He’d hated leaving Kaitlin’s bed, especially with a sharp morning arousal, but he’d needed to go. Had he stayed, surely their play would have been discovered. He would not have been able to manage his passion. Hunger for her burned in his gut, but he found the sting of it spurred his inspiration. Ideas for a new story, one involving a certain flame-haired goddess, had beset his mind. Words flowed from him at an astounding rate. She was an inspiring little muse. His quill froze when the door opened. He looked up. Ah. It was her. He smiled. “Good morning.” She hovered on the threshold. “Am I intruding?” “Not a bit of it. I was just thinking about you. Come in. Where are the others?” “Having elevenses.” Was it that late? Gads, he’d been writing for hours. “I told them I had a megrim.” “Did you?” Good girl. He closed his book. “Lock the door.” She started. “Lock the door?” He shot her a telling look. Loved her response. A flutter of lashes. A tiny smile.
