One More for Christmas(52)

“Who? Dad?” Ellie sat up and curled her legs under her on the bed. “Sometimes. Do you?”

Samantha put her laptop onto the small desk by the window. “Sometimes.” In fact she thought of him often. She imagined the relationship she might have had with him. “I wonder what he was like.”

“Mom obviously thought he was incredible because she has never contemplated a relationship since. Maybe being here will encourage her to talk about him. Maybe she’ll even manage to find a photograph. Your room is gorgeous, too.” Ella reached across the bed to the nightstand and picked up the book Samantha had unpacked. “One Night with the Laird? Is that wishful thinking?” She gave a wicked grin and flopped onto the bed, reading the back of the book and then scanning the first page.

Samantha gritted her teeth. “Can I have that back?”

“Definitely not.” Ella rolled away as Samantha tried to grab it. “‘Her kiss was fierce and urgent, sweeping away any polite preliminaries, demanding a response.’” She glanced up. “I like this heroine. She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it. On the other hand, she’s hiding who she really is. Emotionally guarded. Reminds me a little of you.”

“Ella—”

“‘She untied the ribbon of her cloak and allowed it to fall.’ Clothes were so much more seductive in those days, weren’t they? It isn’t easy wriggling out of skinny jeans. Maybe I should start wearing a cloak. ‘She ripped the shirt from him—’” Ella flicked the page. “This is good. And hot. I want to be this woman.”

“It’s a book, Ella.”

“So? The emotions are real enough. He wants her. She wants him. Mutual passion right there on the page. It happens.”

“People don’t rip each other’s clothes off in real life. Not in a romantic way.”

“Sometimes they do. Michael ripped my shirt off once. Weirdly enough Tab found one of the buttons in the living room the other day when she was crawling around the apartment, which probably says a lot about my cleaning skills. Don’t tell Mom, although a lack of domestic ability is probably the one thing that wouldn’t bother her.”

“In the living room?”

“Yes. We didn’t make it to the bedroom.”

Her sister’s casual confession made her feel a little strange. Kyle had never ripped her clothes in his haste for intimacy. They’d always undressed themselves. He’d carefully hung up his clothing before joining her in the bedroom. They’d never resorted to having sex in the living room. Never had sex in the kitchen, or on the stairs, or in any other room other than the bedroom. The prelude to sex had all the excitement of unwrapping a gift when you already knew what was inside.

“Michael did that?” Why was she asking? Much as she liked him, she wasn’t sure she wanted that much detail about her brother-in-law.

“Yes. He’d been out of town for a week and we were both a bit—desperate.” Ella shrugged, not remotely embarrassed. “You know—when you don’t want to wait.”

Samantha didn’t know. And she badly wanted to. She’d always told herself that type of urgency only happened in novels, but here was her sister telling her it happened in real life.

Maybe she just wasn’t the type of woman men wanted to unwrap.

“He—ripped your shirt?”

“To be fair it was a particularly annoying shirt. I struggled with the buttons myself, so it was probably more impatience than lust, but still—” Ella was still absorbed by the book. “Can I borrow this when you’re done? I’m starting to think I might want a night with the laird. And you definitely need a night with the laird. Do you think he keeps his glasses on when he makes love? They make him look incredibly sexy.”

There was a tap on the door and they both turned to see Brodie standing there.

Ella gave him a bright, unapologetic smile, but Samantha felt color rush into her cheeks.

Had he heard? Yes, probably. It seemed she was destined to be permanently embarrassed in front of this man.

He glanced briefly at Ella. “Just checking you have everything you need?” He didn’t look at Samantha, which made her think he’d definitely heard.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she packed Dickens, or War and Peace? When she’d tucked the book into her luggage, she hadn’t thought anyone would see it but herself. She couldn’t imagine ever being without a book, and the romances she loved were perfect for escape and relaxation. She’d figured that spending Christmas with her mother would mean she needed both in spades.

What if her mother had seen the book? She could just imagine the reaction.

I can’t believe you’re filling your head with romantic nonsense.

And yet her mother was here, back in Scotland where she’d spent her honeymoon, so at some point in her life, presumably she’d believed in romance.

Samantha lifted her chin, refusing to apologize for her reading choices. “We’re fine, thank you.”

“The only thing we seem to be missing is a sexy laird in a kilt ready to sweep us away into the heather. Do you have one available through room service?” A grinning, unrepentant Ella sprang from the bed, the book still in her hand. “Samantha has been conducting some in-depth research on the mating practices of the local population.”