Page 73 of Their Christmas Miracle

Elle shrugged. “I could.”

He lifted his head from the coffee machine, and gave her a lopsided smile. “You could, could you?”

“Yeah.” Elle straightened her shoulders. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right.” Blake’s expression turned serious then. “But I do know where you stay.”

“You don’t,” she said.

“I do.” Blake glanced around his loft. “And you’re welcome here for as long as you need a place.”

Elle stared at him. “But… you don’t know—”

“I don’t have to.” It was Blake’s turn to shrug.

“You don’t have to?” She could hear the cynicism dripping from her words and tried a small laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Blake turned away, busying himself at the coffee machine for a few seconds before shrugging again. He glanced at her over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “When I was young, my mother used to take me to a coffee shop around the corner from our house.” He paused, giving his lips a quick swipe with his tongue and turning his back to her again. “We used to watch the people — those that walked by, those that came in for coffee — for hours at a time.”

Elle straightened on the bed, drawing the sheets to her neck. The loft was warm, but Blake’s quiet words sent a small chill through her. Just him and his mom? Where was his dad in this equation?

“She was a psychology major, but never practiced. Too busy mothering, I guess. Anyway… she used to tell me all about people — the good kind, the bad kind. How you could tell. Body language, the way people spoke, stuff like that. Got pretty good at reading people.”

Another shrug, and then Blake turned to her again, resting his hip against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. He gave her a slow, easy grin.

“Long story short — let’s just say, I know people. And I think you’re one of the good ones.”

She blinked hard, forcing away sudden tears. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” he said, his grin turning wicked.

Blake came around the counter. Her eyes dropped down. Flashed up to his face again.

“We have ten minutes.” He crawled onto the bed, prowling toward her like a tiger. “Think I can make you come before our coffee’s ready?”

“Doubt it,” Elle said, squirming into the pillows behind her as Blake advanced on her. “It usually takes me about fifteen.”

Blake cocked an eyebrow at her. “Interesting. But I doubt you were using your tongue.”

And, with that, he tugged down the sheets.

Elle tried to escape him, but he held her down and ignored her giggled — and then breathless — protests.

The coffee was ready long cold before Blake was done with her.

The End

---