Page 125 of The Christmas Wife

"And you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You told me to leave, remember?"

"And you disobeyed me."

"You’re not my keeper, not even my lover. Any right you had over me, you forfeited right then."

"Have I now?" His fingers tighten on my wrist—and he’s using his left hand, which is not his dominant hand, but it might as well be. Is any part of this guy less than 100% assertive?And why am I going all gooey inside?Hell, he told me to leave, and just before Christmas. What kind of a monster does that?And why the hell does my body refuse to behave around him?

"Yes, you did." I raise my gaze, force myself to see this through, "I’m done with you."

He frowns and something flickers in his gaze. "Amelie, I?—"

"Aunteee Amelieee." Phe runs across the room and throws herself at me.

I tug my hand, but Weston still doesn’t release it. I half bend, rub the little girl's hair. "Hey, baby, watcha have there for me?"

She holds up the craft paper, showing an outline of a princess that she’s colored in, complete with tiara. "Who’s this?"

"It's you." She smiles widely. "Princess Amelie."

"Awww." My heart stutters. I tug on my hand again, and this time, Weston releases me. I lower myself to a squat as he takes my drink from my hand. I ignore the gesture, accept the drawing from Phe. "It’s beautiful."

"So pretty," Phoenix giggles.

"Yes, you are." I pull the little girl close and kiss her cheek loudly.

She bursts out laughing, then pulls away. I rise to my feet, glance at the drawing. "Aww," I sigh, "it really is pretty."

"You’re prettier," Weston’s deep rumble surrounds me. I shiver.Hell, this really was a bad idea.

I begin to walk away.

"Amelie," he calls out.

Don’t stop; don’t.

"Your drink."

I wave a hand in the air, "You have it."

I walk toward Kirsten, joining her and the girls. Skye has her nose buried in a book, as usual. She glances up at me, then at the drawing. She snorts under her breath, turns back to her reading.

Kirsten grimaces, then mouths ‘sorry.’

I laugh. I remember being far worse at her age. Of course, my parents, being the strict disciplinarians they were, didn’t help. It’s why I had rebelled every inch of the way. Christmas at home had been quiet, my parents not wanting to change their routine much, even for the festive season. Perhaps there is comfort in everyday chores? More likely, they were so content in each other’s company, I’d never fit in with them. Always the third wheel, the outsider looking in. Then they'd retired to Spain; and with that, all expectation of my visiting them for Christmas had been dropped—on both our sides. Our communication had dwindled down to the occasional phone calls, then that had stopped too.

Don’t get me wrong, they did their best for me, always provided for me, gave me everything I needed... Except a sense of belonging… The kind of warmth I find here. Max runs into the room, heads straight for me and jumps up.

“Hey boy,” I lift him into my arms. "Missed me huh?" He licks my face, and I giggle, "Wow, so much affection, and you saw me what, three minutes ago, huh?"

I glance up and meet Weston’s gaze. He raises the glass—the one he had taken from me—and brings it to his lips. He drains the water, then lowers the glass and licks his lips.

I swallow. Shit, what craziness is this, that his every glance is filled with undertones? A crazy sexual tension that will never abate between us. Too bad… He is an alphahole who will never change colors.

"Patrick," Kirsten cries out, then moves forward to greet the man who’s just walked in. He opens his arms wide as Phe races for him. He catches the little girl, swings her high and she squeals. "Daddy, you’re home," Phe cries.

"I told you I’d be." He kisses her on the cheek, lowers her to the floor, then turning, sweeps his wife into a kiss.

"Ugh," Skye makes a gagging sound, then turns back to her book, which she’s reading standing up, by the way.

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