Only for his grandparents would he stay up until nearly two am stringing popcorn balls and hanging vintage ornaments on trees and boughs of greenery.

And only for Ricki, who seemed captivated by every new thing they took out of their tower of boxes.

Every ornament came with a story. Every decoration had a past. They were mementoes of a family’s life, and though he wasn’t much for sentiment, he couldn’t help being moved at how excited Ricki was. This wasn’t her blood family—and no, they weren’t his either, but he’d convinced himself they might as well have been years ago. Ricki apparently felt the same, since she behaved as if they were hers too. She absorbed each story with a child-like wonder he would’ve scoffed at with anyone else, but was rapidly becoming addicted to when it came to her.

An ongoing problem, it seemed.

“So Lila made this? Really?” Ricki giggled and held up a little reindeer made out of clothespins with a red pom-pom nose and a shiny green pipe cleaner bow. “It’s so cute. Are there more?”

“Well, of course. Can’t have Rudolph without his reindeer, can you?” His grandmother chuckled and bent to retrieve another bunch of the little clothespin reindeers. They all had different colored pom-poms and different tinsel bows.

“They all have colored noses? How come?” Ricki added her Rudolph to the big tree directly across from the front door of the main house.

A small gift shop was off to the left beyond what they called the parlor where bakery items and beverages were served, and there was also another gift shop in the apple barn. Adding on a winery was their next big project. They were forever expanding the business.

Seemed like a hell of a lot of work to him, but he knew they loved it there. And God knows it was an escape for him, even more so now that he had to deal so much with the public and the press as part of his duties with the band.

The winery might just come in handy too. Shame it wasn’t open yet.

Also a shame he rarely drank.

“Leelee didn’t want any of the reindeer to feel not as special, so she gave them all the little poms. Always had a soft heart, that girl.”

Mal couldn’t help snorting. Everyone ignored him.

His grandparents knew quite well that he and Lila had issues, despite his attempts to not be obvious about it in their presence. His grandmother had chided him gently a few times, but she mostly let them do their own thing. He was sure she figured he’d come around someday all on his own.

The worst part of it was she was probably right.

Not that he now thought Lila was a saint. But neither was he. And it was easier to see with the passage of time that she hadn’t taken advantage of his father so much as the other way around. His father was a predatory dickhead, and Mal could only imagine how quickly he’d moved on a barely legal Lila when he met her. An innocent farm girl at that. Christ, hard to accuse her of doing much when he understood so much more now than he had as an angry teen who thought he had to defend his mother—then kept right on doing it because it was a habit.

Lila wasn’t without blame. She’d pulled strings in his life for her own aims a few times now, and one of them had led him to this place with this girl.

But it was hard to hold that against her either. Not anymore.

Not when he was right where he wanted to be. Even if it wasn’t going to be for much longer. He was already pushing it since he’d told the investigators he’d be back first thing in the morning.

Or maybe the next morning. What the hell could they do to him? Arrest him because he hadn’t hurried to answer their questions? He didn’t have any fucking answers for them. He was as much at a loss about what had happened the night of the show as anyone else.

The only thing he had to fall back on was his gut feeling all wasn’t as it seemed. Added to a few of the weird events he’d heard around Ripper—and even with Ricki herself—and the niggle grew.

They wanted to interview Ricki too, of course. He wasn’t going to be able to hide her away forever. Hell, he shouldn’t even be trying to shield her now. She was a strong woman, she could handle it, and she had a right to deal with everything as she saw fit. But it was too soon. She was still raw. If he was, she had to be. Ten times worse.

He could give her these few days here in this sanctuary, so he would.

“Oh, they’re so sweet. I love them all. The purple one is my favorite.” Ricki stroked its pom-pom nose before moving around the tree to find the right bough. She inched up on her tiptoes, her long dark ponytail swinging, and he moved forward to pluck it out of her fingers.

“Before you topple the tree.” He hung it on the branch he thought she’d been aiming for. “This right?”

“I’m considered tall everywhere except next to you, Giant.” She elbowed him in the gut and the noise he made wasn’t faked. She had some power behind the blow.

“You should’ve seen him at seventeen. Over six feet already by then and not done growing yet. His poor brother hated standing next to him.” His grandmother shook her head, smiling over the memory as she pulled a loop of tinsel out of the box.

“Mike hated standing next to me back then because he was half my weight too. Skinny fu—” He cleared his throat as his grandmother suppressed a smile. She had quite the vocabulary too—especially when she was riled—but he’d always been careful not to swear too much in his grandparents’ presence.

Ricki was smiling too, except she wasn’t trying to hide it. “Potty mouth.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no better.”

“Why, I’ve never heard our Richelle swear even once.” Grams wrapped her arm around Ricki and tipped her head against hers. “How about some hot cocoa?”

“With marshmallows?”

“Is there any other way to drink it?” His grandmother smiled and glanced from Ricki toward Mal. “I know you want some. Marshmallows and a candy cane, just like always.”

He didn’t flush, but he came close. His grandmother and grandfather went off to the kitchen, holding hands, squabbling about who knows what. Never with much rancor, just with the natural familiarity of spending your life with someone.

Ricki was staring after them. “I should’ve asked for a candy cane too.” Then she tilted her head and a loose dark wave tumbled over her eyes. “Or maybe I can take a lick of yours.”

Even knowing she would go there—in some dirty way or another—his body still reacted like a teenager’s on prom night. “I think you’re obsessed with my candy cane.”

She lifted her good shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” He growled. “Next you’re going to say you’ve—”

“I’ve had be—” He grabbed her as she started to say it, then turned her around in his arms fast enough that she let out a gasp.

“You haven’t had anything yet. Just wait.”

She angled her head and looked up at him. “I am.” She wet her lips. “Fucking impatiently.”

His grandmother’s footsteps sounded behind them on the rough-hewn floors. “Here we are, hot cocoa for four. Or hmm, maybe not.”

Mal might’ve moved back from Ricki, if she hadn’t reached back and hooked her fingers in his back pocket. “We’ll take them to go, if you don’t mind.”

“Her arm is bothering her,” Mal said quickly, ears burning.

He was as open about sex as anyone, but hello, these were his grandparents. He couldn’t just be like “excuse me, gotta fuck” in front of them.

Even if it was hot as hell that she could. That she wanted him that bad.

“Not so much,” Ricki said cheerfully, “but it’s as good an excuse as any.” She slipped out of his embrace to go help his grandmother with the tray. Mal would’ve done the same if he didn’t have another pressing need.

Mainly to move behind the tree so he had some coverage for the situation the little vixen had caused.

“These look wonderful. Oh, you gave me a candy cane too. Bless you.” Ricki kissed his grandmother’s cheek and picked up her cocoa, taking a long sip with a moan that didn’t make it any easier for him to move out from behind the damn pine.

Christ, if she made that same sound while they were in bed, he was going to lose it.

Might even lose it before they made it up the stairs.

“Figured you’d want some sweetness too. Though it looks like you’ve got that covered.” Her wink made Mal die a little inside.

He was so going to spank Ricki’s tight little ass. She’d probably love every second.

“If it’s all the same to you kids, we’re going to turn in with our cocoas as well.” His grandfather saluted them with his moose mug. “Have fun. Just remember we’re old, but we’re not dead. And we’re sleeping right down the hall.” He turned to head up the wide stairs to the second level.

Ricki giggled. “Oh, we’ll be quiet. He’s already told me he’s going to cover my mouth.”

Dear God. Was there a category beyond mortified? Maybe humiliation-induced mortality?

“Be careful with that asphyxiation stuff, dear. It’s all fun and games until someone passes out.” His grandmother leaned around the tree, her eyebrows raised. “Here’s your cocoa. Drink it while it’s piping hot.”

He took it and said nothing. All he could hear was his heartbeat and Ricki’s giggles.

That sound would probably follow him to the other side.

He mumbled goodnight to his grandmother when she finally went upstairs, then turned to press his flame-hot forehead against the icy windowpane.

The wench was laughing again. At him. His cock didn’t even have the courtesy to mind. It was getting harder by the second, just from knowing she was behind him and ready to fuck.

He gripped the handle of his ridiculous Grinch mug—Ricki so didn’t need to know it was his favorite—and turned to face her, registering the sheer joy in her dancing eyes. She might’ve just caused him enough embarrassment to fuel a hundred family jokes for the next decade, but she was happy. She was excited.

She wasn’t thinking about anything that came in a baggie or a vial.

What she was thinking about, however, was written all over her face the longer he stared. Some of the amusement fled, replaced by something much darker and hotter. But the mischief was still there, causing her to hitch up the hem of her tank top just enough for him to see the slice of skin above her jeans. That teasing hint of her belly button was enough to make his throat go dry.

He tried to find enough breath to speak. “All these months and you never once looked at me this way.”

“I’d say the same, though you say otherwise. But you never let me know. I’m not a mind reader.” She let her shirt drop, hiding her skin from view. “You acted as if you hated me. Worse, as if I was beneath your contempt.”

“Not you. But the guys you dated definitely were.”

She took a sip of her hot cocoa, then another. Stalling probably, despite how good it was. “You have a mouth. A voice. You could’ve told me you were, I don’t know, whatever it is you claim you are.”

He wasn’t sure if she was suddenly going shy on him now that the moment was at hand or if she still doubted what he’d told her.

Time to make her understand without a doubt.

Stepping closer, he took the wrist of her injured arm, rubbing his thumb over her skidding pulse. “I want you in my bed. And only mine.”

Her lashes came down, fluttering against her cheeks. Another part of herself she was stashing away.

Soon enough, he’d see all of her.

“Is that a line? Is that how you get all those pretty groupies to come around?”

Only because he heard the insecurity behind her question did he give her a straight answer. “Sometimes lines are easier.”

“And now?”

“Now this is the hardest thing I’ve ever said.”

She lifted her head and met his gaze, and for a split second, he would’ve sworn the multi-colored lights of the tree behind him glistened off the sheen in her eyes. Then she blinked and that gleam was gone, replaced by a challenge. “Let’s see how hard the rest of you is too.”

Swallowing hard, he took a long sip from his cocoa—shouldn’t let the whole thing go to waste, right?—and set the mug down on a nearby table as the peppermint and chocolate flavors swirled together on his tongue. Always peppermint lately, so he would never smell that scent again without thinking of Ricki.

Or this moment when he turned back to her and she was gripping her own half drank mug so tightly while she waited for him to make the next move.

“Take another drink,” he told her. “Enough to last you.”

She did as he instructed, watching him all the while. Flicking her tongue out to catch any stray drops as he took the mug from her and set it beside his own.

Then he moved toward her again and swept her up in his arms before she could do much more than squeak.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you up the stairs.”

“Why? I have two working legs.”

He was already halfway up to the second floor. At least no one was awake to see what he was doing but her. Of course, she could always use this event for blackmail purposes later. “Has anyone carried you anywhere before?”

“Other than you into the shower, no. And wait. You carried me the night of the accident.” She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and stilled his feet. “You spoke to me when I was out. Or half out. I wasn’t fully either one.”

He said nothing. Couldn’t say anything.

“Stuff’s been so jumbled in my head. Fragments of memories from before that night and then of the accident and lyrics too. Words repeat over and over, and I don’t know why. It’s as if there’s something important, and I just forgot.”

“You were in and out of consciousness the night of the accident.”

“But before too. Like when I used to get high.” She blew out a breath. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation while you’re holding me. Your arms have to be killing you.”

“What words repeat?” He didn’t know why he was asking. It couldn’t possibly have a thing to do with—

“Beautiful nightmare,” she blurted, staring right at him.