Page 16 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Rowan

“It’s the last time I trust a weather report.”

He chuckles. “They did get it rather wrong, didn’t they?”

“Just a tad.”

He glances out the window. “It’s still snowing.”

He’s right. The snow is coming down as thick and fast as ever. It’s as if Mother Nature has decided to dump a decade’s worth of snow on us in one night.

“At least we’re trapped in a comfortable, roomy car,” I say.

“If only we had more blankets.”

“You can’t have everything.”

“Are you always a cup-half-full kind of guy?”

“Yup. Positivity is my middle name.”

He raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“All right, it’s not, but it might as well be.” I shiver again.

Concern flickers through his eyes and across his face, coupled with frustration. Is he thinking about ways we could keep warm while remaining professional? It would fit witheverything I know about him. How can I tell him I don’t care about being professional? I don’t care that he’s my sort-of boss. I just want him to put his arms around me and a whole lot more besides.

“It’s so cold,” I whisper, staring directly into his eyes. I hope mine are begging him to hold me, take care of me, and keep me warm.

“I wouldn’t want you getting so cold you get sick.”

“That would make for a miserable Christmas.” I keep my voice light and playful, my stare locked with his.

“That wouldn’t do.” His voice has become deeper. Huskier.

I’m sure our thoughts are careening in the same direction. Cuddling is the obvious solution. The only solution.

“We need to stay warm,” he says.

“We do, but how are we going to do that?”

Conflict plays across his face.

“Would it help if we agreed that what happens in the car, stays in the car?” I ask. “And that staying warm is the most important thing right now.”

He swallows. “I’m getting the impression you’re a bit of a brat.”

I raise my eyebrows and bat my lashes innocently. “Me?”

“Yes. A bratty boy.”

I’m a complete goner. “Boy, yes. Brat? Sometimes. I like to think of myself as playful rather than bratty.” I rake my teeth over my lower lip. “Do you like bratty boys?”

He half smiles. “Sometimes. As long as they’re nottoobratty.”

“You’re a Daddy then?” My voice comes out as an excited, slightly squeaky whisper.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“But we are. Are you a Daddy?”