“I don’t doubt it.” She hadn’t really intended to say that out loud, but there it was, out in the room. He definitely heard it because his body froze for a second before he moved on into the kitchen.

She found the bathroom and freshened up. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair the best she could, tucking it behind her ears. She splashed some water on her face. Her stomach rumbled again, propelling her out to the kitchen.

Zayne was sliding a perfectly folded omelet onto a plate as she walked in. The long, narrow kitchen was clean and neat. The walls were a dark gold. The cupboards were vintage, painted bright white. The floor was vintage, too—white hexagon tiles interspersed with occasional black hexagons. The round table was of gleaming cherry wood, and that was where he set her dish as he gestured toward one of the wooden chairs.

“Sit. Eat. Juice? Or do you want coffee?”

“Juice is good. Coffee at this hour would end all hope of getting more sleep.” Of course, sleep wasn’t what she wanted anyway. He made his own omelet as she started eating, then joined her at the table. She looked up, talking around a mouthful. “Thish is so good!”

“Thanks. I’m good at small meals—just don’t ask me to feed a crowd.”

They ate in relative silence. Duke had joined them, clearly concerned that they might drop a tasty morsel. Zayne tossed a piece of sausage in the air and Duke snapped it up.

“Where did you get this beast?” she asked with a laugh.

“One of my first clients raised mastiffs.” He scratched Duke’s head, which was now resting on Zayne’s thigh. “This guy was just a pup, all legs and head and goofiness. He just...” He looked at her. “He made me smile.”

“And not many things do?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” He stood, taking their dishes to the sink. He returned to the table, reaching for her hands and pulling her to her feet. There was a surprisingly playful gleam in his eyes. She gave him a one-shouldered shrug.

“I’m just observant.”

“Yeah? And what are you observing right now?” His arms slid around her waist, and those internal embers roared back to life.

“I’m observing a man who really wants to kiss me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted and he pulled her close, speaking quietly against her cheek.

“A man who knows he probably shouldn’t do that. So what do you think should happen next?”

This was the moment—kiss or...don’t. She pressed against him and his nostrils flared. He wanted this as much as she did. And she wanted it very much.

“Well...” She looked straight into his eyes. “I think we should stop talking and kiss.”