and fumbled for the belt as she shuffled into the hallway. Elly was already in her own room, frantically searching the playpen for her little brother when Paris joined her.
“He’s not here,” Elly wailed. “Somebody’s got him.”
“No, no, we’ll find him,” Paris assured her, sweeping Elly into her arms. The little girl immediately curled her arms around Paris’s neck in a stranglehold. A soft cry behind them told her where the little boy was. Paris turned and hurried back to the hallway, where she found Simon sleepily fumbling at the knob of Mac’s bedroom door. He couldn’t quite reach it, and his groggy efforts were heartrending to see.
Paris rushed to him. “It’s okay, Simon. Come with me,” she whispered, staggering slightly as Elly’s weight around her neck pitched her forward. She stumbled against the door just as it was swept open by Mac. Paris barreled into him.
“Oomph,” he grunted, taking the impact of her head against his chest muscles.
Paris bounced back, her ears ringing. Were his pectoral muscles made of iron, she wondered, as she struggled to keep her grip on Elly. Mac’s arm shot out automatically to hold the two females upright. His free hand slapped the hall light on and they all squinted in its brightness.
“Oomph,” Simon repeated softly, wrapping himself around Mac’s legs, then said “oomph” again as if the sound of it pleased him and his fright was forgotten. Calm now, he looked up to see what everyone else was going to do.
“What’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and knotted with sleep.
“The children woke, and…” Paris began, pushing away from the disturbing strength of his arms and clutching Elly to her like a shield. She wished she had a free hand to smooth her tumbled hair and make sure her knee-length robe covered her decently, then wondered why she cared. No one else did.
“We wanna sleep with you,” Elly said, bringing Paris back to the reason for these midnight wanderings. “Me and Simon.”
Paris blinked at her. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”
“Yeah.” Elly’s tangled curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “We do. Don’t we, Simon? Elly and Simon want to sleep with you.”
“Seep,” Simon confirmed, and popped his thumb into his mouth.
“You can’t have it both ways, Elly. You can either sleep with your Uncle Mac, or with Paris,” she pointed out, automatically picking up on Elly’s habit of speaking of herself in the third person.
“Unka Mac and Pris,” Elly said, nodding as if the adults had finally understood and it was all settled. She lifted herself in Paris’s arms and tried to peer past the shoulders that were blocking the doorway. “Let’s go.”
The four of them in the same bed? Paris’s eyes widened then shot from the bed to its owner, who was treating them to his familiar scowl. He didn’t seem to like the idea any better than she did. Bolstered, she said, “No, Elly, we can’t do that—”
“Why not?” Mac interrupted.
Alarmed, Paris met his gaze. “Why, we just can’t, that’s all. It would…it would set a bad precedent,” she finished lamely.
“It would mean we’d all get some sleep,” he responded.
Paris swept a stunned look over his face and across his chest. Oh yeah? She barely kept herself from voicing her skepticism aloud. “No, it would be best if I took the children into my bed, and we slept there.”
Simon grunted to be picked up. Mac glanced down, looking momentarily baffled, then realized what the boy wanted and bent to lift him into his arms. Simon didn’t curl trustingly against Mac the way Elly was doing with Paris, but he did reach out and begin twining his fingers through Mac’s chest hairs, plucking at them happily.
“Ouch,” Mac said, starting to pull the baby’s hand away. Realizing that hurt worse because of Simon’s grip, he winced and gingerly peeled the little fingers off instead. He looked from one child to the other. “How about it, kids, do you want to sleep with Paris?”
“No,” Elly said firmly. “Pris and Mac and Elly and Simon.”
Mac yawned. “Makes sense to me. Come on. There’s room for all of us.”
He stepped into the room and Paris could see his bed. His room was the only one she hadn’t entered that day and she didn’t look at it now. Her gaze sought out the bed and stuck there.
Indeed, there was room enough for all of them. It was king-sized with fluffy pillows and a puffy burgundy-colored comforter that had been thrown back in his haste to scramble from bed and see who was at his door.
Room or not, she still didn’t want to do this. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I’ve been up almost every 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
