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She still hasn’t opened her eyes the entire time.
Even I can’t work like this.
“Miss Lark,” I say pointedly. Surely, she must be awake by now.
She only gives back a sleepy exhalation and curls up, snuggling into me with her cheek rubbing my thigh.
The sound of soft skin against fine wool is damnably distracting.
The sensation even more so.
I grind my teeth.
“Miss Lark, up. Wake up.”
She doesn’t.
If anything, my words only push her deeper into sleep. Her lips curve up as she lets out a drowsy mumble.
“Daddy.”
“No.” My eyes widen. “I am not your father, woman.”
Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?
She still isn’t moving. I can’t prop the laptop on her head and press on with my work, can I?
Swallowing a growl, I close my computer, tuck it back in my bag, and then settle in to look out the window. Somehow, I must endure this until I can hand this impertinent brat with no boundaries off to someone who can help her annoy the rest of the world.
I catch Rick watching in the rearview mirror with clear amusement and bare my teeth.
“Not one word,” I bite off. “Drive.”
“Of course, sir.”
He tries not to smile.
He fails miserably.
That was three words, when I said not one.
What the fuck ever.
Grumbling to myself, I glare out the window, trying like hell not to breathe in her sweetness. She’s wearing some scent that’s floral and sweet like apples.
I try my damnedest to ignore the soft bundle of woman in my lap while I watch morning struggling to break through a light rain in golden sheets over the hills of Seattle.
III
BE MY SUNSHINE
(ELLE)
I was having the nicest dream.
My parents were actually home for Christmas. Dad wasn’t staying overseas at one of his company’s corporate offices handling trade negotiations. Mom wasn’t in her city of the month as a traveling nurse. We were at our old house in Laurelhurst, almost as cozy as my grandmother’s cottage on Queen Anne Hill.
Gran was there, too, of course.
