He snorts. “Need to keep up your energy.”
I stick my tongue out at him, and he gives me a teasing smack to the arse. We sit on the high stools in the little dining area. He takes a little dish from the tray, fills it with food, then pushes it my way. I butter the scone.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have at least brushed my teeth.”
“Tried to,” he says, raising a brow at me. His voice grows stern. “Seems you ignored my texts?”
“Oh, right,” I say, with a nervous laugh. “Forgot about that. I forgot to plug it in last night. And also, I was sleeping. It’s seven in the morning, not all of Ireland is up at the crack of dawn sweating after a run.”
He huffs out a breath.
“Eat your brekky, it helps the grumpiness, you know,” I say with a smile.
“You know what else helps the grumpiness,” he mutters. He drinks his tea black, leaning back in the chair while he watches me eat.
“What’s that?” God, but the fresh buttered scone and good, hot tea are delicious. I let my eyes rove over him. He’s wearing faded jeans and a worn blue t-shirt, his biceps stretching the sleeves. I can see the outline of his muscles. His Superman disguise.
“You know what,” he mutters.
“I do?” And then it dawns on me. “Ohhhh. Aye, well I’m game for that but do ask that you let me take a shower first.”
“Your showers are thirty-seconds long, so that can be arranged.”
I finish my scone. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“Had a protein shake after my run.”.
I must make a grimace, because he laughs. “Rebuilds muscle and all that.”
“Well, glad you like it,” I mutter. “Doesn’t actually change the taste of the shake, now, does it?”
He shakes his head and his lips quirk up. “Suppose not.”
I take a fried egg and sausage, still steaming hot, and eagerly eat them. I’m still starving. “God, this is good,” I tell him. “Did you nick it from the kitchen on your way in?”
“Aye,” he says. “Brought Breena to Maeve, and the staff was just putting everything out.”
“Good timing. I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.”
His eyes sharpen. “Have you?”
“Well, I’d have to think about it,” I say, tucking into the fresh eggs and sausage. “Not much. I mean, you have to understand my shifts at the hospital are long and difficult. We rarely have time for breaks, and when we’re understaffed, we often don’t even get those.”
He frowns. “Noted. And what about before you leave or when you get home?”
“I often forget before I go, I’m that busy getting ready. And when I get home, I’m shattered. In no mood to cook.”
“No excuse, Megan. You live in a house with staff that’ll prepare food for you. I don’t want to hear tell of you skipping meals again, you understand?”
It doesn’t take much for him to go all serious and conscientious on me.
Hell, I sort of like it, though.
“Aye,” I tell him. “If you insist.”
“But I do.”
A pulse passes between us, and I remember how his name is stored in my phone. I keep it in mind when I respond.
“Yes, sir.” Ah, that feels right. We’re easing back into the familiar.
He gives me an approving smile. “That’s my girl. Very good girl.”
I push my plate away, pleasantly full, and take another pull from my tea. “Best damn tea this side of the Sea, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he says. He leans back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful for a moment. “Keenan called to check up on you, you know.”
“Did he?” Damn, I want Nolan home. I need to whine to him about his heavy-handed, domineering older brother.
“Aye. Wanted to be sure you weren’t giving me any trouble.”
I roll my eyes.
“Now, none of that, lass,” he says warningly. “It’s a fair question.”
“You all overreact so,” I tell him. “Now why would I give you any trouble.”
He shrugs casually. “Oh, I don’t know. You fancy a spanking, maybe.”
I blink, taken off guard by the rush of heat that rises in my chest. My mouth is dry. And then it dawns on me. Mother of God, I do fancy a spanking. Am I that mental?
I cover up my arousal with a huff of indignation, then get to my feet. “Well, I don’t know about that,” I say. “But I do fancy a shower.”
“Naturally,” he says. “Go but be quick about it.” He glances at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in about an hour.”
“With Keenan?”
“No,” he says distractedly. He doesn’t meet my eyes.
It troubles me as I head to the bathroom.
“Oh, and Megan?”
“Mmm?”
“I’ve been thinking. Have you ever shot a gun?”
I feel my eyes widen as I turn to look at him. “Definitely not. Are you kidding me? Keenan and the rest would have my head.”