Page 33 of Wrapped Up with the Three Scrooges

As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that somewhere in this Christmas-free zone, there was at least one person who understood a little about holiday magic.

I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in weeks. Stretching languidly in the cloud-like bed, I realized I hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep since... well, since before I caught Josh stuffing someone else’s stocking.

The bedside clock read 6:30 AM. Usually, I’d hit snooze at least three times, but something about the peaceful quiet of morning in this ridiculous mansion-compound-not-compound made me want to explore.

I slipped on my fuzzy penguin slippers—because nothing says totally professional temporary houseguest like waddling around in novelty footwear—and shuffled toward the common area. The smell of bacon hit me before I rounded the corner, making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

And then I stopped dead in my tracks.

Max stood at the stove, wearing only low-slung sweatpants (gray ones, of course), his back a canvas of intricate tattoos that disappeared temptingly beneath his waistband. I’d seen attractive men before, but this was art. Living, breathing, bacon-cooking art.

“Morning,” he said without turning around, and I nearly jumped out of my penguin slippers.

“Hi! I wasn’t... I mean, I was...”Smooth, Emery. Real smooth.“I smelled bacon?”

He turned then, and sweet baby Jesus, the front view was even better than the back. The tattoos continued across his chest and down his arms, and I forced my eyes up to his face before I could follow them any lower.

However, his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. They dropped briefly to my chest and then snapped back up.

Oh God. I glanced down and remembered I was wearing my old sleep shirt with no bra.Fantastic. Nothing like giving your hot boss a free show at 6:30 in the morning.

“Coffee?” Max offered, his voice slightly rougher than before as he turned back to the stove.

“Yes, please.” I crossed my arms over my chest and perched on one of the kitchen island barstools. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast.”

“You’re not.” He poured me a mug of coffee and slid it across the counter. “We don’t have any creamer; do you want sugar or milk?”

“This is fine.” I rarely drank my coffee black. I was more of a turn my coffee into dessert kind of girl, but in a pinch I could manage. The rich aroma alone was enough to make my brain cells fire, even if my taste buds were silently protesting the lack of hazelnut creamer.

“Are you hungry? I always make too much.” Why was his voice so incredibly sexy? The sizzling bacon was definitely not helping my ability to think straight.

My stomach answered for me with another growl. “That would be amazing, but only if you’re sure.”

He nodded and started cracking eggs into a bowl. We fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sizzle of bacon and the whisking of eggs.

After a few sips of perfectly brewed coffee, I cleared my throat. “I wanted to check that you’re okay with me staying here for a few days. I know Ronan kind of sprung it on everyone...”

Max paused in his cooking to look at me, his expression unreadable. “We wouldn’t have agreed if we weren’t okay with it.”

“We? You all discussed it?”

“Ronan texted us last night.” He plated some bacon and stirred the eggs. “None of us liked the idea of you staying somewhere unsafe.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I protested weakly, though the memory of last night’s police raid suggested otherwise.

Max gave me a look that clearly said ‘really?’ as he slid a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t great.” I picked up my fork. “But this is temporary. Just until I find something else.”

He made a noncommittal sound and turned back to make his own plate. I tried very hard not to watch the way his back muscles moved, but honestly, it was like trying not to look at a sunrise, technically possible, but why would you want to?

Get it together.You can’t ogle all your bosses.

But as Max grabbed some cut fruit from the refrigerator and settled onto the stool next to me with his own breakfast, still gloriously shirtless, I had to admit, this temporary arrangement might be more challenging than I’d anticipated.

Chapter Sixteen

Max

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