The Hollow Page 0,80

his kitchen and find something reasonably sane to fix him for breakfast.

She slipped on his discarded shirt and out of the room.

In the kitchen, she got a quick jolt. Not from piles of dirty dishes and scattered newspaper. The room was what she thought of as man-clean. A few dishes in the sink, some unopened mail on the table, counters hastily wiped around countertop appliances.

The jolt came from the addition of a shiny new countertop coffeemaker.

Everything in her went soft toward the point of gooey. He never drank coffee, but he'd gone out and bought a coffeemaker for her-one that had a fresh bean grinder. And when she opened the cupboard overhead, she found the bag of beans.

Could he be sweeter?

She was holding the brown bag, smiling at the appliance when Fox walked in. "You bought a coffeemaker."

"Yeah. I figured you ought to be able to get your morning fix."

When she turned, his head was already in the fridge. "Thank you. And just for that I'm going to cook you breakfast. You must have something in here I can morph into actual food."

She came around the refrigerator door to poke her own head in. When he straightened, stepped back, she saw his face.

"Oh, Fox." Instinctively she lifted a hand to his cheek. "You don't look well. You should go back to bed. You've got a light schedule today anyway. I can cancel-"

"I'm fine. We don't get sick, remember?"

Not in body, she thought, but heart and mind were different matters. "You get tired. You're tired now, and you need a day off."

"What I need is a shower. Look, I appreciate the breakfast offer, but I don't have much of an appetite this morning. Go ahead and make your coffee, if you can figure that thing out."

Whose voice was that? Layla asked herself as he walked away. That cool and distant voice? With careful movements, she put the beans away, quietly closed the cupboard door. Walking back to the bedroom, she began to dress while the sound of the water striking tile in the bathroom drummed in her ears.

A woman knew when a man wanted her gone, and a woman with any pride obliged him. She'd shower at home, dress for the workday at home, have her coffee at home. The man wanted space, she'd damn well give him space.

When the phone rang, she ignored it. Then, cursing, gave in. It could be important, she thought, an emergency. Then she winced when Fox's mother gave her a cheery good morning and addressed her by name.

In the shower, Fox let the hot water pound over him while he gulped down his cold caffeine. The combination dulled some of the sharp edges, but there were plenty more where they came from. He felt hungover, headachy, queasy. It would pass. It always passed. But a nightmare could give him a rougher morning-after than any drunken spree.

He'd probably chased Layla off, snapping at her that way. Which, he admitted, had been the purpose. He didn't want her hovering, stroking, and soothing, watching him with that worry in her eyes. He wanted to be alone so he could wallow and brood.

As was his damn right.

He turned off the shower, whipped a towel around his waist. When he walked into the bedroom, trailing drips, there she was.

"I was just leaving," she began in the frosty tone that told him he'd done his job very well. "But your mother called."

"Oh. Okay, I'll get back to her."

"Actually, I'm to tell you that since Sage and Paula have to be in D.C. on Monday, and may have to head back to Seattle from there, she's having everyone over for dinner tomorrow."

He pressed his fingers to his eyes. Probably no way out of that one. "Okay."

"She expects me to come. Me-all of us. I'm supposed to help you spread the word. You probably know she's impossible to say no to, but you can make excuses for me tomorrow."

"Why would I do that? Why wouldn't you go? Why should you get out of eating stuffed artichokes?" Since she didn't smile, he shoved at his dripping hair. "Look, I'm feeling a little rugged this morning. Maybe you could cut me a very narrow break."

"Believe me, I already have. I'm trying to cut it even wider by convincing myself you're being moody and secretive because you're an ass, not because you don't trust me. But it's tricky because while you may be an ass, you're not a big enough one to hold back the details