4. Alistair
ALISTAIR
The rainfall shower had to be one of the most brilliant inventions of the modern era.
I groaned, throwing my head back, letting all thoughts of winter storms and late-night doggy door trespassers seep from my mind. Instead, I focused on the spa-like feeling of hot water cascading over my body, loosening cramps and breathing life into my muscles.
I still wasn’t fully awake yet, but as far as mornings went, showering beneath a rainfall was my favorite way to start the day. I’d argue it was better than sex. Not that I was getting any.
Truthfully, it was this shower that had actually sold me on the property. That and the fact there was no one around for miles.
Or, well, there wasn’t supposed to be. But of course Madison had to careen into a ditch right in front of the estate. And of course she was distractingly easy on the eyes.
No…don’t go there.
Let the water take you away, I told myself. Let it pull you into a blissfully steamy world where no intruders with yappy little dogs exist.
Ah, yes. That was better. That was the calm I needed.
It had been a long night of last-minute gift wrapping—and guzzling cookies and milk so I could leave the empty plate and glass for Kenna to find. And that was only after having to put Kenna to bed for a second time—thanks to that four-legged nuisance.
But none of that mattered right now.
Because I was feeling loose and limber and relaxed as I scrubbed the shampoo from my hair. And maybe that was why it took me so damn long to realize the sharp ringing sound I could hear wasn’t coming from inside my own head.
It was the goddamn smoke alarm.
My eyes snapped open. There was a fire in the house.
Kenna!
I threw the glass door open with so much force I thought it would shatter, grabbing a towel and hooking it around my waist as I raced down the hall. I practically leaped down the flight of stairs like some sort of jungle cat as I followed the acrid smell of smoke.
I burst into the kitchen, the water in my hair and the rivulets sluicing down my chest turning icy, causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. “What the bloody hell is going on?” I demanded over the wail of the alarm.
Madison stood at the range, wafting smoke out of her face as she prodded at a cast iron pan with a giant spatula.
Princess danced at her feet, barking and whining incessantly in a way that was almost worse than the alarm.
When the dog noticed me, she bared those tiny teeth.
I ignored her, my eyes darting back and forth, my lip curling back in disgust. There was flour and batter and bowls and kitchen utensils covering every inch of the island from one end to the other.
And it was a big island.
Madison coughed and turned to me, mouth open to explain. Then she actually looked at my still-wet, practically naked body in the middle of the kitchen, and the only thing that came out of her mouth was gaaahh.
That wasn’t the explanation I wanted. “Well?”
“Er, um…” She flushed darker and darker as her eyes danced over me, lingering on that towel slung low around my hips. Her face went so red I could have cooked an egg on it. “I was trying to, well…”
“Yes?” I said, waiting for her to spit it out.
She finally managed to tear her eyes away and retrieved something that resembled a brick from the frying pan. The thing was so blackened it looked like it had been cooked inside a volcano.
“What is that?” I asked, horrified.
“It’s supposed to be french toast,” she said, a little disappointed. “It’s what my family always had for breakfast on Christmas morning when I was growing up.”
“It looks like a biohazard.”
She gave me a flat, unimpressed look over her shoulder. “Well, despite you being the picture of charm last night,” she muttered sarcastically. “I thought I should still do something to thank you for letting me stay.”
“So instead of simply trespassing in my home, you’re now trying to burn it down?” I quipped.
Madison sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, her posture tightening. The piece of charbroiled toast slipped from the spatula, landing on the floor with an alarming thunk. “Princess, no!” she cried, diving after the toast. “Don’t eat that.”
While she wrestled the world’s most toxic toast from the Yorkie, I grabbed a dish towel from the counter and wafted it beneath the smoke alarm, trying to get the racket to stop.
A shrieking alarm was not how I wanted Kenna to start her Christmas morning.
I could only hope she was sleeping hard enough that she hadn’t heard it.
It was still wailing like a banshee, and I gritted my teeth, stretching up on my toes to get closer to the sensor.
When it finally turned off, I returned the dish towel to the counter.
I glanced over at Madison to find her staring at me—or, more specifically, at my towel—like she was hoping it might just spontaneously slip off my hips.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, her gaze lost somewhere in thought as she clutched the blackened toast in her hand.
A smirk curled across my face. I couldn’t help preening a little, in spite of myself, at the way she couldn’t tear her eyes away from my body.
It didn’t mean I liked her or wanted her to be attracted to me.
But I was still a man, and it was a little nice to have the results of my workout regime appreciated by a beautiful woman.
Because despite being the most infuriating woman I’d ever met, I had to admit she was most definitely a beautiful woman.
I cleared my throat, ignoring the heat in my chest. If nothing else, I was glad I hadn’t completely let myself go during the stress of the trial last year.
“How many pieces do you want?” Madison asked, bringing my thoughts crashing back to reality.
“I hope you don’t actually expect us to eat that,” I said to her.
“Well, obviously not that first piece,” she said, getting snippy. “It’s these fancy UK appliances that have me all tripped up.”
“It’s a gas range,” I said, inching a little closer to the hob to make sure it was off. “They also have those in America. It’s not rocket science.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically, her entire head moving. “Excuse me for having a regular old electric stove in my apartment. Not all of us are gas range experts.”
“I’m not claiming to be an expert myself—I usually let our housekeeper deal with the meals. But I think I still know enough to tell when something has finished cooking.”
“Maybe she can show me how it works,” Madison remarked, ignoring my jab.
“She won’t be in today,” I said. Florence had texted me right before I’d gotten in the shower to let me know. “She said the road out to the estate is almost impassable.”
Madison’s face fell, her shoulders sagging with disappointment. “I’ve avoided looking out the windows this morning for that exact reason. I was hoping for a Christmas miracle.”
Well, I hadn’t avoided it, and I’d immediately known the snow was far too deep for my car to maneuver, so there was no way I was getting her to town until a gritter came through.
But that was a later concern. Right now, I was more alarmed by the mess she’d made.
Without Florence, this was a distinctly me problem, and I grimaced.
“Exactly how many bowls does it take to dip a piece of bread into some egg?”
Madison crossed her arms. “The polite thing to say would be thank you.”
“For nearly burning down my house? Not sure why you’d expect me to be grateful for that.” I took hold of the towel around my waist, feeling the material slip. “Just don’t touch anything else until I come back down. I’m going to change.”
“You said you didn’t know how to work the appliances,” Madison pointed out.
“I said I wasn’t an expert,” I clarified. “But I do have some idea of how to use them. And you certainly can’t be trusted with them alone.”
She huffed, shaking her head, and the end of her ponytail brushed my bare skin.
Only then did I realize how close we were actually standing.
All she had to do was tip forward and she’d be leaning against my chest, those puckered pink lips pressed to my sternum.
Those curling blonde eyelashes fluttering against my pecs.
A flash of heat rippled through me. I fought it off, watching as her green eyes tracked up my body.
Her hand twitched, almost like she meant to brush her fingers across my abs, then she curled her hand back with the speed of a viper.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’re dripping all over the place.”
“I could hear the alarm from the shower. I didn’t exactly have time to dry off,” I muttered before turning on my heel and marching out of the kitchen. Ten minutes later, I was back, clad in jeans and a jumper.
“I will man the hob,” I said the moment Madison opened her mouth to try to give me orders.
She frowned. “Why do you get to be in charge of the stove?”
“Man discovered fire. It’s the natural order of things.”
“Are you sure you want that to be your answer?”
I smirked, a bit pleased at riling her up after she set off the smoke alarm.
She shook her head, but I detected the tiniest of smiles before she said, “You also discovered mullets and socks with sandals, so that’s not saying much.” She dipped a piece of bread into the egg mixture, then dropped the soggy mess into the hot pan. It sizzled. “Don’t let it burn.”
“My attention to detail is flawless.”
“If that was true, you’d have noticed the hole in your sweater.”
I glanced down, running my hand over my jumper. There was no hole.
“Made you look,” Madison quipped. “Now focus on your task. We only have a finite amount of bread.”
I flipped the toast, revealing a nice golden-brown color. “Ha!” I said. It had turned out better than I’d expected. “Apparently the trick is to ignore the woman yattering in your ear.”
She bristled next to me, then a dangerous grin tugged at her lips. “Just for that, I’m going to add a few extra ingredients to your eggs.”
“Don’t you dare.” I narrowed my eyes, watching her every move as she dipped the next pieces of bread, my skin prickling at her smug expression.
“It’s Christmas!” a voice cried, drawing my attention.
Kenna raced into the kitchen, still in her pajamas. As always, I couldn’t help but smile at her. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
“Princess, you’re here!” she announced, clearly thrilled to be reunited with that tiny terror.
I tried not to be miffed that she’d run right to the dog for a hug instead of into my waiting arms. She giggled as Princess licked her chin.
I couldn’t help noticing Madison smile at her from across the island.
She had a gorgeous, sunshiney smile, not that I’d ever tell her.
Not that it mattered.
When Kenna was done being greeted by Princess, she climbed onto a stool next to Madison. “Is this breakfast? Aren’t we going to Uncle Weston’s?”
“We’re snowed in,” I told her.
“How do you feel about french toast?” Madison asked as she plopped the next piece of bread into the frying pan. I kept the spatula at the ready.
“I love it!” Kenna said.
I wasn’t sure that was true, but she seemed delighted by both the food and the reunion with Princess. Which was a relief, honestly. I’d worried that not being able to go to Weston’s would spoil the morning for her since she adored spending time with Aisling, Weston’s adopted daughter.
“Daddy!” Kenna cried suddenly, looking alarmed as she stared down at the piece of ruined toast from earlier. “Santa brought you coal!” Her little face contorted, fat tears welling in her eyes. “Were you bad?”
Madison made a sound like a choked laugh. “That’s not an unreasonable assumption,” she murmured.
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” I said, abandoning my post to focus on my daughter. “That’s just how Americans cook. See, it’s just a little burned.”
“That looks a lot burned,” Kenna said, her lower lip wobbling.
“You’re right,” I agreed, pulling her into my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck, sniffling into my shoulder. “How about we eat some of the not burned toast? Then you can call Aisling and wish her a Merry Christmas.”
“Okay!” Kenna perked up and settled back on her stool as I dished her up a plate of french toast and berries from the fridge.
I settled in next to her with my own plate.
With the hob safely off, Madison joined us, and despite the awkward silence we lapsed into, I couldn’t help noticing the small smiles Kenna kept flashing her. She seemed very pleased to have guests.
“What’s Princess going to eat?” Kenna asked, suddenly very concerned.
“I have some of her food in my bag,” Madison said. “She likes liver and kibbles.”
Kenna giggled and wrinkled her nose. “That’s yucky.”
“Princess thinks it’s delicious.”
Kenna stared down at the dog who’d been annoyingly pawing at my heels for the last two minutes, probably hoping I’d drop a hunk of french toast. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. As Madison had said, the bread was finite until the roads were clear.
“Done!” Kenna announced, pushing her plate away and turning those big, blue eyes on me. “Now can I open presents?”
I looked at the still-full plate. “A few more bites,” I said, trying to reason with her. She pouted at me.
“You’re going to need energy to do all that unwrapping,” Madison said.
Kenna considered this for a moment before accepting the logic and stuffing another wad of french toast into her mouth. “Done!” she said with crumbs dribbling down her chin. “Can Princess come open presents too?”
I stiffened. What a horrible idea. It was bad enough that I’d had to put up with them since last night. “I don’t think—”
“Princess loves presents,” Madison said, cutting me off.
I shot her a glare over Kenna’s head. She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Your move.
“Daddy, please!” Kenna said, folding her hands together, giving me that pout I was seldom able to resist. “I want to show Princess what Santa brought me.”
“Fine,” I bit out.
Princess yipped as Madison met my stare over the rim of her water glass. Her lips twisted, entirely too pleased with herself.
I bit down on my french toast. Hard. This wasn’t about presents.
Madison thought she could play games with me. But this was my house, and she’d forgotten we were playing by my rules, and I didn’t lose.