Page 64 of A Manny for Christmas

Assured her I was perfectly happy and functional on my own, thank you very much?

Or, at the very least, dropped my date with Paul into the conversation? At least that wasreal.

But no.

Instead, I had to pretend I had something going on with Max.

And that makes me completely pathetic.

The self-satisfaction I thought I’d get from the look on her face was horribly brief, and now I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth. Because, despite what Cassandra thinks, the truth is that my circumstances are pretty shitty. Not disastrous, by any means, but shitty enough that I allow a bout of self-pity to take me over.

And the absolute shittiest part of the entire situation is that I can’t stop thinking about my house guest.

Not just about his body. About how it felt to have him curled up behind me, cocooning me. About how it would feel to have allowed him to, as he so sweetly put it, slip his dick inside me as we lay there. To fill me up. To touch me. To show me I turned him on as much as he turned me on.

Unfortunately, my thoughts run deeper than that, to places I promised myself I’d never revisit twelve years ago.

To places I buried deep in my heart.

Places I have no business revisiting.

And so I pull back. I attempt to ignore Max for the rest of the evening. I eat my dinner in front of the fire in the living room while watching a little of the weekend’sStrictlyfootage with Daisy. I brusquely refuse his offer of help with putting the kids to bed. I don’t need him being all sweet and caring and faux-paternal, thank you very much.

That won’t help any of us.

When I get back downstairs, he’s waiting for me in the kitchen, prowling up and down the narrow space between the AGA and the wooden-topped island.

‘What’s going on?’ he demands, stopping in front of me and crossing his arms over his chest.

I make the mistake of glancing down at said chest, its firm pecs clear through the thin grey fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck’s sake. Hasn’t he got the memo that it’s December?

‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’

‘Bullshit. You’ve been weird with me since that woman left—Caroline, or whatever her name was.’

I’m inordinately pleased he can’t remember her name.

I decide gaslighting is the only way forward for what’s left of my self-respect. ‘No I haven’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Max comes closer, planting a hand on either side of my body. Caging me in against the island.

‘I’ll say it again.Bullshit. Is it because I gave you a kiss? Smacked you on the arse? Is that it? Because I’m sorry if I offended you. I had no idea you were so easily offended these days.’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘You didn’t offend me. Actually, I’m glad you did it. She was being a right cow to me before you came in, and that definitely shut her up.’

‘Good. I saw your faces when I walked in, and I had an inkling she was giving you a hard time. Don’t ask me how. I just—you looked… stricken, and she looked smug as fuck.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Smug as fuck is a pretty good summary. She was telling me how I won’t find a husband if I don’t make more of an effort.’

‘Is that right?’ he asks quietly, his eyebrows rising.

‘Yes. So having you walk in like, you know.’ I gesture at his chest. I may accidentally brush his pec slightly, but he’s not exactly giving me much space to work with here. ‘It helped.’

His mouth curves into a small but undeniably sexy smile. ‘Like what?’

‘You know.’ I swallow. ‘Topless.’

‘Interesting.’

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