She smiled, satisfied with the pungent aroma of Christmas. Cinnamon and apples, wild plums and sultanas.
She loaded the apples into the pan, glanced up as her husband shook the wet from his fur before shifting into his human form. Stark naked, his warm eyes twinkled at her from across the kitchen.
“Hmmm, Zeke raced me. I won.”
“Of course you did.”
He stepped closer, sending a river of longing through her veins. “Smells like Christmas.” The deep resonance of his Irish voice tempted her to abandon her project.
“I won’t be long. Once I put this little bag in the pan, it just needs to simmer for around three hours.”
“Three hours.” His eyebrows raised, gave a little twitch. “I’ll be in the shower.
She leaned over the counter to admire his swift swagger and his very fine ass.