“Could be,” she agreed, but she wasn’t really convinced that was the case as she added, “But it’s probably not likely.”
Now that her laptop was shut down for the night, she put her hands on the desk and pushed herself up into a standing position. “I guess I’ll call it a night.” Her eyes swept over him. “Some of us don’t run on batteries.”
He smiled, playing along with her comment. “Not even rechargeable ones?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not even those.” Krys glanced toward the end of the corridor, where the bedrooms were located. “Sure I can’t interest you in a bed?”
The second she asked the question, she immediately realized how that had to sound to a man, especially one as good-looking as Morgan Cavanaugh. Her complexion immediately turned a bright red.
“I mean to sleep in. By yourself.” The more she attempted to correct the impression she had inadvertently created, the worse her words sounded to her ears.
Morgan laughed. Taking pity on her, he came to her rescue. “I know what you mean and I’m sure,” he told her. “I’ll be fine right here,” he said, nodding down at the chair he’d been sitting in.
“The recliner?” Krys asked in disbelief, clearly skeptical about the choice he had made. “That can’t be a very comfortable way to spend the rest of the night,” she observed.
“Hey,” he protested, attempting to sound as if he was challenging her dismissive tone, “some of my best sleep has been gotten standing up.” She would have believed him except for the way his eyes seemed to twinkle as he said it. “But I don’t intend to do any real sleeping.”
She cast a disapproving glance at the recliner. “Doesn’t look all that comfortable for fake sleeping, either.”
His smile came easily, and he got the definite impression that she was predisposed to argue with him about everything.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it,” he told her.
Surrendering for the moment, Krys shrugged. If the man was determined not to sleep, that was his choice. “Suit yourself. But all I know is that it’ll reflect rather badly on me as a brand-new member of the family if I wind up wearing out one of the Cavanaughs less than a week after I turn up.”
He laughed at the image she had wound up projecting. “Don’t worry about it. We’re a hardy breed,” Morgan assured her. “We don’t wear out that easy.”
“Good to know,” Krys replied. Morgan got the feeling that she wasn’t all that convinced.
“Don’t forget to lock your bedroom door,” he called after her as she left the room and walked toward the rear of the house.
Krys stopped and turned around. “Why, are you planning on breaking in?”
Instead of answering her, Morgan grinned in response. “I make it a rule never to mix business with pleasure.”
What is that supposed to mean? she wondered. Krys also had a strong urge to ask him just which category she ultimately fell into, business or pleasure? But she already had enough trouble swirling around her without openly inviting more, and even though he was supposed to be her protector, this man was definitely trouble with a capital T.
“Good night, Cavanaugh,” she said as she resumed walking down the hallway.
“Good night, Kowalski,” he called after her.
Smiling to himself, Morgan settled in on the recliner, prepared to keep watch for the night.
Krys spent a restless night trying to sleep.
Rather than being comforted by the knowledge that Morgan was out there, keeping vigil over her, she found that it agitated her. Although the thought didn’t keep her awake, it did keep waking her every forty-five minutes to an hour or so with a fair amount of regularity.
The fifth time she opened her eyes, fully alert, Krys gave up trying to stitch together a decent night’s sleep. This was even worse than the time she had been overseas, researching a story on the doings of a reluctant hero who had captured the public’s attention—at least for that month. She had relentlessly pursued him until he had surrendered his entire story to her. She remembered being very proud of her work at the time. And also exhausted.
This wasn’t quite as bad as that, she reminded herself. But it was definitely close.
Telling herself that she might as well get on with her day, Krys took a quick shower and felt incredibly vulnerable for the six minutes that she was undressed and in the shower. Thanks to her stint overseas, she had learned how to take what amounted to the world’s quickest showers: in and out at what seemed like the speed of light.
Drying her hair took longer, but only because she had gotten dressed first. That way she was confident she could make a really quick getaway if that turned out to be necessary. The condition of her hair wouldn’t have slowed her down, although it might have wound up attracting attention.
Showered and dressed in less time than it took to think about it, she found the world was finally coming into focus for her and hurried down the stairs. She crossed into the living room—where she found Morgan wide awake and looking a great deal better than she felt he decently should have.
The man definitely didn’t look as if he had spent the night in a recliner.
“Why do you look as if you slept all night?” she accused the moment he turned around. The man looked absolutely refreshed. “You didn’t sleep all night, did you?” she questioned.
“No,” Morgan answered matter-of-factly. “I took a catnap from around two fifteen to two thirty-five,” he told her. He added with a smile, “That seemed to do the trick for me.”
She stared at him. He was kidding, right? “How is that even possible?” she asked, telling him, “That’s not normal.”
“I didn’t say it was normal,” Morgan pointed out. “I just said I took a catnap. About the best way that I can explain it is that when I’m not on duty
