The light was still dim when she woke. It confused her, as she felt reasonably rested. A little hungover from overworking her brain and body, but better than she should have with just a snatch of predawn sleep.
Obviously, she'd underrated the restorative powers of sex.
It made her feel sentimental, and grateful. But when she slid her hand across the sheet, just to touch him, she found him gone.
She started to sulk, then called for time.
The time is nine thirty-six A.M.
That news had her bolting straight up in bed. He'd darkened the windows, and the skylight.
"Disengage sleep mode, all windows. Shit!" She had to slap her hands over her eyes as the sudden blast of sun blinded her.
She cursed and squinted her way out of bed and into the shower.
Five minutes later, she let out a muffled scream when she blinked water out of her eyes and saw Roarke. He stood, wearing a casual white shirt and dark jeans-and held an oversized mug in his hand.
"Bet you'd like this."
She peered avariciously at the coffee. "You can't set the bedroom on sleep mode without telling me."
"We were sleeping."
"We never set it on sleep mode."
"Seemed like the perfect time to change our habits."
She shoved her wet hair back, and walked, dripping, to the drying tube. She glared at him while warm air swirled around her.
"I've got stuff to do, people to see."
"Just a suggestion, but you'll probably want to dress first."
"Why aren't you?"
"Aren't I?"
"Why aren't you wearing one of your six million suits?"
"I'm sure I have no more than five million, three hundred suits. And I'm not wearing one of them because it seemed overly formal considering we have people arriving today."
"You're not working." She stepped out, grabbed the coffee. "Has the stock market obliterated overnight?"
"On the contrary, it's up. I can afford to buy another suit. Here you are." He handed her a robe. "You can wear that while you have some breakfast. I'll have another cup of coffee myself."
"I have to contact Feeney, the commander, and check in with the droids on Avril. I have to write a report, check the forensics on Samuels."
"Busy, busy, busy." He strolled out and toward the AutoChef. An; back, he thought with some relief. The exhausted woman had regenerated into the cop. "What you want's a nice bowl of oatmeal."
"No sane person wants a bowl of oatmeal."
"Fortified."
She wouldn't laugh. "Let's go back to the beginning. You can t se: sleep mode without telling me."
"When my wife comes home weeping from exhaustion and stress,! I'm going to see that she gets some rest." He glanced back, and there i was that steel in his eyes. The kind that warned her arguing would end 1 in a fight. "And she's lucky I did nothing more than darken the room to see she got some." He crossed to the seating area with a bowl, set down on the table.
"Now, you'd better sit down and eat that, or we're going to start: day with one hell of a fight."