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I choose a pair of designer jeans with rhinestones decorating the backside. I’ve never worn anything so flashy, but it’s fun, like playing dress-up. After tossing the pants on the bed, I choose a crushed red velvet, long-sleeved, V-neck shirt. Maybe it’s too sexy, but I don’t care. Maybe I want Scar to think I’m sexier than I really am. I don’t know why I want that. I should be running away from him. He’s clearly broken in more ways than one. No one has nightmares as intense as his unless something really terrible happened. I have a feeling that whatever he went through might be more than I could bear to hear. Still, I want to get to know him better. And if I’m being honest, I want him to yearn for me as much as I yearn for him.

I lay the shirt next to the jeans before heading to the dresser. It’s full of high-end lingerie, stuff I’d never be able to afford. None of the silky, satiny, lacy bras and panties have price tags, thank God. This stuff probably costs more than I make in a month. It’s too much. Nina’s far too generous. I’m definitely bringing everything back. Well, maybe I’ll keep the lingerie.

It takes me forever to choose, but I finally settle on a powder pink silk bra with ivory lace. The matching panties are skimpier than anything I normally wear. I don’t have anyone in my life who would appreciate seeing me in sexy underwear, so there’s no point in spending what little money I have on things I can’t afford. I typically get my bras and panties in six-packs at Walmart. This lingerie set is positively decadent in comparison, and I feel like I should be on stage at the Moulin Rouge.

I slip into the lingerie, then remember that Max’s mom is in Paris. I check my phone. No calls or emails yet. I hope she gets in touch soon. The most obvious solution is to reunite Max with his mother. Even though she seemed spaced out during the trial, I know she cares about him. Maybe she’s still too jetlagged to get back to me. I’ll have to keep an eye on my phone, so I don’t miss her call.

After one last look in the mirror, I finish getting dressed. Something about knowing I’m wearing sexy undergarments puts an extra spring in my step. Maybe, after all of this is over, I’ll splurge on a fancy bra and panty set. I could always get a part-time job over the summer to pay for it.

I find Max, Scar, and Nina in the kitchen. Max smiles at me from the kitchen table while Scar completely ignores me and Nina busies herself at the stove.

“Check out the pancakes Grandma made!” Max cries.

“Oh, you shouldn’t call her that,” I say softly.

“She said I could,” he protests.

“All the kids call me ‘Grandma.’ I’m not worried about someone thinking I’m old. I may be fifty-five, but I’ve earned every one of those years, and I’m damn proud of them. Besides, I’m the only ‘grandma’ I know who still has the ass of a teenager.” Nina smirks and half-twists to show off her backside. I blush and look away. She’s not wrong.

The doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Scar says.

As he heads toward the door, I peek at his perfect butt. I want to kiss whoever invented jeans. He’s so damn sexy I can’t look away. All I can think about is the feral look in his eyes when he pinned me to the bed. He looked like he was going to eat me, but in the best way possible. I’m burning up with desire until he glances over his shoulder and glares at me.

Damn!I quickly avert my gaze.

“What can I get you for breakfast?” Nina asks, saving me from my lecherous thoughts.

“I don’t usually eat breakfast.” I sit on a stool by the island. Since she’s acting like nothing happened last night, I follow her lead. For Max’s sake, it’s better if we pretend everything’s fine. He doesn’t need to be exposed to any more stress. His pastel pink aura indicates happiness, and I want him to stay that way for as long as possible.

“It’s almost lunchtime, so consider this brunch. I have leftover pancake batter, eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and let’s see …” Nina opens the fridge.

“Just toast and coffee if you have it.”

“Oh, sweetie, allow me to indulge your wildest coffee fantasies.” She pulls a cupboard door open to reveal bags of organic, fair trade, single-origin coffee. I recognize several brands I could never afford. This really is a coffee lover’s fantasy.

“I might take my chances and permanently move in,” I say wistfully, not realizing exactly what I said until Nina arches a brow at me.

“Permanently?” She cocks her head to one side.

“Um, I haven’t had caffeine yet. I don’t know what I’m saying,” I mumble, feeling like a complete idiot.

“I’ve been dying to break into a new bag of Black Ivory,” she says, still watching me.

“TheBlack Ivory? From Thailand?” I try to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“You know your beans.” She lets my earlier snafu go and retrieves a hand-grinder from another cupboard before pouring whole beans into it.

“It’s over a thousand dollars per pound.”

“At least,” Nina agrees. “I don’t mind paying for the best of everything. We all deserve a little pleasure now and again.”

To avoid thinking about Scar, I try to guess how much one cup of brewed Black Ivory would cost. The number is staggering. Even the most overpriced coffee chain doesn’t charge that much per cup.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Stop!” She uses her stern voice on me, the one she probably saves for misbehaving children, and I feel properly chastised on several levels.