She knew what the department's orifice poker would say about it. Not enough recovery time. She'd been entitled to another ten days injury leave. Her return to full duty had been too soon.
Because it tended to sour her mood to think of it, she blocked it out.
She'd forgotten to eat, and the minute she stepped inside the warmth of the house the first pangs of hunger hit. Just need a candy bar, she told herself and scrubbed her hands over her face before turning to the scanner near the door.
"Where is Roarke?"
Roarke is in his home office.
Figures, she decided as she started up the stairs. The man didn't seem to need sleep like a normal human. She imagined he'd look as fresh as he had when she'd left him that morning.
He'd left his door open, so it only took one quick glance inside to confirm her suspicions. He sat at the wide, glossy console, scanning screens, giving orders into his 'link while his laser fax hummed behind him.
And he looked sexy as sin.
She thought if she could get her hands on that candy bar, she might just have the energy to jump him.
"Don't you ever quit?" she demanded as she stepped into the room.
He glanced over, smiled, then turned back to his 'link. "All right, John, see that those alterations are made. We'll go over this in more detail tomorrow." He broke transmission.
"You didn't have to stop," she began. "I just wanted to let you know I was home."
"I was entertaining myself while I waited for you." He angled his head as he studied her face. "Forgot to eat, didn't you?"
"I'm hoping for a candy bar. Got any?"
He rose and moved across the polished floor to the AutoChef. Moments later he took out a thick green bowl, steaming with soup.
"That's not a candy bar."
"You can feed the child after you take care of the woman." He set the soup on a table, then poured himself a brandy.
She walked over, sniffed the soup. Nearly drooled. "Smells pretty good," she decided and sat down to devour. "Did you eat?" she asked with her mouth full, and nearly groaned with joy as he set a plate of hot bread on the table. "You have to stop taking care of me."
"It's one of my little pleasures." He sat beside her, sipping brandy, watching the hot food put color back in her cheeks. "And yes, I've eaten -- but I wouldn't say no to a bit of that bread."
"Umm." Obligingly, she broke a hunk in half and passed it to him. It was sort of homey, she decided. The two of them sharing soup and bread after a long day.
Just like, well, normal people.
"So ... Roarke Industries rose, what, eight points yesterday?"
His brow winged up. "Eight and three-quarters. Have you developed an interest in the stock market, Lieutenant?"
"Maybe I'm just keeping an eye on you. Your stock goes down, I might have to dump you."
"I'll bring that point up at the next shareholders' meeting. Do you want some wine?"
"Maybe. I'll get it."
"Sit, eat. I haven't finished taking care of you yet." He rose and selected a bottle already open and chilling in the cold box cabinet.
While he poured, she scraped the last of the soup from the bowl, barely resisting licking it clean. She felt warm, settled. Home. "Roarke, are we having a party?"
"I imagine. When?"
"I don't know when." A line formed between her eyebrows as she looked up at him. "If I knew when, why would I ask? Feeney said something about our Christmas party."