Brook didn’t look up from the frying pan. Morgan might not have put a shirt on since this morning. That shouldn’t have been an issue. After last night it had become one. He didn’t have any clean clothes. That was why he’d taken to walking around half nude. He wasn’t trying to seduce her. “I cooked breakfast,” she said. “Breakfast is different.” “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard it said scrambled eggs are difficult to prepare.” “How have we known each other for almost thirty years and I didn’t know you cooked?” Brook lifted her shoulders and flipped the thin strip of beef in the pan. “You had your family beach home and I had mine.” “What else don’t I know about you?” Brook snorted. “Have you done your duty by your race?” She shot him a sharp look, stalling when golden flesh caught her eye. Brook should have bought him more than those pants—pants that weren’t nearly thick enough to hide the contours of the organ they covered. “No,” she said.
