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My cheeks heated until my face glowed like a Christmas bauble. I blinked at him. “Oh. Cuffs. Right. Yes, they could use a little length,” I whispered.
“Noted.” He nodded briskly, but his eyes remained on my face as he turned, and disappeared into the shop while I crouched beside his filthy alpaca and thought dirty thoughts.
CHAPTER THREE
FORD
Coming back to NewYork City was a calamity. I towel dried Pickles from his bath–thank God for whoever invented shower hoses–and led him cautiously off the tiles to his corner of the room where his newspaper was spread over a square three feet. Fortunately alpacas tended to keep their poop in a pile, else convincing the staff downstairs and letting them hold one of my credit cards on file would have been a whole lot harder.
Pickle’s head disappeared into his freshly filled bucket and he snuffled away at the feed, his honks echoing from the inside of the red plastic.
“At least you’re clean.” I shucked the ruined shirt from my shoulders and tossed it into the bathroom. Mud splattered everywhere, and I knew I’d have to leave a hell of a tip for the poor cleaner in the morning.
A hot shower washed away the muck I fell into. There was no hiding the horror on the tailor’s face when I walked back into his shop wearing the street’s mud on my front, but thankfully he had enough stock to fix the problem–and my slacks’ cuffs.
Nisha promised to collect the items for me as soon as they were ready, barely holding in her giggles as she delivered us back to the front of the Plaza Hotel.
I tipped the doorman discreetly, giving Nisha a quick wave, though I couldn’t tear my gaze from her face as she chatted cheerily with the hotel staff as Pickles led me inelegantly through the turnstile doors, dripping all over the freshly cleaned carpet in the foyer.
I followed his lead, wondering if Nisha was always so friendly with everyone. The girl seemed to have a bottomless pit of cheer ready on hand, but I couldn't shake the memory of the way she looked at me with my filthy, open shirt plastered to my body.
Avoiding the pre-wedding prep with an excuse of jet lag though I arrived weeks earlier for my stud tour with my boy tribe of alpacas seemed like a great idea. Right up until I realised how much of a hell spending days with the cute, quirky and whirlwind of a girl would be.
Becausecute as a buttondidn’t come close to covering the flush of heat that deluged me whenever I swept my gaze over Nisha’s dark hair tucked into her beanie, or the reflected Christmas lights dancing in her eyes.
Or how my body reacted to that look she gave me when her gaze ran up my snow-mucked torso.
Part of me wanted to count down the days til I could say goodbye.
The other half wanted to find out how she spent her Christmas, and if she wanted to come halfway across the globe to find out how I spent mine.
