Page 497 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
“You should be warned,” I said, “that I had a very bad day and my house is, well, kind of a disaster.”
“I don’t care.”
“Just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”
“Go to my head?”
I opened the door and we stepped inside. My tree was lit, but it was the only light on—thank goodness. Used tissues littered my coffee table and living-room floor. A bowl of uneaten cereal sat beside a glass of orange juice. Pillows were strewn about the floor, which I had used to sob into this afternoon.
Chadwick’s eyebrows rose.
“Don’t say a word,” I said.
“How many tissues did you use?” he asked incredulously.
“I said don’t say a word!”
He gave me a cocky smirk. “Wow, you were really going to have a hard time getting over me, huh?”
I groaned, grabbed his scarf again, and dragged him toward the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t make me regret taking you back.”
He gathered me up in his arms. “Baby, I’m about to make you feel so good there isn’t any room for regrets.”
My body thrummed with excitement and blood rushed to all the right places. “Put your money where your mouth is.”
“Oh,” he grinned, “I know exactly where I want to put my mouth.”
CHAPTER 36
CHADWICK
Tinsely laughed as I smacked her ass and chased her up the stairs.
She spun to face me halfway up with red cheeks and wild hair, and wagged a finger at me. “You’d better behave, mister.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll have to put you on the Naughty List,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.
I moved up one stair. “I am the Naughty List.”
She bit her bottom lip. “You’re bad.”
“I can be so much worse.”
“I know, I’ve worked with you for ten years.”
I reached for her, but she leapt back with a squeal and darted up several more stairs. I caught the waistband of her reindeer-printed pajama pants. She strained to escape, dropping to her knees and attempting to crawl the rest of the way up the stairs while we drowned in our own laughter.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” I said.
Tinsely stuck her tongue out at me over her shoulder.
I dragged her down two steps. She squirmed, but there was no real fight in her. She wanted me to catch her—wanted me to tear her pajama pants right off her legs, rip the seam, tear the waistband, abandon it all on the step under my feet.
Which I did.
“I liked those pajama pants,” she pouted as I pinned her on the stair above me with her hands over her head.
