Page 60 of Their Christmas Miracle

Blake laughed.

The sound made Elle stiffen. Then her lips squirmed trying — astonishingly — to turn up into a smile. She forced them into a line, of course because there was nothing funny about this.

“You walk under any ladders lately? Broke a couple of mirrors, perhaps?” He stuck his head around the corner, and then hurriedly jerked it back.

“What?” Elle glanced down at herself. She still wore the robe, but it had gaped open at the front, exposing a whole lot of bosom. “Oh, for shit’s sake. At this point?” Elle stuck her hand around the corner and beckoned Blake with an imperious flick of her fingers. “Please, just get me out of this thing.”

Blake came inside, making an obvious effort to avert his eyes while simultaneously trying to assess the situation with her skirt. It made him look like he had a serious eye condition. Elle felt that smile coming back, and decided to leave it on her mouth — just for the hell of it.

“You’re not the first woman to—”

“Shut it,” she barked, but not without her smile growing an inch. “Just…” her voice was unsteady now. “Just take it off.”

“Why, just the other night, I had another lady in here who—”

“Blake!” She was on the verge of laughter, but whether it would be the good kind, or the hysterical, way-too-much-shit-has-happened-for-me-to-keep-it-together kind of laugh… she didn’t want to find out.

The man stared down at her skirt, a hand going to stroke over the stubble on his chin. When last did he shave? Or was he trying to attempt a beard? It would look good on him — but it would be a pity to lose sight of that hard, square jaw of his.

Elle realized she was staring at the shape of his mouth and looked down at her skirt.

“If you wiggled a little, maybe I could yank it down while—”

“Don’t try and save it, Blake. It’s a goner. Just—can’t you like—” Elle made a tearing motion with her hands.

“Rip it off?”

“Yes, Blake,” Elle said dryly. “Please, I beg you. Rip off my skirt.”

He looked up at the sound of her deadpan voice, his own mouth squirming as if he wanted to smile. Perhaps deciding it would be inappropriate, the man gave her a firm nod, crouched down, and stuck out his hand.

“I’ll have to—kind of—you know—” He made a complicated gesture with his hand which could have meant anything from opening her like a can of sardines to playing noughts-and-crosses on her thigh.

“Whatever, just do it.”

“Sally always—”

“Enough!” This, with a cut-off laugh.

Blake smiled up at her, slid his hand between her legs less than an inch away from her entrance, and tugged at the skirt. Tugged hard. Tugged so hard that Elle fell forward into him.

“Shit, sorry—”

“No, it’s okay.” Elle scrambled up, aware that the robe was doing a pathetic job at keeping her decent.

“Brace yourself,” Blake said, motioning to the cube wall beside Elle.

“You know, Sam’s never once told me that.”

Obviously, she’d done the joke wrong. Instead of the smile, or perhaps small laugh, she’d been expecting, Blake’s face flashed into a look of sympathy.

Elle cleared her throat, grabbed hold of the wall, and gave him a nod. “Bracing.”

Blake tugged.

Her skirt came free with a loud rip. Elle stayed upright this time, and gave her thigh a furious rub where the fabric had sloughed away her skin.

“Thanks,” she said.

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