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Almost. Because, of course, the way her nightgown clung to unnaturally gorgeous curves was still something of a mystery. No woman should look like that—with such round, firm breasts and a bottom to match. It was one or the other; everyone knew that.
"Morning," she grumbled back, and when she picked up the carafe and tilted it, only a few droplets of coffee dripped into her mug. She frowned at him.
"This is your doing?" It was more an accusation than a question.
"Sorry, I thought you'd be up. Time difference."
"The time changed. My need for sleep didn't. Neither did my need for coffee." She yawned again. "It's okay. There's more."
Yes, there used to be...
He stared down at the steaming mug on the weathered wood coffee table in front of him rather than watched the realization inevitably dawn on her face. Even now, he knew it was low-down and dirty what he'd done, but he did have a job to do.
Slowly, he heard one cabinet after the other click open and then shut as Shay searched the shelves. When at last the final click sounded, she said, "This is unbelievable. I could have sworn there was more coffee in here."
"Me too." He shrugged, picturing the place where he'd hidden the k-cups under the sink, just behind the dish detergent.
"I guess I'm going to have to go buy some."
"No can do." He clicked his tongue. "Andy and Logan have the car."
"Don't you have a car I can borrow?" She raised her eyebrows.
"What's the magic word?"
"Please." She pushed the word through gritted teeth.
"No can do. Needs an oil change. I wouldn't feel safe." He shook his head.
"Then why did you just—" She huffed and then stalked back down the hall. He knew he should have turned around again and focused on his coffee, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the way her ass swayed as she moved.
"I'm getting changed. Then we've got to talk." Her speech was blunt, and punctuated by the snap of her bedroom door.
Good, he was already off and running. Next, she'd come out here already irritated and try to get some work done. All he had to do was make sure that wouldn't happen.
All he had to do was be himself. That always seemed to do the trick where Shay was concerned.
The door whooshed open again, and when Shay reappeared, he could hardly believe she was the same person. Her black, angular bob was perfectly sleek and in place, and her long legs were accentuated by her too-short white dress. And what a dress it was. It clung to her hips, her waist, and finally cut off just below the shoulder to highlight her elegant collarbone and long, creamy neck.
He blinked, wondering where her usual pair of stilettos had gone, but then pulled himself back to the present.
"Looking good, slugger," he said, and then reached for his coffee and sipped it pointedly.
She stared as he drank, her eyes narrowing. "Thanks, sport."
Plopping onto the white leather couch across from him, she let out a deep sigh and pushed a stack of papers onto the coffee table between them.
"What's this?" he asked, pointing to it.
"Your new public appearance strategy. I was up half the night working on it." For a moment, it almost seemed like she hedged, but then she added, "The last page also contains a number of therapists to see about your injury and learning to cope with the—"
"No." He cut her off, all pretense forgotten.
"Right, well, it's your decision." She frowned and then carried on as briskly as ever. "Anyway, since your sister has decided on such a long honeymoon, we can't afford to put everything on hold. You and I are going to have to work together—"
"I like the sound of that," he said.
She grimaced. "And maintain some professional civility."
