“I made you breakfast,” he blurts out. “Also coffee with some kind of candy cane creamer from the grocery store, which, given the expiry date issevenmonths from now, is definitely not a real dairy product.”
“I think I found the type of Christmas person who scares me even more than the marathon runners.” I rub the sleepies from my eyes and slowly sit up, adjusting the fit of his T-shirt over my shoulders. After working through a loud and long yawn, I say, “The whole point of Christmas is to relax, which includes staying in bed as late as you want.”
“If that’s not the sign of an only child, I don’t know what is.” With a rather convincing pouty look, he manages to lure me from the warmth of his bed. And I’m begrudgingly dragging my bare feet across his wooden floorboards as he continues to yammer on. “In my house, the presents would’ve all been stolen, with the exception of my new underwear and socks, and breakfast demolished by this time in the morning.”
“But there are no presents under this tree, and the only one who might steal our food is Half-Pint.”
He holds my hands down the stairs, probably assuming I’m too sleep-deprived to function. A valid assumption, given we were up until well past two a.m. alternating between talking about past holiday memories and having slow, luxurious sex to make up for earlier.
“She already had her own piece of French toast, so she better not.”
Something flutters in my chest. “You made her Christmas breakfast?”
“No.” He glances over his shoulder at me as we walk into the kitchen, which is heavily scented with cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar and wood fire. And Half-Pint is sitting next to a tea saucer on the floor, staring us down as she licks her tiny lips.
“I didn’t make her breakfast”—Lucas crouches to pick up the saucer, fast enough that Half-Pint’s incoming open paw barely misses his forearm—“I was simply making a sacrifice to the demon spawn. Something to keep her from murdering me in my sleep. Cats do that, you know.”
I hide a breathy laugh behind my fist, sinking down into a chair at the table. He really wasn’t kidding about having a full breakfast prepared. Bacon, sausage, eggs, French toast, fresh fruit, and a steaming mug of coffee.
“Wow… What time did you get up to do all this?” I bend to pet Half-Pint, who’s weaving around my legs, rubbing her head over my ankles.
“Six a.m.” He drops a couple pieces of bacon onto my plate then his own.
“What the fuck?” My jaw drops at the thought of this man getting no more than three hours of sleep before making me a gourmet meal. “Lucas, I seriously did not need all of this.”
“You’re trusting me to give you a movie-worthy experience on your favourite no-pants holiday. A massive feast to start off sounds like a good way to make that happen.”
“Speaking of which, why areyouwearing pants?” I gesture to his jeans—of all the pants,jeans?
“Because you look fucking hot in nothing but my T-shirt. It’s taking everything in me not to slip my hands underneath, grab hold of your hips, and pull you into my lap.” He bites his lip, blowing out an exasperated exhale. It really is hard on him. “On the other hand, I would look like a knock-off Winnie the Pooh.”
I reach for my coffee. “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”
“Oh, believe me. I took a look in the mirror this morning.” He pulls a disgusted face. “I’ll lose the pants when the moment calls for it—not a second sooner. How’s breakfast?”
“This is definitely better than the cookies and creme breakfast cereal I brought along with me to eat today. Honestly, I think this might be a five-star stay, Mr. McKinney.”
I can’t help but notice his attempt at discretion as he slips a tiny piece of bacon underneath the table.
“Who knew I’d have such a hardass for a first guest. If you’re waffling between this being worth five stars or not, I’d hate to see what you rate other places.”
I shake my fork pointedly at him. “Waffles.That’s it.That would definitely bump it to five stars. Fuck, I love a continental breakfast with one of those make-your-own-waffle machines.”
I chew the piece of French toast that’s been parading through the air for the past thirty seconds.
“The thing is, after what you did to my soup pot, I’m a little uneasy about the idea of you and a waffle maker.”
“The waffle is done so fast, there’s no time for me to get too involved in drawing monster smut. That truly is my downfall. I’m just a girl, and I lose my head a bit when orcs are involved.” My cheeks light on fire, and I awkwardly brush a strand of nothing away from my face.
Expectedly, Lucas laughs. But not in the way guys have laughed about my passion when I tell them on dates—not that I’ve ever mentionedorcson dates. Usually, the casual conversation about illustrating book covers for romance novels is enough for them to deem it unworthy of dedicating so much time to.
Fuck those guys.
“Once again asking to see your artwork.” Lucas takes a slow sip of coffee. “Given what I’ve seen so far, you might put me on to monster porn somehow.”
“Okay…” Biting back a smile, I do my best to hide the nerves with a curt nod. “After breakfast I can show you some things I’ve worked on.”
“Good girl,” he says in a low growl, knowingexactlywhat the hell he’s doing.
