There were men in the kitchen, she could hear them and smell toast, but luckily no one was on the landing. She raced through the shower and brushed her teeth, loathe to wash the smell and taste of Dean away but knowing it was necessary. She dressed, headed down the stairs, then wandered into the kitchen. “Good morning, Frankie,” Enrique said. “Tea?” “Yes, please.” Dean was standing by the window, talking to Paul. He had a red mug in his hand. Damn. She’d hoped he’d be gone already. Headed off to take Henri out for pancakes. Not that she couldn’t admire the shape of his cute ass in black jeans and his broad shoulders in a white T-shirt. That was easy. It brought back memories of clutching his buttocks and clasping his shoulders as she’d pulled him nearer, dragged him deeper. “Frankie?” “Mmm.” She turned back to Enrique.
