She groaned and pushed up from the bed. He felt the loss of her weight, the loss of her hip against his thigh, the loss of her exotic-smelling shampoo, in a place he dared not name. “And besides,” she added,“your ego is big enough without me giving it the occasional stroke.”
His breath caught on the last word. It seemed to hang in the air, pounding like a heartbeat.
If she noticed his sudden tension, she gave no indication as she sauntered toward the door. Turning at the threshold, she said, “Since you’re not going to get any more sleep, how about you cook breakfast for the ravenous horde,huh? I could use another hour of shut-eye.”
She stretched her arms over her head and let out a mighty yawn. Her older-than-the-hills pullover inched away from the waistband of her pajama bottoms. A flash of pale, silky skin turned his mouth into a desert.
“Speaking of the ravenous horde,” he said, or rather rasped, “are they still asleep? Did I wake them?”
She glanced down the hall,her dark hair falling over her shoulder in a silky curtain he longed to touch. “The lights are off in their rooms. I think I was the only one who heard. You know, since we share a wall.”
Ah, yes. The shared wall.
The wall he had stared at for the last five nights while they waited for things to get sorted so they could come out from hiding and return to Chicago. The wall he might have,just maybe, pressed his ear against a time or two in the hopes of hearing her…what? Snoring? Breathing? Pleasuring herself?
He stifled a groan.
“So?” She cocked her head. “Will you?”
“Will I what?”
She frowned like his IQ had dropped fifty points in the last five seconds. Which, if he was being honest, it had. Itdid. Anytime she was in the room.
“Will you make breakfast? Iknow it’s my turn, but—”
“Say no more.” He lifted a hand. “It’s done.” Because even if breakfast duty was at the top of precisely no one’s list, he was glad to assume the responsibility if it would get Emily out of his room. After having her so close for so long, he definitely needed some alone time with his John Thomas. “A traditional English breakfast it is,” he added when she seemed toneed additional reassurance.
She wrinkled her nose. “I can get on board with the sautéed mushrooms and the roasted tomato, but I’ve never understood beans for breakfast.”
“They’re good for your heart.”
Even from across the dim room, he saw her eyes ignite with mischief. Emily enjoyed pushing buttons, saying things that were hysterically crass. He assumed it was because she fanciedkeeping the people around her off-balance. “The more you eat, the more you—”
“Good God!” he scolded before she could finish the hideous children’s rhyme. “Grow up, will you?”
She drove him completely barmy. But she also made him laugh. And in his line of work…bloody hell, in his entire soddinglife…laughter wasn’t something that came easily.
“So stuffy,” she complained. It was a familiaraccusation.
“I’m not stuffy. I’m English, darling.”
“My point exactly.”
“Hurtful.” He crossed his arms and thrust out his chin. If he wasn’t mistaken, her eyes alighted on his bare pecs, then traveled briefly over the sleeves of black, winding tattoos that covered his arms from his shoulders to wrists.
Is that interest I see in her eyes? he wondered hopefully.
He wasn’t badto look at. He knew that. Not that he had to fight the women away with sticks or anything, but neither did he have to look very hard for a willing bed partner. Alas, whatever brief flicker of intrigue he thought he saw in her eyes disappeared before he had the chance to study it.
“Will you be happy to leave home today?” she asked, still lingering in his doorway.
“England isn’t home,” heassured her, his mood dropping into the loo. The good to come ofthatwas that his John Thomas followed suit. So, apparently there were two cures for his flag flying at full staff. One, a swift rub and tug. Or two, talk of the country that had betrayed him. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”
She considered him for a moment more, then nodded and turned to knock off back to her own room. Beforeshe disappeared down the hall, she got in a parting shot. If he had known how portentous her words would be, he might have stayed in bed with the blankets over his head. “Someday you’re going to tell me what happened here.”
