She showered, threw on one of Stephen’s button-down shirts and then rummaged through the pantry until she found something she could bake. He didn’t have that much to choose from in the way of ingredients, but she was nothing if not creative. Soon the aroma of flaxseed and dried cherry muffins filled the sterile kitchen, soothing her while she waited for Stephen to wake up. She might have worn the senator out. Her lips tilted at the thought, but as soon as she moved again, she winced. Okay, so maybe it was the other way around. Stephen Finn was a perfectionist at everything he did—why would this be any exception? He’d asked questions, studied her reactions and never stopped touching her. He’d discovered that she responded best with a firm hand around her neck—that cupping her nape soothed her, but gripping her throat made her his willing slave. Each revelation had made him determined to learn more. And he’d spent the whole night doing just that.
