“Yes.”
“Good, because you’d remember how to make them.”
“You’re hungry? You want pancakes?”
“In the morning.” He glided his hands up her body, in, grazing her nipples with his thumbs.
“You want to stay here, sleep here, tonight?”
“How else am I going to get those pancakes you’re making me?”
“I don’t sleep with people. I’ve never slept with a man overnight.”
His hands hesitated for a fraction of a second, then continued their glide. “Then you don’t know if you snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
“I’ll let you know.”
There were so many reasons why she couldn’t—shouldn’t—allow it. But he was kissing her again, touching her again, stirring her again.
She’d tell him no. After.
* * *
She woke just before dawn,lay very still. She could hear him breathing—slow, steady. A different, softer sound than Bert. Bert did snore. A little.
She’d fallen asleep, actually fallen to sleep, after they’d had sex a second time. She hadn’t told him to go, and she’d intended to. She hadn’t made her last check of the house and the monitors. She hadn’t put her weapon on the nightstand beside her.
She’d just gotten into that comfortable, normal position, and somehow slipped into sleep while he talked to her.
Not only rude, she decided, but frightening. How could she have let her guard down so completely with him? With anyone?
What did she do now? She had a routine, and one that didn’t include an overnight guest.
She had to let Bert out, feed him, check the monitors, her business e-mail and texts.
What did she do now?
She supposed she’d make pancakes.
When she eased out of bed, the dog’s breathing changed. She saw his eyes open in the half-light, and his tail give its customary morning thump.
She whispered the command for outside in German as she retrieved her robe and Bert stretched. Together, they padded quietly out of the room and downstairs.
When the door closed, Brooks opened his eyes, smiled. He should’ve figured her for an early riser. Himself, he wouldn’t have minded another hour, but considering the big picture, he could push himself out of bed.
And maybe he could talk her back into it once she’d let the dog out to do his morning thing. He rolled out, headed for the bathroom. On cue, the minute he emptied his bladder, he thought about coffee. Then he rubbed his tongue over his teeth.
He didn’t feel right about poking around to see if she had a spare toothbrush, but he couldn’t see the harm in digging out a squirt of toothpaste.
He opened the drawer of the little vanity, saw the neatly rolled tube of Crest, and her Sig.
Who the hell kept a semiauto in the drawer with the dental floss and toothpaste? A fully loaded one, he noted, when he checked.
She’d told him one thing the night before, he reminded himself. He’d just have to persuade her to tell him more.
He scrubbed Crest over his teeth with his finger, then went back in for his pants. When he got downstairs he smelled fresh coffee, heard the mutter of the morning news.
