"We'd kill each other. Miracle we didn't drown."

He drew in the scent of her skin and water. "We may yet."

"Do you think we can make it over to the steps?"

"If you're not in a hurry."

They inched their way along, staggered up the stone steps to the apron. "Coffee," Eve said weakly, then stumbled off to fetch two thick terry robes.

When she came back, carrying one and bundled into the other, Roarke had already programmed the AutoChef for two cups, black. The sun was staining the curved glass at the end of the enclosure a pale gold.

"Hungry?"

She sipped the coffee, hummed as the rich caffeine kicked. "Starving. But I want a shower."

"Upstairs then."

Back in the master suite, Eve carried her coffee into the shower. When Roarke stepped into the criss-crossing sprays with her, she narrowed her eyes. "Lower the water temp and die," she warned.

"Cold water opens the pores, gets the juices flowing."

"You've already taken care of that." She set the coffee on a ledge and soaped up in the steam.

She got out first, and as she stepped into the drying tube, shook her head as Roarke ordered the water to drop by ten degrees. Even the thought of it made her shiver.

She knew he was waiting for her to tell him about the case that had kept her out the night before and was taking her back on her day off. She appreciated that he waited for her to settle in the sitting area of the suite, a second cup of coffee in her hand and a plate loaded with a ham and cheese omelette waiting to be devoured.

"I really am sorry about not showing up for the deal last night."

Roarke sampled his own buttermilk pancakes. "Am I going to have to apologize every time I'm called away on business that affects our personal plans?"

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and shook her head. "No. The thing is I was headed out the door – I hadn't forgotten – and this call came in. Jammed transmission. We couldn't track."