I didn’t have time to marvel that only weeks ago Detective Mitch Lawson was my unobtainable dream man next door and last night I’d slept in his bed with him. I didn’t have time to commit what just happened that morning to my memory banks. And I didn’t have time to remind myself where I fit and where Mitch fit in Mara World.
I had kids to take care of.
I slid to Mitch’s side of the bed, got up and went to the second bedroom. I saw both the kids had their book bags in that room as well as a small pile of clothes and other necessities. I grabbed some clothes for him and Billie, took them to the hall bathroom then went back, woke Billy and guided my sleepy cousin to the bathroom.
I had exited the hall and was moving into Mitch’s living room-kitchen-dining area when I realized I was wearing nothing but my nightie at the same time I realized that LaTanya and Bray didn’t bring over my robe.
I was about to turn on my heel and escape back into the bedroom to find something to put on when Mitch turned from hitting the buttons on the microwave and his eyes caught me. Then they instantly dropped to my nightie. This meant I instantly felt heat hit my face. It also meant my body instantly froze. And I also instantly froze because I was staring at Mitch, bare-chested in his kitchen. Once the vision of Mitch penetrated, part of my body unfroze and that was my knees which wobbled.
Crap!
“Cranberry juice tastes funny,” Billie noted, oblivious to Mitch and I staring at each other like we were in trances. She had taken her glass from her lips, leaving a cranberry juice mustache and wrinkling her nose at Mitch. She was sitting on the counter next to the stove over which was the microwave.
Mitch tore his eyes from my nightie and turned to Billie. “Maybe, gorgeous, but it’s good for you.”
“Why does everything that’s good for you taste funny?” She tipped her head and went on, “Or just tastes bad?”
“It doesn’t,” Mitch answered.
“Broccoli tastes bad,” Billie parried.
“Broccoli tastes good,” Mitch returned and Billie wrinkled her nose again.
“No it doesn’t,” she replied.
“It’s delicious,” Mitch stated.
Billie studied Mitch soberly then proclaimed, “You’re weird.”
Mitch smiled at my cousin. My knees wobbled again.
Shit! How was I going to stay with him if I could barely stay standing in his presence?
“Do you have a robe I can borrow?” I called into their conversation and both Mitch and Billie looked at me where I was still standing and hadn’t moved a muscle.
“No,” Mitch answered, his lips twitching.
“Um…” My mind whirled then I came up with, “Can I borrow one of your shirts?”
“Why do you need a shirt?” Billie queried then observed, “You don’t need a shirt at your house.”
“I’m chilly,” I lied which was the wrong thing to say for it caused Mitch’s eyes to drop to my chest likely in order to check the veracity of this statement.
“I’m not,” Billie noted.
“Well I am, sweetie,” I told her and then called, “Mitch?” whereupon his eyes shot from my chest to mine.
“Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” he muttered then started to turn back to the counter to do what, I did not know because I took that opportunity to make my escape.
I went to his closet, grabbed an old, plaid flannel, shrugged it on and buttoned some buttons on the front, just enough to cover me, not all the way up to my throat which was what I wanted to do but would make me look like an idiot.
Then I headed out to the kitchen, deep breathing in preparation for seeing Mitch’s chest again. This didn’t work for when I hit the kitchen, Mitch’s eyes hit me then slid down from head to thighs and back again. They warmed and he smiled huge which was a vision that was arguably better than his chest.
I ignored this and headed straight to caffeine.
Mitch didn’t ignore me. “Prefer you in just the nightie, baby. That nightie’s sweet.”
“I do too, Auntie Mara,” Billie chimed in. “It has little flowers on it and that shirt is for boys.”
I got a mug down, set it by the coffeemaker and then moved into Billie.
Putting both my hands on either side of her, I dipped my face to hers and said, “How about we stop talking about what I’m wearing and start talking about you. Are you okay?”
She nodded, grinning. “Mitch’s makin’ me oatmeal to activake my brain.”
“Activate, baby,” I said softly.
“Activake,” she repeated.
I smiled at her, slid my fingers in her hair, pulling it off her shoulder and down her back before I continued in a soft voice, “You had a bad night, sweetie.”