Page 84 of A Manny for Christmas

‘Hello.’ I kiss Paul politely on both cheeks before turning my attention to his daughters. ‘Hi, there. I’m Molly. This is Max, and these two are my kids, Toby and Daisy.’

Paul puts his hands on his daughters’ shoulders. ‘Meet my daughters, Flora and Amelia. Say hello, girls.’

‘Hello,’ they chorus.Flora and Amelia.Such beautiful, old-fashioned names. They’re both immaculate. There’s no trace of evidence that they’ve consumed a single beverage or snack since setting foot in the market.

Maybe it’s a good thing Paul and I didn’t get off the starting blocks. He probably would have been shocked by the generally feral way of life we embrace in the Stafford family. Flora and Amelia look like they’ve sprung straight from the pages ofA Little Princess.We’re probably more like Matilda Wormwood’s family.

‘Are you guys having fun?’ Paul enquires with his trademark politeness. His gaze keeps flitting from me to Max and back again. Daisy interrupts with a kind of outraged gargle-slash-shriek-slash-disgusted-retching noise, and next thing I know, Max is leaning over the table, holding a paper napkin up to her mouth.

‘Spit it out,’ he orders.

She obliges with noises that would activate your own gag reflex, and Max wipes her face. A glance at Flora and Amelia tells me they’re horrified.

‘Did you get it all out?’ Max asks Daisy, and she nods.

’It was yucky!’

‘I think she got a bit of gristle,’ he tells me, sitting heavily back down. I should probably be slightly horrified myself, but all I can think isthat was such adadthing to do.Unfortunately, all of my lady parts from my ovaries down seem to have an interconnected messaging system, kind of like that weird communication network plants’ roots have, and the message circulating is loud and clear.

HOT DAD ALERT.

HOT DAD ALERT.

HOT DAD ALERT.

But in some weird, fucked-up twist, it’s not the sight of handsome Paul, totally in control of his delightful, immaculate daughters that’s making me want someone to thrust their baby-making parts deep inside meright now, but Max’s ability to clear up half-masticated bacon gristle before it gets ejected onto Daisy’s plate.

Sigh.

For a guy who doesn’t want to make babies, Max certainly has a truly excellent grasp of how to make the best use of his baby-making equipment. Oh, and of his handy paternal reflexes.

* * *

We getthe kids into bed in record time. Max practically pulls me down the stairs before throwing me onto the sofa and pressing himself on top of me.Godhis body heat is amazing. As is the weight of all that muscled bulk pinning me down. And the hard bulge sticking into my lower stomach area.

I attempt to stretch out under him with little success. He lays my plait aside and proceeds to kiss my neck. To lick it and suck it. He’s already thrusting on top of me, and a hand inches up as best it can between our bodies, shoving my top up so he can knead my breast.

‘What’s this?’ I ask a little breathlessly.

‘You drive me fucking crazy, is what it is,’ he huffs, running a thumb over the lace covering my nipple.

You do too, I want to say.You have no idea.But I aim for humour. ‘I didn’t realise you’d find a night out with me and my kids so arousing.’

He lifts his head a little so he can look at me, and I reach up and scratch my fingernails along that jaw, through that stubble that drives me so mad with lust. His hazel eyes are already dark with desire.

‘A night out by your side?’ he asks. ‘You don’t think walking around with you, knowing you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole fucking place, and knowing I’d get to take you home and do this would be a turn-on for me?’

Thisproves to be a firm tweak of my nipple, but I suspect his words are arousing me even more than his fingers.

‘I loved being there with you, too. It gave me a kick,’ I tell him, because it feels slightly less psycho than sayingI spent the entire evening pretending we were a real, live family.

‘And then when we saw that poor fucker, Paul,’ he grits out, ‘I actually felt guilty. Can you believe it? Guilty and… lucky as fuck, to be honest, baby. Because what if I’d turned up here in six months, and you were with him? What if I’d missed the boat?’

I stare at him in astonishment. Where the hell has all this come from?

‘Hey.’ I stroke my hand around the back of his neck, against that soft skin below where his hair ends. ‘You didn’t miss the boat. You’re right here, and so am I. This is all I want.’

He stares at me like he can’t believe I’m real, and dips his mouth towards mine. ‘Tell me you won’t go out with him again,’ he says against my mouth. ‘Please, Mol. I couldn’t bear it.’

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