Project: Daddy. Patricia Knoll

night. This is my opportunity to sleep and I’m going to take it. The kids wouldn’t sleep with me in here, so I slept on the floor in their room. My back aches from it and I’m by dam…darned going to sleep all night in my own bed if there’s any way at all that I can do that. Now drop your objections, don’t fear for your chastity, Paris, and get into bed.”

      Paris opened her mouth to object, but she caught sight of Elly’s worried face. The little girl looked as if she thought this was going to escalate into a real argument. Guiltily, Paris realized she was only making this harder. Finally, she answered meekly, “All right. I’ll just go turn off the light in my room.” She deposited Elly in the middle of the bed, where Mac had also placed Simon, then went back to her room to switch off the light and make sure that her robe was belted snugly and tucked up around her chin as high as possible.

      What on earth was she thinking? She couldn’t sleep in the same bed with a man she’d only met that day! It was crazy. Unimaginable. Wrong.

      She hadn’t slept with any man since Keith’s death, or any man other than Keith, for that matter. Her hands flew up to her hot cheeks. She didn’t want to be that close to Mac, to be that vulnerable. These thoughts ran through her head, convincing her she should reverse her decision and try once again to talk Mac out of this, but when she heard Elly’s distressed whimper calling her name, she knew she had to do it.

      Wondering how this whole situation had managed to go sideways on her, she went back down the hall to his room, reluctance dragging at her feet. When she reached it, she saw that both children were snuggled in the center of the bed and Elly was looking expectantly at her.

      “Come on, Pris. Get in.”

      Mac stood beside the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his dark gaze on her. If she’d thought him capable of smiling, she would have been suspicious of the twitch of his lips. His dark eyes traveled from her disheveled hair to her knees, which developed some kind of nervous tic that insisted they knock together beneath the hem of her robe. Mentally, Paris forced a little starch into them.

      “Yeah,” he said at last. “Get in and let’s all settle down.”

      Paris didn’t answer, but lifted her chin and gave him a direct look which managed to note and be thankful for the fact that he wore a pair of sweatpants. She intended to keep her robe on. Let him think what he would.

      With a nod, she swept the covers back and lay down, though she couldn’t relax. He gave her stiff-as-a-board posture a sardonic look as he turned off the bedside lamp. The bed dipped and resettled, then all was quiet.

      Paris felt some of the stiffness going out of her spine as Elly scooted in close. She put her arm around the little girl, then reached over to give Simon a reassuring pat. Instead of soft baby skin or a diapered bottom, she encountered the hair-dusted back of Mac’s hand which he’d placed over the baby.

      Her fingers sprang away and she heard him sigh in annoyance. “Relax, Paris. You’re safe here.”

      Oddly enough, she believed him.