Holly woke herself up on Christmas morning with a sneeze that nearly blasted off the top of her head. That apocalyptic sneeze was followed by five less dramatic ones, but they completely annihilated any last remaining sleep from her system. She floundered under the covers to a sitting position and switched on the nightstand lamp, another sneeze tickling her nasal passages. Like a wave set of seven, this one was going to be the mother of all sneezes. Her eyes watered and her throat gave her a two-second reminder that swallowing without pain wasn’t on the menu, while all the time the sneeze built momentum. She gripped the bulky shape under the covers next to her in a spot she assumed a shoulder would be. She needed a tissue stat—peeps in the front row were definitely in a splash zone.

“Ford—” she croaked.

Too late.

The sneeze was so explosive the sound of it scared even her, and she gave a little start. Which in turn informed her that, ugh, she was achy all over.

“B’ess you,” came the rough muttered response from beside her.

She gave the comforter-bulked hump a sharp shove. “Pass the tissues! Severe snot situation.”

Wow. That many S’s combined with, dammit, a head clogged with icky stuff really did sound like she was a hissing snake.

One bare muscled arm appeared out from under the covers. She was in no mood to appreciate the arm porn as Ford groped along the nightstand until his hand touched the tissue box. He tossed it over his shoulder to the center of their bed, then snuggled under the comforter once more. Puffy eyes narrowed, Holly snatched up the box and disemboweled half a dozen tissues from its guts. She’d damage control to take care of—though a quick glance at the mirrored door of their wardrobe informed her she was no starry-eyed newlywed this morning.

She lifted the comforter edge so she could ogle the many muscles Ford had earned working at his dad’s mechanics’ workshop. Yum. Merry Christmas, Holly. Waking up with Oban’s former hottest bachelor’s bare-assed naked body next to her each morning was better than a dozen presents left under the tree. Two dozen, even.

But admiration of the sexy-as-hell husband she’d bagged could wait until later. So instead of lowering the covers to keep her man snuggly and warm, Holly flipped the comforter off him completely.

In sickness and in health, babe.

Ford curled up like a prawn then his long legs shot out and he rolled over, making a grab for the covers. “Hey!”

She held them out of reach and raised a warning finger, though part of her paused to admire her husband’s, er, assets.

“I’m sick.” Kinda stating the obvious when it felt like she’d swallowed razor blades sometime in the night. “You gave me your germs.”

Ford’s eyebrow arched then a slow smile spread over his mouth. “I gave them to you good, though, didn’t I, babe?”

He had given them to her good—really, really good.

Smug bastard.

“Not the point. You made me sick.” She tucked the covers tighter around her and farther away from him.

“Do I at least get some of the blankets back so we can discuss this like adults?”

“No.” She fought to keep a straight face. “I like the view.” Her voice was raspy with the flu, but to Ford it probably sounded like a sex-kitten purr.

“You do, huh?” Ford slid a hand down his bare chest and cupped himself. “Want an extra Christmas present this year?”

Yeah, her man would hear what he wanted to hear.

“You’re a funny guy.” And if she hadn’t been, like, dying, she’d truss him up like a Christmas turkey and have her wicked way with him. “But what I really want are painkillers and a hot lemon and honey drink.”

Ford’s face fell. “What, now?”

“You seriously think we’re going to have sex when I look like this?” She gestured at herself, taking in the finger-in-a-socket wild hair, a nose that was already looking suspiciously red, and a thin line of ewww that was starting to leak from her right nostril.

Ford rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled panther-like across the bed to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “You’re the most beautiful plague victim I’ve ever seen.” He grinned at her. “I’ll go grab pills and your drink before you rip my nuts off, eh?”

“You’re also a sensible guy.”

He headed for the bedroom door.

“Ford?” she called.

“Yeah, babe?”

Still buck naked, he turned back to her, and for a couple of beats she forgot what she’d been about to say.

“Um. Put on a robe, okay?”

“Aw, you do care,” he said.

“Shut up. And Ford?” Her stomach gave a sharp twinge and she blinked back the hot prickle in the corner of her eyes. Stupid sinuses. So what if it was their first Christmas as a married couple and they’d be forced to spend it in isolation from friends and family?

“Yeah, babe?” Ford’s voice softened, his gaze skimming over her in concern. “What can I get you?”

All teasing aside, she knew he’d move heaven and earth to take care of her while she was sick.

“Nothing. I—” She fanned her flushed face then swiped away an errant tear. “We can’t risk Carter or Tāne or your parents catching this. Maybe we should stay home today.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

Ford swore under his breath and was at her bedside in three long strides. He cupped her face in both his big hands and kissed her squarely on the mouth.

“Don’t apologize,” he said when he finally broke the kiss.

Wow—what little breath she’d managed to draw into her aching chest evaporated in pure steam after that kiss.

“I have an idea. Wait there.”

Like she had the strength in her kiss-jellied legs to go anywhere. But she nodded.

Ford left the room and she snuggled under the covers again. She must’ve dozed off, because one moment there was only whitewashed ceiling above her, and then the next, when she opened her eyes, a disposable paper face mask with a wonkily drawn toothy grin hovered above her.

What the…

Holly sat bolt upright, nearly head-butting her face-mask-wearing man. “Ford!”

“Don’t you mean Santa?” he asked and pulled off the mask. “I drew a beard and everything.”

“It’s downright terrifying.”

He laughed and pulled something from behind his back—another mask. This one with a wide smile that featured sharp, pointy teeth.

“What in the hell is that?”

He rolled a shoulder and passed it over. “That’s your Santa’s elf mask. I figured we could see the family for a little while if you’re up to it—just long enough to see the kids open their presents from us and Mum and Dad—and we’d wear the masks to make sure no one else gets sick.” He angled his jaw at her nightstand. “I made your lemon and honey drink, and brought you painkillers.”

He untied his robe in a move to likely climb back into bed.

“Wait!” she said. “Before I share the covers with you again and let you keep me warm, I need one more thing.”

Ford waggled his eyebrows.

“Not that, Sweets,” she added. “Two new paper masks and some pens. I love my two nephews too much to traumatize them for life.”