Quinn peeled open one eye. Nope, not worth it. She pulled the quilt over her head and rolled away from Jack’s taunting song. “Hmph.” “English fails you this morning, but you don’t need it just yet. C’mon, up and at ’em, Quinnie.” “Go away.” She managed coherency only for him to ignore her anyway. “Not a chance.” He sat, undeterred, next to her on the bed. “I’ve made breakfast. With your American sensibilities in mind, I avoided the traditional English staples like fried tomatoes and beans. I even scrambled the eggs instead of frying them. There’s coffee.” He added this after a slight pause, probably since the mention of breakfast hadn’t brought around the desired results. Good call. She poked her head out from beneath the cover. “Coffee?” “Coffee.” He closed his eyes and said the word like a solemn promise. “Fine.” Her gruff response hid her pleasure. She could get used to a man who understood the gravity of coffee. That was exactly the problem.
