Page 32 of Sinning for Santa

I shake my head. “Thank you, anyway, but I ate earlier today.”

He frowns. “Don’t you mean yesterday? It’s already Wednesday.”

“I wouldn’t know. You took my phone, and I don’t wear a watch.” I deadpan, and his lip quirks up.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women that only eat meals at a certain time of day and the meals you do eat are basically rabbit food.”

My cheeks flush.

Dammit.

How does he know?

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “It astounds me that women do this to themselves. You are basically starving yourself. All for what? To look slimmer for a fucking guy that won’t touch you?”

I gasp at the insinuation, but he’s not finished yet.

“You know he’s not a real man if he doesn’t appreciate a woman’s curves. It makes him nothing but an arsehole.” He holds his finger up as I part my lips to retort, halting my words. “And before you say it, yes, I know I’m also an arsehole, but I’m notthatsort of arsehole.”

“No, you’re just the sort of arsehole that kidnaps women.”

He nods, and shrugs at the same time. “Yes. Exactly.”

I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

He chuckles, flashing those white teeth before picking something off the plate and tossing it in his mouth.

“Miss Summers.” He starts as he chews the food. “My cook has prepared the most delicious BLT sandwiches for us. I think it would be extremely rude for you not to eat at least one.”

Dammit.

He’s right.

I nibble on my lip as I consider the best way to accept defeat, but as he picks some more food off the plate, and the aroma of it teases me, my shoulders slump.

“You’re right, that would be rude.” I agree, and move in his direction.

As I pass him, his hand snatches my heels from my grip, a gasp flying from me as I reach for them.

“Give them back.”

“You don’t need them in here.” He shakes his head, moving towards the entry door. “Calm down. I’m just going to put them by the door.”

Calm down? He just took my Tony’s.

Does he have no mercy?

One look at my expression has him snickering, and he points to me.

“You still have your bag, love. Now come and sit down. Have a sandwich and the hot chocolate. It will make you feel better.” He gestures to the seat he pulls out, before taking the one next to it.

Reluctantly, I join him, my gaze fixed on the BLT.

Bacon.

I love bacon.

I shouldn’t eat it, because when I do, I only want more, but oh how I love it. I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and even find a way to work it into a snack and it still wouldn’t be enough.

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