Page 54 of Their Christmas Miracle

Blake

Blake realized he had a smile on his face and hurriedly smoothed it away. It was fascinating, watching the woman move around his house. Weird, but fascinating. She looked so cautious, so unsure of what she’d find lurking around the corner.

He glanced around, saw the corner of a Playboy jutting out from under the couch, and hurried over to shove it under the furniture with his the toe of his boot.

That would have been embarrassing.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t snoop around. Wouldn’t notice the stack of similarly uncouth magazines packed behind his crate.

Blake forced a long, hard breath into his lungs and made himself to turn to the window. Elle probably couldn’t see him through the frosted glass, but he didn’t want to take the chance either. Besides, it seemed that, if he played his cards right, she’d be naked on his bed.

His fingers tightened around his coffee cup.

What the hell kind of a thought was that? He wasn’t a fucking horny teenager. He had no right to expect anything of the woman. He’d invited her here to dry off. Maybe eat something.

Food!

The thought turned him to the kitchen. He plucked open the fridge and stared gloomily inside. Food. Or, complete lack thereof.

So he’d never intended to feed her. So what? Surely she could have seen it for the ruse it was. But what if she didn’t? She’d seemed genuinely surprised by the question. And her answer had seemed sincere. What if she was starving? It sounded like she’d been thrown out on her ass by her ex — maybe her last meal had been more than a few hours ago.

“Uh… do you like Chinese?”

For a moment, he thought Elle hadn’t heard him. So he crept closer to the bathroom. A warm fog escaped over the top of the frosted glass enclosure, the smell of his soap.

“Elle?”

“What?” There was a note of panic in her voice. The water snapped off, and he could see her pale shape twisting as she face him through the glass.

“Uh, sorry, I just… do you like Chinese?”

“Food?”

“Yeah.” As opposed to? “Yeah, food. To eat.” He rolled his eyes at himself, and slapped a hand over his eyes. Smooth Blake… real smooth.

“Uh… sure. Anything except pork. And no seafood.”

He waited, almost sure she was about to rattle off a string of other requirements, but there was silence for a second or two, and then the water turned back on.

So chicken or beef.

Blake went into the kitchen and dialed the closest Chinese takeout in the area. They did an excellent chow mein, and a half-decent spring roll at least. The sad part was they knew him just from the sound of his voice by now. He’d just wrapped up the order when the water turned off. He heard Elle moving around the bathroom — bare feet slapping on the tiles — and blurred movement as if she was fluffing out her hair with a towel.

He glanced down at himself, and grimaced at the stained clothes he still wore. He usually changed the moment he got home, but… Blake went over to his cupboard and tugged out a clean t-shirt and pair of jeans. All his clothes were worn in, but at least this pair of jeans didn’t have any holes in them. And the shirt, although probably not as white as it used to be, didn’t have any grease on it.

Blake turned, wanting to ask something inane like her thoughts on Peking duck, but stopped. She stood at the threshold of his bedroom, head tipped to the side, towel fluffing at her wet hair.

His robe was too big. It gaped open at the front, showing a long sliver of pale flesh almost to her bellybutton along with the inner slopes of her breasts. A few beads of water clung to the underside of them like dew. He blinked, forced his eyes up, and gave her a crooked smile.

“Should be here in a few minutes.”

“Take it you don’t cook?” Elle said as she padded out of the bathroom.

Blake passed her on his way in. She turned to watch him, hand pausing on her hair. He grabbed up her clothes — she’d hung them over the shower rail — and gave her a small smile as he passed again. “Not often. Plus, haven’t bought groceries in a while. Been a bit busy, what with work and stuff.”

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of her clothes in his hands.

“Dryer.” Blake pointed to the far corner of the loft.

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