Holiday with the Millionaire

By: Scarlet Wilson

The glint remained in his eyes as they swept up and down her body and he lifted his hand to his head. ‘Ouch.’ He gave the back of his head an exaggerated rub. ‘I think one o’clock in the morning sounds a perfect time for a bacon-and-baked-bean sandwich. Hours past dinner and hours until breakfast.’

She pursed her lips. He was getting to her. He was definitely getting to her. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the guilt trip working or the rising tension she could feel in the air between them.

‘Fine.’ She turned around and flicked a few switches on the coffee machine. ‘What do you want to drink?’

He stared at the machine as his brow creased. She hid her smile. The first time she’d seen the coffee machine she had been bamboozled by it. It had taken a few attempts to finally get it right.

‘What does that do—make coffee or beam you up?’

‘Oh, if it could beam you up I’d press that button right away,’ she said smartly, as she walked back over to the fridge, pulled out the bacon and fired up the grill.

He folded his arms across his chest. He looked amused, maybe even intrigued by her sparky response. ‘So, now we’re getting to see the true you.’

‘As opposed to what?’

He laughed. ‘As opposed to the crazy ammunition-wielding giant pink teddy bear I met when I arrived.’

She glared at him as she put the bacon under the grill. ‘Let’s see.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘You’ve ruined my night. It seems like you’re going to interrupt the two weeks of sanctuary I was expecting to have here. You’ve insulted my favourite nightwear. Scared me half to death. Stolen my chocolate and blackmailed me into making you something to eat.’ She folded her arms back at him. ‘Why, Reuben, you’re my favourite person in the world right now.’

He shook his head at her tone. ‘I hope you’re not serious.’

She opened the cupboard and pulled out a tin of baked beans. ‘About which part?’

His cheeky smile reached from ear to ear. ‘About the favourite nightwear part. I’m hoping you’ve got something much more appropriate than that.’

Had he really just said that? He must have because tiny electric sparks were currently shooting down her spine and making her toes curl.

She opened the tin of beans, poured them into a bowl and started to nuke them in the microwave. ‘Why do I think you’re going to be a pain in the neck to have around?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You seem to have been hit with a sass attack. Exactly how much wine did you drink?’

‘Obviously not enough.’

‘Wow.’ Reuben mocked being hit in the chest and fell against the wall. ‘What’s happened to you?’

She shrugged. ‘I had an adrenaline surge when I thought someone was breaking in. You know, the old fight-or-flight thing. Then when the police arrived I started to panic.’ She turned the bacon over in the grill pan. ‘Both those things have left me now. It’s late. I planned on being asleep around an hour ago. Instead, I’m playing hostess in a kitchen that isn’t mine and plotting an elaborate lie to tell Caleb about his award.’

She stuck some bread in the toaster and walked back over to the coffee machine. ‘Now, pick your poison or learn how to work this yourself.’

He laughed and walked over next to her. ‘You know, the giant pink teddy bear is losing her appeal.’

‘That’s fine. I never wanted to be a cuddly toy.’ She pressed some buttons and coffee and milk steamed out of the coffee maker.

‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ he said quickly. He obviously didn’t want to miss out on the chance of coffee and would drink anything.

She made another latte, put the bacon on a plate on the middle of the kitchen island and lifted the steaming-hot bowl of baked beans from the microwave. The toast popped and she took the butter from the fridge and put everything down in front of him, handing him a plate and some cutlery and sitting at the other side of the island.

She could feel the intense brown eyes on her again. Part of her wondered what he was thinking. Part of her was too scared to even think that far.

He started buttering his toast. ‘I thought I asked for a sandwich.’ He kept buttering.

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