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She took a deep breath and got out of bed. After a quick trip to use the bathroom and brush her teeth, she stepped into the hall and made her way into the living room that adjoined thekitchen.
He was pouring coffee into a mug, a tray on the counter already set with food and orange juice, plus a single whiterose.
“Good morning,” shesaid.
He looked up and set down the coffeepot.
“Good morning.” He walked around the kitchen counter and crossed the room. When he stopped in front of her, he bent to kiss her forehead. “How did yousleep?”
“Like thedead.”
He smiled. “Good. I was going to bring youbreakfast.”
“I’d rather eat out here withyou.”
He reached up to touch her face. “Verywell.”
He returned to the kitchen and used the tray to carry everything to the dining room table. He unloaded it and pulled out the chair for her tosit.
She took a drink of coffee and closed her eyes. “Hmmm…”
He returned the tray to the kitchen and came back to the table with a cup ofcoffee.
“You’re not going to eat?” sheasked.
“I don’t eatbreakfast.”
“No breakfast?” She looked at the eggs benedict on her plate, the fresh fruit in a small cup. “You made this just forme?”
He looked in her eyes. “Don’t you know you deserve the best of everything,Nina?”
She looked down at the plate as she cut into one of the eggs. “I don’tknow.”
“Then let me rephrase,” he said. “You deserve the best of everything. The best food, the best sex, the bestlife.”
She was torn between affection and desire, his mention of sex lighting the fire of lust she’d felt in his arms the nightbefore.
“Thankyou.”
She was relieved when he turned the conversation to other things while she ate. He was wholly focused on her, asking about the show at the gallery and her newly discovered enjoyment forcuration.
He still didn’t seem fully at ease, she wondered if Jack Morgan ever was, but she felt like she was getting glimpses of the real Jack — the one who was passionate and tender and who cooked breakfast on Sunday morning even if he didn’t eat ithimself.
“Thank you,” she said when she’d finished most of her food. “I feel humanagain.”
“Good.” He stood to gather herplate.
“I should probably get going,” shesaid.
He looked down at her and she had the feeling that he was working to control his expression, that he was already reassembling the mask he’d removed during the past twelvehours.
“All right.” He took everything into the kitchen. He indicated her dress from the night before, folded on the edge of the sofa, her bag on top of it, heels side-by-side on the floor. “Gather your things. I’ll have Reggie bring the cararound.”
She had the feeling that she’d offended him. She walked to the kitchen where he was rinsing her plate. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t…” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know how any of this isdone.”
He turned off the water. She felt him looking ather.
“It’s done with honesty,” he said. “Nothing more, nothingless.”
