She snatched her hands out of his grip. “Paws off, monkey boy. Time for me to get the hell out of here.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me that,” he said, mildly enough. “It’s quite an insult where I come from.”

“They’ve got a real mad-on against monkeys in Scotland, eh? Whatever. Gotta go now, it’s been fun, buh-bye.”

“Can’t go.” He folded his arms across his chest and smirked at her. “Your clothes were quite ruined in the incident-that-shall-ne’er-be-named.”

For the first time, she realized she was wearing a flannel nightgown. It had a demure lace collar that scratched her chin, and the hem fell about three inches past her toes. How could she not have noticed this before? She’d just used the bathroom, for God’s sake. Sure, she’d had to pee so bad nothing else had registered, but…she made a quick grab and found she was wearing her old panties beneath the gown. Whew!

His eyebrows arched while she groped herself, but he wisely said nothing. “The doctor said you needed rest and quiet until you—er—purged your—”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Anyway.” He turned brisk. “I had the staff send up something for you to sleep in.”

Any thoughts he was embarked on sinister seduction fled as she fingered the gray flannel. She felt like an extra on Little House on the Prairie. “Thanks.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Flannel?”

He shrugged. “It’s cold where I come from. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“And I am,” she assured him with a straight face. “But I would be more comfortable if I got the hell out of a stranger’s hotel room.”

“Stranger?” He grinned at her, all devil and mischief. “After all we’ve been through today? Shame!”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. Quick as thought, his hand came up and caught one of her curls. He pulled it and watched it spring back. Uck. “Sorry.”

“Don’t, now.”

“No, really…I know, I look like Bozo the Clown on mescaline. If Bozo didn’t have red hair. And was really short. And was a woman. You should see it in the summer…giant fuzzball! Hide your children!”

He was eyeballing her hair. “I’d like to see it in the summer.”

“Okey-dokey,” she said, humoring him, “and I would love to see my uniform. I can wear my Santa suit on the subway home.”

“At two o’clock in the morning? Alone?” He sounded mortally offended. “I think not. Besides—” His voice became sly. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Hungry! Oh, God, no one in the history of Santa bellin’ for bucks had ever been this hungry. She actually swayed on her feet at the thought of eating.

“That’s my girl. Let’s call room service. Anything you want.”

“I’ll have to get my wallet—”

He frowned forbiddingly. “Do not get your wallet.”