Page 54 of A Shot at Love
“And Papps?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Watch your six.”
“Always, Sir.”
Once the call disconnected, Ky dropped the phone to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his shoe.
Looking up, he winked an eye against the sun’s glare.
Time to make breakfast.
*
The smell of bread turning to toast pushed her eyes open. For a brief moment the unfamiliarity of her surroundings sent her heart pounding with fear. Memories of the past twenty-four hours flooded through with the next breath and the panic was replaced by irritation.
Irritation at being forced into hiding; irritation at not being able to see her family; irritation at missing work deadlines.
Standing under the scalding-hot shower spray, the one thing she admitted irritated her most was her utter loss of independence. Gemma simply wasn’t used to taking orders from other people, nor was she someone who dealt well with being confined.
Living in Manhattan, she could leave her condo any time, day or night, and she did, often going out to take pictures of the city and its people under the cloak of darkness. Some of the photographs she’d chosen for the new book she’d snapped at a women’s shelter on a cold, rainy midnight several weeks ago. Taken with the wide variety of ages and economic situations of the women who sought refuge from the potential threats of the night, Gemma had tossed an idea around in her head to do a book just cataloging the faces and stories of the indigent and forgotten. She was in the process of solidifying the proposal with her publisher when she’d decided to venture out the day of the shooting.
Gemma scrubbed her skin with a surprisingly soft face towel and sighed. So much work to do. Frustrated wasn’t strong enough to describe the feeling surging within her.
After towel-drying her hair and dressing in the comfortable yoga pants and T-shirt she found in the suitcase, Gemma went in search of food.
The aroma of fresh coffee lured her down to the kitchen where she found Ky standing with his back to her, a mug in his hand.
The tiny jump in her pulse at the sight of him clad in trousers and a collared pullover was mildly annoying.
“Hey,” she said as a way of greeting.
Ky turned and that little jump catapulted to a leap.
Why did he have to be so damn good looking? Why couldn’t he look like a troll?
“Good morning.”
And why couldn’t he have a cringe-worthy voice, and not a deep, sultry, tummy-fluttering one?
The bad mood she’d woken with shot up ten degrees.
“Did you ever get back to sleep?” he asked as she came around to the coffeepot. She assumed the empty mug sitting next to it was for her so she grabbed it, poured it full of the hot liquid, and shrugged.
“Took a while, but yeah.”
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”
“I do when I’ve got a headache from lack of caffeinated soda.”
He pointed to the plate of toast. “There’s that or oatmeal for breakfast. No eggs or milk. And no butter. We’ll need to get provisions if we’re gonna be here more than a few days.”
“Toast is fine.” She slid two slices onto a plate and took it and her coffee to the breakfast bar without another word.
Ky watched her movements.
When the first hit of hot, slightly spicy liquid washed over her taste buds, Gemma groaned, tipped back her head and closed her eyes, letting the steam from the coffee drift up over her face.
Ky’s warm and throaty chuckle filled the space between them. “You may be the only person I’ve ever known who has as much of a deep visceral reaction to that first sip as I do.”
Taking her time, Gemma opened her eyes. He’d moved to sit across from her as he had in the middle of the night, elbows resting on the table, his own cup suspended in his hand. The slight upward tug of his lips softened his features but did nothing to douse his blessed-from-God sexiness.
Gemma swallowed. “My sister makes her own brew from a recipe she got from our grandmother. She tweaked it by putting in some different herbs, spices. I never liked the taste of coffee until I had hers, and now when I have a rare cup, I don’t drink any other kind. This,” she lifted her mug, “tastes remarkably like Kandy’s mixture.”
“It probably is, since a jar of it was in the pantry next to the jam.”
