Page 118 of The Christmas Wife

I tilt my head.

"You care about me. You’re in love with me, but you don’t want to admit it. By the time you realize it, it will be too late. You’ll come begging for forgiveness, and guess what I am going to do then?"

Sweat beads my palm...Tell her to leave, to take her chocolate scent, her crazy-ass satchel of baking tools, her penchant for swearing in a vocabulary that consists solely of desserts, and walk out of here. Don’t look back at her. Don’t indulge her questions. Don’t ask her what she means by that tirade."What?" I growl, "What the fuck would you do then?"

She reaches behind her, grabs the box of cookies she’d baked and empties it over my head, "Is that answer enough for you?"

Turning, she walks out.

34

Amelie

What the hell had happened there? One second, he’d been inside of me, his cock nestled in my pussy, his lips on mine, my legs tangled about him... The next, he’d ordered me to leave.

If there were a classic case of a man who was running scared that would be Weston Fucking Kincaid. Alphahole extraordinaire. Douchebag of the highest order. Bloody fruitcake, who doesn’t know his arse from his head… No. I shake my head. Reprobate snackadoodle who has his head stuck so far up his arse, he has no idea how good the pie is. I sniff. Not even when said pie hits him in the face, and splatters its contents over his beautiful mouth, and he licks it off and—OMG, what am I thinking?

I stumble down the stairs, almost miss a step, then right myself, slip on the next one, and come to a halt at the landing. My heart races, my pulse pounds, and a pressure boils behind my eyes.I will not cry; will not.

There’s a patter of paws on the wooden floor. Max comes bounding out of the open doors of the suite adjacent to the landing.

I bend down, gather him up, then sink down to sit on the step. "Hey little fella, did you miss me? Did ya now?" I rub his head, hold him close. A tear runs down my cheek; Max licks it up. He whines, then pushes his nose into the crook of my neck. I hug his little body closely as more tears flow down my face.Shit, stop it, stop it. Not your fault if he’s such an ass, a completely obnoxious man, Mr. Scrooge McFuck… Gah!Just because one of my favorite authors had released a book about a similar a-hole with that name doesn’t mean I have to call him that, huh?

I swallow down the ball of emotion in my throat. I have to get out of here, return to my life… Spend Christmas alone? My heart begins to thud. How could he do this? How? A sob catches in my chest. I glance around, then down at myself. Shit, I am still wearing his shirt—nothing else. I had left everything behind in that alphahole’s room. No way, am I going back for it.

Max barks, wriggles in my hold. "Oh, sorry little guy, did I crush you, huh?" I set him down, he darts forward toward the double doors that lead into the suite. Kirsten bends to pat him. Max brushes past her and rushes inside.

She straightens, then takes in my appearance.

I flush, "Umm… Uh, it’s not like what it seems."

She tilts her head, "Why don’t you come in and tell me about it?"

Twenty minutes later, I curl my legs under me, and take a sip of the fragrant cup of hot chocolate—no, it’s never too early in the day for comfort food—that she’d handed me.

Max places his paw on my borrowed PJ’s, and stares up at me. "I swear he has a sixth sense, huh?"

"Mum, why was Auntie Amelie crying?" Phoenix asks in a loud whisper.

Kirsten, pats her shoulder, "Because, uh, she had a fight."

"Lover’s quarrel, huh?" Skye wanders into the living room, her specs too big for her face. She has a book in her hand.

"Don’t you have homework to do?" Kirsten scolds her.

"I’ve completed my math assignment."

"What about Latin?"

"I hate Latin."

"Does she have to study Latin?" I ask.

"At her school, yes." Kirsten’s forehead furrows, then turns to Skye, "Go on, finish it."

"But… M-o-m," she wails, once more seeming her eleven-year-old self.

"I don’t need to study Latin to become a vet."

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