‘It’s nine o’clock.’
‘I told you my mornings were busy.’ She made a gesture with her hand, wriggling her fingers. ‘Serene on the surface, duck legs churning underneath.’
Nik’s attention had drifted to her hair because it seemed to have grown more abundant overnight like some Victorian-era maiden. He suddenly found himself right back where he was last night. Wanting her.
He cleared his throat. ‘My grandfather tells me you take tours of the house.’
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