“Babies don’t come out with teeth, do they?”

“No. I don’t see how…” Roarke lowered his cup, gave her a baffled look. “Why do you put thoughts like that in my head?”

“They’re in mine, pal, they’re in yours.”

“See if I make you coffee again.”

She dressed quickly. “Maybe this murder is the work of a criminal mastermind that will take me off planet. You’re nice to me, I could take you along.”

“Don’t toy with me.”

She laughed, strapped on her weapon. “See you when I see you.” She crossed to him, and because – hell, he was so damn pretty even at four in the morning – gave him a peck on both cheeks, then a long warm one mouth-to-mouth.

“Stay safe, Lieutenant.”

“Plan on it.”

She jogged down the stairs, where her coat was draped over the newel post. She tossed it there habitually because it was handy – and because she knew it irritated Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo and the blight of her world. She swung it on, discovered a miracle had happened and her gloves were actually in the pocket. Because it was there, she tossed on the cashmere scarf. And still the cold was a shock to the system when she stepped outside. Hard to complain though, she decided, when you got yourself married to a man who thought to remote your vehicle to the front of the house with the heater already running. She strode through the cold, climbed into warm. She glanced in the rearview as she drove toward the gates. The house that Roarke built filled the mirror, stone and glass, juts and turrets – and the light glowing in their bedroom window. He’d have a second cup of coffee, she thought, while reviewing stock reports, early media bulletins, business news, on the bedroom screen.