Page 22 of The Christmas Wife

"That’s because I do."

I snort; I can’t help it. "Why am I not surprised that you said that?"

He raises his shoulders, "It’s a fact."

"Whatever," I mutter.

"What was that?"

“I said, ‘What-fucking-ever,’" I say, with more aggression that I am feeling.

"Hmm, you have spirit. That’s good."

"Oh, stop talking in riddles."

"That’s Saint," he chuckles.

"What?"

"Doesn’t matter." He draws in a breath, then straightens his shoulders, "Enough beating around the bush. It’s six days to Christmas. We spend it together. You do everything I ask of you in that time."

"What does that mean?" I stare.

"Exactly what it sounds like. Nothing hidden."

"Does it mean…uh…?"

"What?"

"You know."

"No, I don’t." He smirks.

Oh, spit it out already, why the hell am I being coy?"Sexual favors," I burst out.

"Only if you want it to," he replies.

I blink. "You mean…"

He nods.

"So, if I decided I didn’t want to blow you again..."

"You’d be missing out," he rolls his shoulders, "but your call."

"You sure?"

"Would I lie?"

"Wouldn’t you?"

He grins. "I love this little sparring thing we have going on..."

I purse my lips together, "It’s not ‘little’ anything."

"That’s true," he chuckles.

“Oh, my God!” I throw up my hands. "We get on each other’s nerves. That’s all it is."

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