He stepped into the shower and let the hot water beat on him until it penetrated the chill in his bones. Then, calmer, he downed some aspirin, pulled his sweatpants on.

He would go down and make coffee, then he’d be able to think. Once his head was clear, he would roust both of his friends and get their take.

Maybe it was time for the three of them to go up to Warrior’s Peak and get the truth out of Rowena and Pitte.

He was halfway down when the bell rang, and Moe raced out barking like the hounds of hell on speed.

“Okay, okay. Shut up.” Johnnie Walker hadn’t given Flynn a hangover, but the nightmare had stepped up to the plate and knocked one home. He grabbed Moe by the collar, yanked back as he pulled the door open with his other hand.

She looked like a sunbeam. It was his only clear thought as he stared at Malory. Dressed in a pretty blue suit that showed off her legs, she smiled at him. Then stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him.

“Good morning,” she said, and by pressing her lips to his drained even that single thought out of his mind.

His fingers went limp on Moe’s collar, then fell away from it to lift up, dive into her hair. The aches and dread he’d awakened with fell away as well.

In that one moment he felt as if nothing would ever be beyond his reach again.

Moe gave up trying to shoehorn himself between them, and settled on leaping and barking for attention.

“Christ Jesus, Hennessy, can’t you get your dog to . . .” At the top of the stairs, Jordan trailed off. Below him stood his friend and the woman, bathed in morning sunlight. And drowning in each other.

The fact was, even when Flynn eased back from the embrace and glanced up, he had the look of a man going under for the third time. Blissfully.

“Morning. Sorry to interrupt. You must be Malory.”

“Yes, I must be.” Her brain was a bit muddled from the kiss, but she was pretty sure she was staring up at a great-looking guy wearing nothing but black boxer shorts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Flynn had company . . . oh.” Her brain cleared. “You’re Jordan Hawke. I’m a big fan.”

“Thanks.”

“Hold it.” Flynn held up a hand as Jordan started down. “Maybe you could go put some pants on.”

“Sure.”

“Come on back. I need to let Moe out.” Giving her hand a tug, Flynn managed to dislodge her from the spot she’d frozen in to stare at Jordan. But she dug in again at the living room entrance.

Brad was facedown on the couch, with one arm and one leg drooping off. He was dressed like Jordan, though his boxers were white.

It was interesting to note, Malory thought, that the scion of the Vane empire had an excellent butt.

“Slumber party?” she ventured.