Quinn just smiled. “Plug in the tree lights, if you don’t mind, Mark?”
The sweet surge of desire flooded my groin, but there was plenty of time. I plugged in the lights we’d woven through the branches of the tree, and they began blinking—red, green, yellow, blue, white. Quinn turned out the overhead lights. He set his coffee cup down on a coaster on the baby grand, took a seat, and began to play holiday music: “The Christmas Song,” “Sleigh Ride,” “Angels We Have Heard on High,” “Ave Maria.”
I sat and sipped my coffee, and listened and watched him as his fingers stroked the keyboard, thinking of what they felt like on my skin. I put my cup down and went to him.
“Move forward a bit, okay?”
Quinn looked over his shoulder at me, puzzled, but he did as I asked. I got on the bench behind him
