Page 46 of Suzanna's Surrender
“And you’re supposed to tell me I was incredible.”
Her brow lifted. “I am?”
“That and any other superlatives you can come up with. Then”—he rolled her over again—“you’re supposed to go fix me breakfast, to show me your talents are versatile.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re filling me in on the procedure.”
“No problem. And after you fix me breakfast, you should seduce me back into bed.”
She laughed and pressed her cheek to his in a move that disarmed and delighted him. “I’ll have to practice up on that, but I could probably handle a couple of scrambled eggs.”
“Let me know if you find any.”
“Have you got a robe?”
“What for?”
She looked up again. He was still leering. “Never mind.” Sliding away, she instinctively turned her back as she groped on the floor for his shirt. “And what do you do while I’m fixing breakfast?”
He caught the ends of her hair, let them shift through his fingers. “I watch you.”
And he enjoyed it, seeing her move around his kitchen, his shirt skimming her thighs with the scent of coffee ripening the air and her voice low and amused as she spoke to the dog.
She felt more at ease here, with familiar chores. The bush they had planted was a cloud of sunlight outside the window, and the breeze still smelled of rain.
“You know,” she said as she grated cheese into the eggs, “you could use more than a toaster, one pot and a skillet.”
“Why?” He kicked back in the chair and took a comfortable drag on his cigarette.
“Well, some people actually use this room to prepare entire meals.”
“Only if they haven’t heard of take-out.” He saw that the coffee had dripped through and rose to pour them both a cup. “What do you take in this?”
“Just black. I need the kick.”
“If you ask me, what you need is more sleep.”
“I have to be at work in an hour or so.” With the bowl of eggs in her hands, she stopped to stare out of the window. He recognized the look in her eyes and rubbed a hand over her shoulder.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned to the stove to pour the beaten eggs into the skillet. “I can’t help but wonder what they’re doing, if they’re having a good time. They’ve never been away before.”
“Hasn’t he taken them for a weekend?”
“No, just a couple of afternoons that weren’t terribly successful.” She made an effort to shake the mood as she stirred the eggs. “Well, there’s only thirteen days left to go.”
“You’re not helping them or yourself by getting worked up.” His impotence grated as he fought to massage the tension from her shoulders.
“I’m fine. I will be fine,” she corrected. “I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy for the next couple of weeks. And with the kids gone, I can put in more time trying to find the emeralds.”
“You leave that to me.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “This is a team effort, Holt. It always has been.”
“I’m involved now, and I’ll handle it.”
She dished the eggs up as carefully as she chose her words. “I appreciate your help. All of us do. But they’re called the Calhoun emeralds for a reason. Two of my sisters have been threatened because of them.”
