Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“I still believe in Santa,” he said abruptly.
“No, you don’t.”
“Sure, I do. He visited me last Christmas. Brought me some really ugly boxers. They were red with white fluff along the top and around the legs.”
“He did not.” She giggled.
“Sure he did. I can go find them and show you.”
“All right. You do that.”
“And then you’ll believe in Santa again?”
She wasn’t sure why he cared. And she couldn’t bring herself to agree. “I’ll think about it. Are you going to get them?”
He grunted. “They’re back in my house at the palace.”
Ahh, right.
Or they just weren’t real.
But it was still cute that he was trying.
She attempted to stand, groaning as her body protested. She felt far older than twenty-five right now. And her hip was aching from being curled up like this.
“Easy.” Ian reached out and lifted her from the tub. She slumped against him, unable to hold herself up.
She shivered, feeling cold.
To her shock, rather than stepping away, he lifted her into his arms so she was pressed to his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re cold from sitting in the bathtub. Not the best hiding spot, Little Misfit. How about next time you go for the window seat or the bed?”
“I’ll consider it. But the bath . . . I don’t know. It felt safe. Silly, I know.”
“Do you want me to tap your bum?”
Um, maybe.
No. Bad brain.
“You try it and I’ll put peanut butter in all your undies.”
“You try that and you’ll be writing lines every day for the rest of your stay.”
Okay. This was . . . it was too much for her. She needed some space. Having a Daddy of her own, someone who wanted to look after her, but who would also put limits on her . . . yeah, it was a crazy dream. Not something that would ever be a reality, especially with Ian.
“I need to clean up.” She tried to wriggle free of his hold.
“Are you sure?”
“Um, yep. Pretty sure.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m filthy.”
“You’re all right to be left alone? I could stay and help.”
They both seemed to realize what he’d said at the same time. She could feel her face growing red.
“I, uh . . . I didn’t really mean . . .” he said.
“I’m fine, Ian,” she said, taking pity on him. Poor guy was going kind of purple.
Sheesh. He was really just a big teddy bear, wasn’t he? All soft and squishy behind the Mr. Grumpy-Knickers facade.
So sweet.
“Fine. No more calling yourself names. Or you’re getting your butt beaten.”
Okay, not completely sweet. Maybe like sixty percent.
Twenty minutes later, after washing her hair three times, Maggie walked downstairs. She’d put on her favorite pajamas. The bottoms were red and black tartan. The top was black and long-sleeved with a tartan zebra on it.
On her feet were zebra slippers.
They were all a present from Uncle Willy last Christmas. Her family would never give her something so whimsical and cute. Last Christmas, they’d given her grocery vouchers and a self-help book. Nothing wrong with the vouchers.
The self-help book was currently propping up a coffee table at her and Indie’s place.
She probably shouldn’t be wearing her best pajamas when she had a disaster to clean up, but she needed them to boost her self-esteem.
Her wet hair was up in a messy bun. She couldn’t be bothered drying it, especially not after washing it so much. Her arms were aching.
She really should get back into a fitness routine. She was pretty pathetic.
Walking into the kitchen, she came to a stop as she saw how clean it was.
Her mouth dropped open as Jack walked out of the butler’s pantry.
He stopped, his gaze running over her. Then he smiled.
She blushed.
Okay, maybe she should have worn something more appropriate.
“I, um . . . did you clean this all up?” Darn it. Now, she also felt guilty. While she’d been hiding and feeling sorry for herself, then taking an extra-long shower, Jack had been cleaning.
“I had help.”
“Right, I just threw the rubbish out. Ian said he’ll order some pizza, so I’m going to go wash my . . . ” Jameson drifted off as he saw her standing there.
Had Jameson helped clean up? There was a smear of something on his shirt that made her feel even guiltier.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out.
“For what, sweetheart?” Jameson asked with a frown.
“For making such a mess, then running off and leaving you both to clean up.” She bit her lip. “You should have left it for me to do.”
“It didn’t take long to clean up,” Jameson told her. Which was a definite lie.
“I can’t believe I burned the potatoes. And dropped the cake. It was going to be such a beautiful cake too.” Okay, now she was mourning a cake.
“You can always make another cake,” Jack told her. He walked over and drew her against his chest in a gentle hug. She sighed. He was such a good guy. “And I think potatoes taste better when they’re a tad burned. Gives them a kick, you know?”