Page 10 of All I Want for Christmas Eve

Chapter Four

I wake up to the smell of something delicious cooking.

For a second, I’m not sure exactly where I am. I feel like maybe I’m at home, and my mother has whipped up a delicious omelet or frittata. I smile and stretch at the memory, but then, I am assaulted by a stabbing pain in the right side of my neck, and I wince.

Grabbing the tender spot, I pry my eyes open, and immediately stretch them open even further. My new houseguest is cooking.

Shirtless.

I sit up and pull the blanket around myself a little tighter for modesty, although this stranger obviously seems to have none. But what he does have? Pecs. And a rippling back that looks divine as he moves his arm to shake the mixture in the frying pan.

“Adam?” I say with a tired voice. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I would thank you for your hospitality with a spectacular breakfast,” he says, turning around and giving me a wink.

Yes, he actually winks.

“Where is your shirt?” I ask him, rubbing my neck absentmindedly.

“Oh, it’s kind of an expensive shirt—and it’s a little warm in here, with the fireplace roaring. I figured I would take it off so I didn’t get dirty while cooking. I hope you don’t mind.”

“You can cook things?” I ask him tiredly.

He laughs as he moves over toward me, and then I see that he has an apron wrapped around his waist to protect his pants, and that he is still slightly limping. He places a plate down in front of me, and it looks and smells so good that I forget all about his naked chest.

“Wow. Are you a chef or something?” I ask suspiciously.

“It’s possible,” he responds, and I swear that there is a twinkle of mirth in his eye. “You’ll just have to keep guessing, Eve. Also, don’t just eat it with your eyes. you have to actually take a bite. I tried to do what I could with the ingredients you had in the fridge.”

When he grows impatient for me to try his masterpiece, he reaches down and cuts a piece off with his fork, and feeds it to me.

I chew carefully for a moment, somewhat concerned that I didn’t watch his whole cooking process. He could have slipped something poisonous into the eggs as his method of murdering me.

But then I remember that he’s still a really big dude, and if he really wanted to murder me, there would be dozens of easier and faster ways to accomplish that task.

Also, I haven’t really upset anyone, that I know of, so I really doubt I am on anyone’s hit list. I’m not important enough for someone to send a hitman over to murder me, so I probably shouldn’t worry too much.

“It’s incredible,” I tell him, nodding, once I’m convinced that I don’t taste any poison. I take the fork from him and begin to shovel more bites into my face. “Mmm, this is insanely good. You must be a chef.”

“Perhaps,” he responds, and he stands there, staring at me for a minute.

I don’t look up at him, because I’m afraid to be blinded by his chiseled bare chest. Instead, I stare at the Christmas tree on his apron. Which happens to be positioned around his crotch, so that isn’t much better. I try to keep my focus on the delicious meal he has prepared for me.

“Is something wrong with your neck?” Adam asks me with concern.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him, realizing I was rubbing it while eating. The pain radiates all the way to my shoulder and jaw, and sometimes it even hurts to chew. “Just sore from work.”

“You don’t have another bedroom, right?” he asks me softly. “I am sorry that I took your bed and made you sleep in the chair. I didn’t realize. That was super rude of me.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I tell him, waving my hand. “You were injured.”

“Still, that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me,” Adam says. “I promise that I’m going to make it up to you somehow.”

“You don’t have to do that. As long as you’re not a murderer or a hitman, I’m perfectly happy offering you shelter from the storm.”

Adam chuckles. “First, I’m a criminal smuggling drugs, then I’m a chef, and now I’m a murderer or a hitman? I can’t wait to hear your next guess, Eve. I never realized I was so interesting.”

Glancing up at his bare chest, and annoyingly perfect abs, I place another forkful of eggs in my mouth. “Male stripper,” I say instantly. “No one has a body like that unless he’s a stripper. Or an underwear model.”

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