She paused just outside the door, needing a second to collect her wits before approaching him. Clad in worn jeans and a black cotton button-down shirt, he was bent over what looked to be an antique pool table. With his left hand, he rolled the eight ball toward the far bumper and caught it as it returned, all the while studying the papers scattered over the table’s beige felt. The briefcase she’d filled with Tiberius’s files sat empty on the floor beside his bare feet. Being confronted by so much casual masculinity first thing in the morning wasn’t fair. Especially not after she’d lain awake staring at the ceiling until the sun starting lightening the horizon, regretting that she’d kissed him, wishing she’d dropped her towel when he confronted her on the pool deck. Her conflicting desires were tearing her apart. She’d have to choose one path and commit to it. “Did you get some tea?” he asked without glancing her way.
