Page 50 of The Christmas Wife

His lips curl, and of course, my heart does that little flip-flop it always does when he goes all bad boy on me. "Fine. I give in." I huff, "What compliment?"

"You’re not a bad cook." He smirks.

I open and close my mouth. "That was a delicious breakfast," I half-snarl.

"My, but you like your own cooking, huh?"

My lips turn down, "You can tell, huh?"

His brow furrows. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I know I’m not svelte and long-limbed, like some of the women you date."

He frowns, then looks me up and down, "Firstly, let's get something straight. You look incredible."

Wait, was that a compliment? It was a compliment. Wasn't it?

"And secondly," his eyes gleam, "have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Of course not." I huff.

"You’ve been keeping tabs," he concludes, looking way too self-satisfied.

"Hardly."

"It's okay, you can admit it." He smirks, "It's only natural to want to follow what I have been up to. Some of us have the kind of irresistible charisma that attracts attention."

Oh, that compliment thing I said earlier, forget it.

"You're so full of yourself," I scoff. "Seriously, how can someone say what you do and keep a straight face?”

He stares at me.

I fidget in my seat opposite him. "And yeah, maybe I tracked your exploits in the media, a little." I admit.

He arches an eyebrow.

I throw up my hands. "Oh, all right, so I did read up about you."

His grin widens.

"I was curious how you looked in your scrubs, okay?" My cheeks flush.

He blinks, "In my scrubs?"

I nod, "I have a thing for men in uniform."

His grey eyes grow stormy, "I could wear them for you, if you ask nicely."

I gulp, chafe my thighs together to relieve that gnawing emptiness that’s been building since I woke up this morning. Then he had to go and spoil it all with his rudeness.

His features tighten. "I’m sorry," he offers.

I stare. "For which part?" I ask. "For being horrible to me from the moment I walked in here or is it for a specific insult?"

He tips back his chair until it rests on the back legs, "On second thought..." He scratches his chin, "What can I say? That’s me. It’s not my fault."

"No?" I frown.

---