Jill Shalvis - Holiday Hideout - The Thanksgiving Fix / The Christmas Set-Up / The New Year's Deal

He smiled. “That sounds like a line from ‘The Three Bears.’”

“You mean the story of Goldilocks, child vandal?” She lifted her head and propped it on her fist so she could look at him.

He laughed. “Guess so.”

“Now, I ask you, what sort of message does that send? Hey, kids, it’s okay to walk into a house uninvited, eat the food and break up the furniture before crawling into someone else’s bed.”

He combed her hair back from her face. “I take it you won’t be reading that story to your kids?”

“Not without some discussion, I won’t. Those bears should have pressed charges for breaking and entering.”

He brushed his knuckles over her soft cheek. She was exactly the sort of spirited woman he’d been looking for all his life…and she wanted nothing to do with a permanent relationship. “I certainly see your point. When you put it that way, Goldilocks isn’t quite so cute, is she?”

“Definitely not. And while we’re on the subject of damaging reading material, what about Hansel and Gretel? Their parents were going to kill them, so they ran away and got caught by a witch who planned to eat them. No wonder kids have nightmares!”

“I’m glad your kids won’t be exposed to that horrible stuff,” he said, partly to see how she’d react.

“That’s if I ever have any, which doesn’t seem likely. But if I did, I wouldn’t read them fairy tales without talking about the subtext.”

“Good for you.” He pulled her down for a quick kiss. At least she hadn’t proclaimed she’d never have kids. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick trip to the bathroom.”

“And I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

“Come to think of it, I am.” He hadn’t realized it until this very minute. “In fact, I’m starving. What have you got that we could cook up in a hurry?”

“Eggs.”

“Great—omelets.” He left the bed and headed for the bathroom.

“Can you make an omelet?” she called after him.

“No,” he called back. “Can you?”

“No. I thought all bachelors could whip up an omelet. They always do that in the movies.”

“Well, this isn’t a movie.”

“No kidding. Guess we’ll have to make do with scrambled. But I’m not very good at that, either.”

He chuckled. “Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes. We’ll figure this out together.” Damn, but he was having fun. Beth was good company, both in bed and out of it.

As he washed up and walked into the empty bedroom in search of his clothes, he thought about that. Without the pressure of a potential commitment, Beth was free to be totally herself. She could be as sexual as she wanted, rant about her least favorite fairy tales and admit she couldn’t make an omelet.

She was being totally honest with him. He felt a stab of guilt, because he wasn’t being totally honest with her. He’d allowed her to go on thinking they were a two-person army battling society’s preoccupation with marriage.

And at the moment he was AWOL from that army. Listening to Beth rummaging around in the cupboards, he couldn’t imagine anything nicer than sharing kitchen duties with her for the rest of his life.

But if he told her that, he’d risk destroying the easy camaraderie between them. She might even ask him to leave and he’d never see her again. He wasn’t sure he’d come away from that in one piece emotionally. What a mess. For now, he’d better keep his damn mouth shut.

WRAPPED IN HER FAVORITE white terry bathrobe, her sock-monkey slippers on her feet, Beth pulled out a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. It was also her only carton of eggs. If Mac was starving, most of them would soon be cracked into a frying pan, leaving her short for future breakfasts.

But after a romp like the one they’d just had, who cared? She’d worry about the food supply later. Maybe they’d have chips and dip for breakfast. She’d brought those, too, because she hardly ever allowed herself that kind of snack, and this long weekend had been about indulging her private pleasures. Little had she known…

Sex with Mac had been beyond incredible, the kind of sex she used to dream of having back in the days when she still thought Mr. Right would show up. Maybe that had been the problem. Two people couldn’t have great sex if they were both auditioning for a future partner. Because she and Mac were free of those expectations, they could simply enjoy each other.

Opening cupboard doors, which she now appreciated even more knowing Mac’s capable hands had done the refinishing, she located a medium-size bowl and a frying pan. The frying pan was stainless steel instead of nonstick, so she was probably already in trouble. In her limited experience, eggs had a nasty habit of sticking to the bottom of frying pans.

Maybe Mac was more skilled than she was in the kitchen. The chances were good, since almost anyone would be more skilled. She’d never been drawn to cooking, and working in hotel management allowed her to eat meals prepared by the chef she’d hired.

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