Page 444 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
“You’re not helping.”
Aleena hung up on me.
I left my phone on the bed and moved nervously to the door, which I opened halfway. Chadwick stood out in the hall, wearing a lopsided smile and the most casual clothes I’d ever seen him in: blue jeans and a dark green Henley. His hair was damp from a shower and a bit messy, and the bright pot lights in the hallway made his eyes more green than hazel.
“Morning.” His voice was gravelly, and it was probably the first word he’d spoken today. “I brought you some more comfortable clothes, if you prefer.” He held out a stack of neatly folded clothes, which I took. Then he hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m whipping up breakfast and making some coffee in the French press. Come down when you’re ready?”
“Um, sure. Yeah, I will.”
He turned to leave, spun back around, and nodded past me. “Feel free to have a shower, too. Everything you need should be in there.”
I looked over my shoulder toward the guest bath. Maybe I would freshen up and get rid of the smell of chlorine. “Thank you. I’ll be down soon.”
He left, and I stood under the glorious rain shower and used all the bath products that smelled like tea tree and lemon. When I finished, I changed into the loungewear he’d brought me and swept out of the guest room into the loft hallway on the second floor. The bedrooms were in the back of the house on the second floor, and a hallway with a railing made it easy to peer over the edge into the belly of the house down below.
In the kitchen, Chadwick stood over the stove. The radio was on, and two hosts spoke, but their voices were too muffled to make out what they were saying. Chadwick used a spatula in a pan, and I caught a whiff of cheese, sauteed onions, and eggs.
My stomach growled and my mouth watered.
Gripping the railing, I gave myself a pep talk.
You can stay for breakfast because he’s gone through a lot of trouble, but then you need to call a cab and get the heck out of here. Be polite, but don’t waste his time. Set a clear boundary that what happened last night won’t happen again.
Releasing the railing, I moved down the stairs and met Chadwick in the kitchen. The fireplace blazed in the living room and the whole place felt cozy and warm, but not uncomfortably so.
He heard me coming and smiled over his shoulder. “You made it. Coffee is ready. I put out milk and cream and sugar. I wasn’t sure how you take it.” He nodded toward his French press on the counter, surrounded by milk, cream, and even almond milk.
I made myself a cup, added a dash of sugar, and asked if there was anything I could do to help.
“Nope, I’ve got it,” he said. “Have a seat. It’ll be ready in two minutes.”
I sat down on one of the barstools tucked up against the kitchen island and watched him cook. “I had no idea you were good in the kitchen.”
“Mediocre is probably more accurate.”
“Mediocre is better than bad.”
He chuckled, and as I stared at his back while he cooked, I found myself wishing he didn’t look so damn good in his Henley. The fabric hugged his shoulders and biceps but fell away where his waist narrowed. His shoulder blades stood out prominently, and every movement he made shifted them, and I was unable to look away. I’d caught a brief glimpse of what lay beneath his clothes last night when he made the mad dash to the hot tub, and I could say with certainty that he had a delicious body.
Now that was something I never thought I would think about Chadwick Bamford.
As promised, Chadwick served me breakfast two minutes later: an omelette with a side of salsa and a piece of toast.
He cut a piece of omelette, put it on his toast, and bit it off. After he swallowed, he said, “I don’t know if Bamford Office Towers has ever closed except on Christmas and New Year’s Day. Kind of wild, isn’t it? At least there weren’t any important events on the calendar Naughty Santa and his elf needed to attend.”
I grumbled. “I had plans to get all my Christmas shopping done today. I’m kind of starting to worry I won’t have enough time to get everything finished.”
He sipped his coffee. “Who do you buy for?”
“My kid cousins, close friends, and my boss.”
He gave me a sheepish grin. “What are you going to get me?”
“Not a World’s Best Boss mug. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Ah, damn. How’d you know that’s what I wanted?”
Laughing, we finished our breakfast, and he proposed an idea to help me with my shopping list.
