‘Don’t do carbs in the morning, remember?’ said David, not looking up from his paper.
At her own apartment, Ruth made sure she had a stash of croissants and pains au chocolat, and for a fleeting moment she wished she was back there.
‘I don’t know how you can eat a great big chunk of fish in the morning,’ she said, turning to watch him in fascination.
‘Eating eighty per cent protein in the morning cuts out the insulin spikes throughout the day,’ said David knowingly. ‘The spikes are what make you feel peckish and lead to snacking. It might be worth taking on board,’ he said, glancing at her thighs.
As he returned to the business news, Ruth pulled a face behind his back. Ever since David had started training for the London Marathon, he had become a food bore. And while she couldn’t complain about his increased stamina – the sex lately had been abundant and sensational – she wasn’t sure if she could face his-and-hers salmon fillets every morning.
‘Well, if I’m going to move in here, we need a stash of carbs. I’m talking Cheerios, waffle mix, the works,’ she grinned, bending down to get the orange juice from the fridge. As she moved, her T-shirt lifted right up over her buttocks.
‘Nice view,’ he said.
‘Look away,’ she smiled, walking over to sit on his lap and planting a long kiss on his lips.
‘So where were you last night?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t even hear you come in.’
‘Working,’ she shrugged, picking a flake of fish from his plate. It was true, wasn’t it? Yes, she’d gone for a drink with DI Fox, but that was all there was to it. It was work. Although Ruth had to admit she’d enjoyed it – it was rare she got the opportunity to screw so much information from the police. She spotted a blob of shaving foam behind David’s ear and wiped it off.
‘See? You need me first thing in the morning.’
He slipped his hand up her T-shirt and rubbed his palm over her nipple.
‘I won’t argue with you there,’ he growled. Ruth giggled and pushed him away. She knew where that was headed, and she needed an early start at the office to work on last night’s leads.
‘Save that for later, hey?’ she smiled, dancing out of his grasp. ‘I’ve got to get to work. It’s all gone crazy on my story.’
‘The escort thing?’ he asked, yawning.
She frowned, for a moment unsure what he was talking about. ‘Oh, not that one – I’m on a new thing now. I mean the murder at the Riverton Hotel.’
‘I saw the headlines about that. American bloke, wasn’t it?’
Briefly she filled him in on the story as far as she knew.
‘Anyway, that’s where I was last night. Meeting the inspector in charge of the case.’
David folded up his paper and dropped it on the table.
‘I love the way when I meet a business contact, you think I’m having some sort of affair, but when you’re out socialising with the cops, it’s strictly business.’
Ruth tried not to react, reminding herself that this was all new to her. She was forty-one years old and until now had always lived alone. She’d always had whatever she wanted for breakfast and she wasn’t used to answering for her movements. If she was going to make this work, she had to learn to bend a little.
‘This is my job, David,’ she said evenly. ‘You understand that.’
‘All right,’ he said, stretching. ‘Don’t get all jumpy on me. I was just saying. So the dead bloke – who was he?’
Ruth nodded, her mind flashing back to that bathroom in the hotel.
‘I saw him, David,’ she said quietly.
‘What? Dead?’
‘Dead. On the floor. It was horrible.’
‘Bloody hell, Ruth,’ said David, looking at her more carefully. ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded quickly. ‘It wasn’t pleasant, but it’s part of the job, isn’t it?’