Page 48 of A Manny for Christmas

I assume mydon’t stick your tongue in my mouthvibes were pretty strong, because he put his palm against the closed front door, and leaned against it in quite a sexy way, and smiled at me before slowly, deliberately, lowering his head to mine and pressing a chaste kiss to that spot just between my cheek and my mouth.

‘I had a fantastic time with you this evening,’ he said before I could say anything.

‘I did too. Honestly, it was so much fun. I’m glad you dragged me out of the house,’ I told him.

His dimples flashed. ‘I’d love to take you out again. Maybe dinner. And I’ll text you in the morning to reiterate that, in case you think it’s my single bottle of beer talking.’

I laughed. He really was so sweet.

‘But’—his blue eyes narrowed a little—‘the ball’s in your court, because I suspect the jury’s still out.’

‘Oh no,’ I protested too quickly. ‘Not at all.’

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Honestly. We can take things at your pace. If you decide you’d like to go out again, just let me know. I’ll be waiting.’

And with that, he gave me a reassuring pat on the arm and left.

Now Max corners me in the kitchen, just as I’m attempting to find a cab to take Mike and Mia home. They’re still watching TV next door.

‘They need a lift home?’ He jerks his thumb towards the TV room. ‘I can drop them.’

‘That would be great, thanks. But we need to talk.’

‘What about?’

‘About the daggers you were shooting Paul—and me—at the market. It was really childish and completely unnecessary, and I don’t appreciate it.’

‘Oh yeah?’

He comes towards me, slowly, deliberately, and I shrink back against the warmth of the AGA. He stops slightly too close to me, forcing me to look up at him. He still has his jacket on, and his stubble is calling out to me to lift a hand and scratch it.

Damn this man. And damn my own heart, too. What the hell is wrong with me? Why wasn’t I all over Paul like a rash? The guy’s ridiculously eligible, for God’s sake, and his behaviour towards me all evening was pitch-perfect. Oh, and he has two kids, which suggests he doesn’t have the horror of children thatsome peoplehave. I should have been climbing him like a tree.

But while he was absolutely lovely, and while I could appreciate how delightfully easy he was on the eyes, he didn’t have my heart rate ratcheting up like Max does when he closes in on me. When his eyes feast on me like a starving man.

He picks up one of my plaits and brushes the tip over the open palm of his other hand. ‘You think I’m childish?’

I’m a little too flustered to think straight, which is irritating beyond measure.

‘I think the way you acted tonight was childish, yes. You’re a guest in my house. You know I’ve been through the ringer. And when a thoroughly decent guy takes me out, you follow us and attempt to intimidate him by shooting daggers at him. I would say that’s a very immature way to behave, and not fair to me at all.’

He doesn’t defend himself. Instead he asks, in a strained voice, ‘Did he kiss you?’

‘What? No. Not that it’s any of your business.’

He exhales. He’s watching the tip of my plait as he brushes it over his palm. ‘Good.’

‘Max. Look at me.’

He raises his eyes to mine, and I wish I hadn’t asked, because there’s a whirlwind of emotions in those hazel eyes.

‘We’re in the past,’ I say. ‘You know that, correct? You know we didn’t work.’

He smiles, grimly amused. ‘That’s bullshit. We fucking worked. You know that as well as I do.’ He lets go of my hair and plants his hands either side of me on the AGA’s rail. Fencing me in.

‘You know what I mean.’ I’m even more flustered now, because holy shit, is he right. If he’s thinking the same dirty thoughts that I am, we worked really fucking well.

He relents. ‘I know what you mean.’

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