married you because I'm very attracted to you. In a way I haven’t been to anyone else before. Because when I see you, I can’t stop myself from touching you, holding you, and kissing you. Because my body yearns for you in a way that takes me by surprise. Because I want you, Lark. I want to make love to you. More than that, I want to possess you. I want to make you mine. Completely."

Her cheeks turn pink.

"But you know that already."

“Five minutes to landing.” The pilot’s voice cuts in on a different channel through the headphones.

I hold her gaze as the helicopter begins to descend. Within minutes, we’re landing in the garden behind the homestead my family has owned for generations.

The rotors slow until they come to a stop. Then the pilot turns and gives us a thumbs-up through the glass wall separating the cabins.

“Safe to disembark.”

He steps out of the cockpit and walks past us to pull the door open and lower the steps. I’m up and moving toward it immediately.

“Thanks, man.” I shake the pilot’s hand.

“Need help with the bags?” He gestures toward our suitcases, stored in the compartment behind the cockpit.

"I got this. You'd better head back before the weather gets worse." I grab both suitcases and walk down the retractable steps. Iplace the luggage on the grass, turn and help my wife down the steps.

I wave at the pilot, then grab the bags and head toward the stately Victorian building. Behind us, the chopper starts up again.

I walk up the path that curves into shadow, tall trees pressing in close, dusted with snow. There’s a hush in the woods you get after snowfall, like the land itself is holding its breath.

A few hundred yards in, we pass rows of firs like soldiers under starlight, tips frosted.

I glance at Lark.

She’s stopped walking. And stares. Mouth parted. “Is that”—she shakes her head—"are those Christmas trees?"

"My great-grandmother planted them."

"They’re beautiful." Her voice is hushed.

She didn’t get to do any Christmas things because I was a Grinch. Then her ex cheated on her, and she ended up marrying a guy with no use for Christmas. But I don’t want her to miss out on her favorite part of the year. The least I can do is give her Christmas, in my own way.

“We can pick one tomorrow if you want to decorate. There’s a box of ornaments inside,” I say without taking my gaze off her flushed features.

"That would be amazing." Her eyes shine.

Behind us, the helicopter takes off. The downwash stirs pine needles and lifts the hair on my head.

The whup-whup-whup of its blades fades as it recedes into the distance.

Now it’s just us. Peace envelops me. Tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying fades from my shoulders. We keep walking.

The path opens up into a clearing, and there it is: the chalet that’s been in my family for generations. Glass and timber, pale stone and golden light glowing from inside. The lake stretches out behind it like a sheet of obsidian, the late afternoon light reflecting off the surface. There’s steam curling from the outdoor hot tub on the deck. And through the window, I catch sight of the fire, already lit.

“Jesus,” she breathes.

It was worth having the caretaker go that extra mile. I make a note to transfer a hefty tip into his account.

“I wanted you to feel like you’ve stepped out of the world,” I murmur. “Just for a while.”

We reach the steps of the chalet.