Page 95 of The Christmas Wife

"Life is uncertain; eat dessert first."

-From Amelie's diary

Amelie

I stare through the window from the backseat of the luxurious SUV. We’d left early this morning, heading toward the outskirts of Durham, where Weston’s family home is.

Max whines from the back. I turn around and pat his head. Weston has his faults, but he hasn’t stinted when it comes to Max. The car has a specially fitted pet booster seat in the rear, complete with a tether attached to his harness to keep him safe. Max licks my hand, then turns to glance out of the window. I swear, the puppy is more human than many of the two-legged variety of animals I’ve met… Present company included, of course. I shoot a sideways glance at the man in the seat next to me. His hair brushes against his collar, his beard seeminglyfuller than what it was a few hours ago… Is he sprouting hair by the minute? Does it mean when he drags those whiskers across my pussy it will feel more intense than before? Ha, not possible. Whoever had said that once you go beard, you don’t go back, was bloody right.

He raises his hand and drags his fingers through that hair on his chin. I gulp, then squeeze my thighs together.Come on, you can’t be turned on by that simple act.I wriggle around in my seat.Get a life, woman. He misled you, remember? Made you think there was a storm outside that kept you marooned in the cabin, without electricity, when there was nothing of the kind taking place.

"What else did you lie to me about?" I mumble.

After that break-up in the bathroom… Could it be qualified as a break-up when we were never really together? Sure, in the carnal sense, I mean, but there was never any relationship between us, was there…?

Well, after the end of that relationship that never was and which shall never again be referred to by me, I’d stood there dumbstruck and naked and in the bath tub. The water had spilt over the sides and I had scrambled to shut off the tap. Of course, the alphahole had had the last say there, as well. Damn, but I hate the man. Hate his superiority complex, hate how, without even trying, he’d managed to turn my life upside down.

"What do you mean?" his voice rumbles over me. His presence thrums in that enclosed space. His larger-than-life persona pushes down on my shoulders, keeps me pinned to my side of the back seat.

"The storm," I mutter, "you lied to me."

"Not my fault you didn’t check the weather."

"My phone didn’t have a signal…" I bite the inside of my cheek. I could have tried harder. I could have checked onlinewhen 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?"

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