A Christmas Miracle. Amy Andrews

she’d obviously been subconsciously tuned into the sound of a key in a lock. Oscar barely looked up from the screen despite being jostled as she practically levitated out of the chair.

      She was fuzzy-headed from her nap. She never napped! She didn’t have the time for such luxuries. Her body, though, was eerily alert as she met him in the hall. On high alert, actually, as his black-leather-clad frame strode towards her and butterflies bloomed in her belly.

      The man walked as if he owned the Earth. For a woman who’d spent most of her life trying not to be noticed, it was breathtaking. He was big and raw and...primal and she couldn’t drag her eyes off him.

      ‘Is it fixed?’ she blurted as he stopped to dump his keys and backpack on the hallstand.

      ‘And good afternoon to you too,’ he said, a wry smile playing on his mouth.

      God, even that was primal. Full with a sensual twist that hinted at long, hot, sweaty nights and tangled sheets.

      He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a wall hook. ‘Pops okay?’

      Trinity’s mouth went dry as her gaze took in his chest. Not because of the way his plain black T-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders or how snug it sat against a flat abdomen. No. Because of the intricate web of ink covering both arms.

      Invisible fingers trailed across her belly and the pulse at her temple fibrillated wildly. It wasn’t from fear, although God knew it should be. Or even from the kind of revulsion she’d felt when Terrible Todd had caged her in against the storeroom wall with his tat-covered arms.

      It was from...fascination. Between the thick waves of his golden hair pushed back carelessly from his forehead to his beard to the tattoos she just knew didn’t stop at his arms, she couldn’t look away from him.

      It had been a long time since she’d felt attracted to a man and even then it hadn’t felt like this. Oscar’s father had been her first and an ill-conceived choice at that. She’d loved him stupidly, blindly—all the way to the streets. But she’d never felt this kind of pull.

      This was biology. Chemistry. She knew it in her gut. She knew it a lot lower too...

      ‘He’s fine. Still watching cricket with Oscar,’ she said, forcing herself to focus on getting out of here, something even more vital now her attraction to Reid was a living, breathing beast. ‘Is it ready?’ she repeated.

      ‘Not yet.’ He brushed past her, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’m starving, what about you?’ He made a beeline for the fridge.

      Trinity ignored the question as her brain grappled with his not yet. Where would they stay the night if they didn’t have the car and just how long would it take to fix? There was no choice now, she was going to have to ring Raylene and see if she could have the couch for the night. Reid had offered to drive them home; maybe he’d drop them at Raylene’s?

      ‘What do you mean, not yet?’

      He dragged the bread and some sandwich fillers out of the fridge and placed them on the bench. He glanced at her, his hands resting flat on the bench top. ‘Gav has to source a starter motor for you from a wrecker’s yard. Believe it or not parts that old are hard to find.’

      He said it with a twinkle in his eye and dry humour in his voice but it rankled. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket of her three-quarter-length capris. It was a basic model—no fancy apps or data downloads for frivolous things like Facebook and Instagram—just a standard, cheap, pre-paid package but, like her car, something she couldn’t do without.

      Being contactable and able to make phone calls was essential for someone with a high-needs child. ‘If you could give me his number, I’d like to make arrangements about the bill.’

      His gaze held hers for long moments before he said, ‘I’ve already covered it.’

      Goose bumps pricked at Trinity’s neck as her hackles rose. ‘I said no.’ She kept her voice low but even she was impressed with the degree of menace she managed to inject.

      He shrugged. ‘It’s done. Now...’ He turned back to the fridge. ‘Would you like some wine? There’s a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio in here.’

      She blinked at his back. Was he freaking kidding?

      ‘No,’ she said, testily. ‘I don’t want a goddamn glass of wine.’

      ‘You’re right,’ he said, completely undeterred. ‘I much prefer beer.’ He grabbed two bottles and set them down on the counter with a light tink. He twisted both the tops before she could stop him and sent one sailing in her direction with a deft push.

      She wasn’t much of a beer drinker—not at three in the afternoon, that was for sure—but she caught it automatically.

      Keeping her temper in check, she tried again. ‘I don’t want you paying my bills.’ He opened his mouth to object but she waved him quiet. ‘I know you feel like you have to thank me somehow but you really don’t. My bills, my responsibility.’

      He tipped his head back and took three long swallows of his beer. Her gaze was drawn to the demarcation line between where his beard ended and his throat began. The thick brown and blond bristles of his close-cropped beard hugged the underside of his jaw line before meeting the smooth, bare column of his throat.

      Trinity watched it undulate as he swallowed and leaned heavily against the counter as things south of her belly button went a little weak. There was just something so damn masculine about a big, thirsty-looking man drinking beer.

      ‘Look, Trinity,’ he said as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Let’s cut to the chase.’ He reached for the loaf of bread and pulled out four slices. ‘I’m paying your bill because frankly I don’t think you have two brass razoos to rub together and, if I’m not very much mistaken, you need that rusty old car asap because you’re homeless.’

      He said asap as one word, as she heard American soldiers say it on the television.

      ‘So,’ he continued, calmly applying butter, ‘how about you—?’

      ‘I am not homeless,’ Trinity snapped.

      He sighed and shook his head as he added sliced ham to the bread. ‘I was in the military for fifteen years, Trinity, and I have a very sensitive bullshit detector which at the moment is flickering like crazy. How about you drop the act?’

      It wasn’t said with any kind of threat or malice but it was said with an authority that was plainly not used to being challenged. Her pulse accelerated and, like some errant rookie soldier who’d been caught out saying the wrong thing, she scrambled to qualify her statement. ‘I’m just...between domiciles.’

      ‘And how often are you...between domiciles?’

      ‘Only very occasionally.’

      She’d realised while he’d been gone that Reid being a doctor could mean trouble for her. That it was mandatory for him to report any suspicion of child abuse or neglect. If it hadn’t been for Eddie and the car, she’d have picked Oscar up and run like the wind.

      ‘A rare night,’ she clarified. ‘Here and there.’

      He smothered the bread in pickles and mayonnaise and slapped the slices together. He ate half of it in two bites, regarding her the entire time. Trinity didn’t like being scrutinised. She’d spent the last five years flying under the radar so Reid’s astute gaze made her squirm. Because of the power he could wield over her if he wanted to but mostly because of what it did to her body.

      She felt the heat of it everywhere. The echo of it in every beat of her heart. It made her nervous and breathless.

      Good nervous. Good breathless.

      Her muscles tensed as he held her to the spot with his eyes. The man had clearly missed his calling. He should have been a cop. If he kept it up she’d probably start admitting to a bunch of unsolved crimes.

      Or possibly