I could have checked online when I’d called Isla from the bathtub. Bloody bath tub; I hate bath tubs.
I’d clambered over the side of the tub, almost slipped and fallen, dried myself off, wrapped a towel around myself.
For the rest of the day we'd ignored each other. I'd made grilled sandwiches for lunch and we'd eaten them separately. I'd spent the rest of the day avoiding him... Cleaning the house... Or at least, trying to. Dinner had been soup and a pasta dish, the ingredients available, thanks to our trip to the supermarket. We'd eaten together at the dining table in the kitchen. He'd offered to help load up the dishwasher. I'd refused. And he'd headed outdoors with Max. I was reading in the living room, when he'd come in. He'd ignored me, headed off to the bedroom.
By the time I'd gone to bed, jerkface was under the covers…on his side of the bed, the white sheets pulled up to his waist, his sculpted chest all angles and planes, his biceps bulging from where he’d folded his arm behind his neck.
I’d almost crawled into bed right then, and cuddled up next to him… Not. Thankfully, I’d managed to retrieve my clothes from my bag, marched back into the bathroom to change. Dressed in pajamas and socks, I’d slipped between the sheets, after building a virtual fort between us with pillows and cushions. I’d fallen asleep almost at once… At least the sex had worn me out… Fringe benefits. I snort aloud.
"Care to share your thoughts?" he drawls. That voice… Dark and edgy and with an hint of mystery that had entranced me from the beginning, ripples down my spine. My nipples harden and my toes curl. I clutch my handbag to my chest. Hopefully, it will hide exactly how turned on I am. Gah! This is so not fair.
I rub at my temples, shake my head. "It’s nothing," I respond.
"It’s something." I sense him turn to me and tip my head so my heavy hair falls over my face. Anything to hide from him.
"Nothing of consequence," I insist.
"Whatever is in that bag, seems to be of consequence though."
I blink, shift the bag into a more comfortable position. "It’s—"
"Don’t say nothing," he growls.
"Cookies."
"Huh?" His forehead furrows.
"I baked cookies," I explain.
"Cookies?" He seems taken aback, "You made cookies?"
"We are going to see your family. I am a baker…" I raise my shoulders.
"That’s why you were up early this morning?"
I nod. I’d remembered to charge my phone, and set an alarm, and woken up a few minutes before it had gone off. Guess those years of getting up before dawn and heading off to get my baking done for the day had come in handy. I’d switched off the alarm, crawled out of bed and out from under the weight of his arm.
He’d shoved aside the pillows at some point in the night and had pulled my body against his, and spooned me… No wonder I had slept well. I had turned and seen his features relaxed in sleep. His beard had seemed thicker, his pecs closer to a work of art, and that beautiful throat…that gorgeous throat… I’d moved in to inhale his scent at the base of his neck, where it would be the most potent. He’d stirred. I’d frozen. His muscles had relaxed and I’d scrambled off the bed. Lucky escape…
Was it, though? If he’d woken up then, would he have…taken me over his lap and spanked me? My sex clenches. I squeeze my thighs shut. Dip into my bag and pull out the tin—I’d emptied out the contents and repurposed it. I pop the lid and the scent of vanilla and chocolate, and the touch of cinnamon I’d sprinkled on at the end, fills the space.
He reaches for one; I slap the lid on his fingers.
"Ow." He pulls back, shakes out his hand, "Do you want to break a finger in my good hand?"
"Did I succeed?" I bare my teeth.
"It’ll take more than a batch of your cookies to bring me down," he retorts.
"Don’t bet on it," I scoff.
"Hmm," he glares at the tin, then at my face, "my mother doesn't expect gifts."
"It’s Christmas."
"My presence is gift enough."
My jaw drops, "Do you seriously believe that?"
"It’s what she insists, every time."
"Of course, she’d say that. She's your mom, after all. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get them anything. Besides..." I peer up at him.
"Besides...?" he prompts.
"Besides, after spending time with you, I can vouch that your presence is less a gift