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“No, Garrett was fine with it,” he was saying. “As he should be. I haven’t asked for time off for months.”

Claire didn’t want to admit how much she liked his accent. It was thicker than Tasha’s, and his deep, smooth tone made his proper wording stand out even more, like he was one of those guys in the Regency novels she obsessed over.

Not that she was obsessed with his accent or anything. She liked Tasha’s, too, just as equally. Really.

As Claire reached the bottom step, her arrival was announced by a loud creak that startled her from her thoughts.

“Claire?” Melody’s voice called from down the hallway. “Is that you? We’re in the kitchen.”

“Coming.” Claire smoothed out her hair and straightened the hem of her shirt as she walked down the hall and joined the others in the kitchen.

Melody popped four slices of Warburton’s white bread in the toaster as Tasha stood by the stove, every burner occupied with bacon and sausages, fried eggs and tomatoes, hash browns, and baked beans.

Liam was leaning over the table, placing butter and marmalade in the center of the four place settings. He was the first to spot Claire, his dark eyes settling on her with a piercing gaze. It lingered for a moment, looking her up and down, then he glanced away without a word.

Claire frowned. Well, his good mood from last night had clearly vanished. Was he trying to intimidate her by looking less than impressed with her appearance?

“Finally,” Melody said, turning to Claire with an exaggerated look of exasperation. “We’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

“We have not,” Tasha denied at once, shaking her head in amusement at her niece. She shot Claire a compassionate look from where she stirred the baked beans. “Even if that were true, you could have slept for longer. You deserve it after last night.”

Claire glanced at Liam. He swiftly pulled his attention away from her again, focusing instead on the fridge as he leaned against the counter, tucking his hands in his pockets. The ridges in his forearms shifted back and forth as he tapped his thumbs against his pants.

“Can I help with anything?” Claire asked, tearing her eyes away from Liam’s arms and taking a step closer to the table.

“Will you get the orange juice from the fridge, please?” Tasha instructed. “Other than that, we’re just about ready here.”

Claire sidestepped the others in the modest kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Liam as she made her way to the fridge and pulled out the juice.

“Do you need the eggs any longer, Mum?”

Mum. How adorable was that? Wait, no. This guy wasn’t adorable. He was a pill.

“You can put them away now,” Tasha responded, plating the food with Melody.

Liam pushed away from the counter and retrieved the eggs behind him, turning toward the fridge just as Claire walked away.

As she sidled past him, she kept her gaze trained ahead, but his smooth voice made her pause.

“No Mando this morning?” he whispered, motioning down to her shirt. Though his lips remained still, his dark eyes smiled. How did he even manage that?

She glanced up at him, reminded once again how tall he was. “I don’t wear pajamas in public.”

“But you’re fine wearing them in a stranger’s bed?”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as hot as the suns of Tatooine. Apparently, her blush was assuming permanent residency on her face whenever Liam was nearby.

“I didn’t know…” But her words refused to formulate as amusement danced in his dark, sugar plum eyes.

She drew a calming breath. She would not be goaded into being embarrassed around him any longer.

“It’s alright,” he said, finally walking past her. “They were nothing I haven’t seen before.” His voice dropped even lower. “I believe my six-year-old godson has the same pair.”

What. A. Jerk.

Claire scowled after him as he walked away. He took his annoyingly delightful accent with him but left his equally-annoyingly delightful cologne behind. It didn’t smell that good. It was just like all the other scents that caused a woman to envision a man with rippling muscles chopping down a Christmas tree in one fell swing.

Of course, a man who smelled as good as that could still stink of egotism and spite—which, apparently, were two things this guy had in abundance.