"Two younger sisters? I shudder to think what their names are."
Maylee giggled at his snotty tone. "One is Alabama, and the other is Dixie."
"Dear God. Of course they are."
"I'm the oldest, so I got the honor of being named after Nana and Pepaw. After that, my daddy sorta ran out of names, so he went with songs."
"And what does your father do?"
She sobered and made a quick, sloppy sign of the cross. "Daddy died ten years ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss." His snotty tone was gone and it kinda sounded like he meant it. "I lost my father at an early age, too."
She looked over at him and put her knitting down, a bit surprised. "Oh?"
"When I was sixteen. Boating accident."
She reached across the pillows and touched his arm to comfort him. "I'm sorry. It's hard when you're that age. I wish I'd been younger so I wouldn't have so many memories."
He looked surprised that she touched him, staring down at her hand.
Oh, had she messed up? "Sorry," she said, drawing back. To lighten the mood, she added, "I promise to behave for our little slumber party."
He snorted again.
"So what about your family?" she asked, picking her knitting back up again. "Are you the oldest?"
"Thank God I am not," Griffin said. "I have an older brother, George. He is the official duke. Since I'm the younger son, I am a mere viscount."
She blinked in surprise and looked over at him again. "Your brother is a duke?"
"My mother is the younger sister of the queen," he admitted. "That's the reason why we're going to be hounded night and day while we're here."
"Oh. Wow."
She had just asked to share the blankets with royalty. Lordamercy. No wonder he was so starchy all the time. He was probably appalled by her. Maylee swallowed hard. "I thought you were fancy, I just didn't realize how fancy."
He groaned. "Please, please, never refer to me as 'fancy' in front of anyone."
Her eyes widened and she put down her knitting. "Why?"
"Because I'm not g*y?"
"I didn't mean that you were g*y! Just, you know." She waved a hand at him. "Fancy. With your hair and your bow ties and stuff."
"Ah yes, my 'spackled' hair." His cool voice actually sounded amused for once.
She laughed at that. "Who said it was spackled?"
"You did. On the plane. And then you asked me for a hug."
Maylee sucked in a breath and tried not to giggle. "Oh, lordy. I'm so sorry. How did you not fire me on the spot?"
"Because I am stuck. And because you are good with bow ties." With that, he set his book aside and flicked off the light. "Good night."
Maylee fumbled to collect her knitting in the dark, then placed it carefully on the bedside and slid under the blankets. She fluffed her pillow and stared into the darkness at the pillow wall separating them. "Good night, Mr. Griffin," she said softly. "And thank you for being so kind."
"Kind is a much better moniker than fancy," he retorted. "Feel free to call me 'kind' in public."
She grinned.
Chapter Six
The next morning was a little . . . odd.
She'd woken up out of a deep sleep to the sound of an alarm clock going off. As she usually did, she groaned and snuggled deeper into the pillows, rolling over.
And then she jerked upright, because she realized she'd rolled over onto a nice, warm hand and pressed her breast into it. Disoriented, Maylee looked around the room, which was much nicer than her own, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Oh. Right. She looked down at the bed and apparently Mr. Griffin was a bit of a restless sleeper. The pillow wall they'd built had been almost demolished while they'd slept, and his arm had snaked underneath the pillows. His big hand was palm up on her side of the bed.
And she'd plopped her titty right into it like a big ol' hussy. Lordamercy.
Blushing, Maylee crawled out of the bed, tugging at the borrowed sleep shirt to ensure it covered her panties, and then went to Griffin's side of the bed and shook him. "Mr. Griffin? Time to wake up and go to breakfast."
He opened his eyes and then gave her a soft smile, stretching on the bed. His hair stuck up in all directions.
And her heart gave a little flip-flop at how boyish he looked.
"I'm getting up," he murmured, sitting up, his delicious chest exposed again. When he rubbed his face with one hand, she blushed to think about how she'd plunked her boob into it. Gawd.
"I'm going to go change," she told him.
"Wait," he said, and got to his feet. "I'll go check your room for you."
"You don't have to."