He turned his attention to the coffee, saying, “You feed my kids a fry up before school, they’ll be asleep within fifteen minutes of hitting their desks.”
“Children,” Isabella retorted, her voice cold and authoritative, “I’ve read, need a good breakfast before school. Brain food.”
Prentice turned to her, leaned a hip to the counter and sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving her.
Then he replied, “Porridge is brain food. Make them porridge. There’s instant –”
She cut him off by declaring evenly, “I’m not making instant oatmeal.”
He studied her for a long moment then grinned and gave in, saying, “Suit yourself.”
With relief, she tore her gaze from his sexy, grinning face and walked away, murmuring, “I will.”
She didn’t go the way of the fry up (it wouldn’t be good if the kids fell asleep in school that would be yet another thing the villagers could hold against her).
But she did make scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, bacon and toast coated in butter and lime marmalade.
And she made it for all of them.
Including Prentice.
While the kids were leaving the kitchen and Prentice (she thought) was in his study, Isabella caught Jason and said, “I’ve done the ironing, including your father’s shirts. Can you take them upstairs and put them away before school?”
“Can’t I do it tonight?” Jason asked.
She leaned in conspiratorially and asked in a teasing tone, “Honey, have you seen his shirt?” Then she shook her head. “No, you can’t do it tonight. You might forget and I don’t know when I’ll be back. It must be done,” her voice lowered jokingly to indicate the gravity of the situation, “and it must be done now.”
Jason grinned at her dramatic delivery then his eyes slid to the side, caught on something and he let out a little snicker.
Isabella felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She slowly turned and saw Prentice there, arms crossed on his chest, eyes on her, facial expression indicating that, perhaps, he heard every word she said.
“Is there something wrong with my shirt?” he asked in a low tone.
Yes, he heard.
Oh dear. What did she do now?
Well, she might as well be honest.
Her eyes dropped to his chest then went back to his face.
“It’s a lovely shirt. It just needs ironing.”
His hands went to the buttons while he enquired, “Should I do that now?”
“No!” she (nearly) cried, taking a swift step forward and putting a hand up, not wanting to see his chest again, ever, until the day she died.
He went on, “I wouldn’t want to embarrass the Cameron name.”
He couldn’t do that even if his shirt was in tatters.
And his pants.
He looked over her shoulder and winked at his son.
Isabella relaxed.
Prentice was teasing, not her, but Jason. She could deal with that.