Are you thinking of dressing today?” Patrick glanced from the omelette pan to Annabel’s face, then down to his gray jersey athletic shorts, which were threadbare and lacking support. The absence of a jockstrap or briefs didn’t improve matters any. Especially since his thoughts had been wandering to the bedroom, and his cock was of a mind to head back that way. “A T-shirt ought to do me. Maybe a bucket of ice water. But you’ll have to watch the omelette.” He lifted a brow, indicating the eggs, cheese, tomatoes, cilantro and chorizo simmering on the stovetop. Annabel tightened the belt of her silky robe, the creamy white-and-blue-green swirly patterns reminding him suddenly of Caribbean waters beneath endless skies. A reminder that took his thoughts back to the cigarette butt he’d picked up from the sidewalk outside the loft at dawn. He tensed but refused to glance at the evidence of his suspicions lying on the countertop.
