Page 49 of The Christmas Wife

"After that."

"Mc…McFuck?"

"What does it mean?"

I raise my shoulders, “Dunno, it just, uh, seemed appropriate."

He chuckles, "You’re a funny one, Buttercup."

I groan, "I am not sure I like that name yet."

"I am not sure I like you either." He looks me up and down, his tone serious, "But hell, if I don’t want you to stay."

"Is that an apology?"

"For what?" He glares.

"For being horrible to me."

"Was I?"

I huff, “Fine. Whatever. And," I tuck my elbows into my sides, "I’m sorry too."

"For what."

I jerk my chin toward the reddened skin of his cheek.

"I deserved it," he replies.

I open and shut my mouth, "You…you did?"

"You should know though, that it turns me on when you get physical with me."

I squeeze my eyes shut.Do not lose it; do not.I draw in a breath, "I’ll ignore that."

Turning, I stalk to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I made breakfast." I pause, then turn to scowl at him, "Aren’t you coming?"

Fifteen minutes later he pushes back the plate with a sigh. I’d made chocolate pancakes for me, regular ones for him. Why had I bothered…? Good question. Perhaps because, as much as I hate him, I hate seeing him starve. Food is sacred. It’s how we nourish not just our bodies, but our souls, and if there is a soul that needs some sustenance… It is this alphahole’s. A slurping sound fills the space. I glance sideways as Max licks the bottom of his bowl. He raises his head, then patters over to push his nose into my lap. "Hey boy, you still hungry?"

"Don’t feed him more," Weston warns.

I frown, "I wasn’t going to."

"Yes, you were too." He grins, "When you twitch your nose, it means you’re thinking something sappy in your head."

"Am not." I set my jaw.

"Yep, you were." He chuckles, "And PS, you’re welcome."

I frown up at him, "For what?"

"For the compliment I’m about to give you."

I shake my head. Jeez, this man… I mean, he can’t be real. He can’t be this incorrigible, can he? He stares at me; I meet his gaze.

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