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She yawned and nodded. “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

She froze, blinking. “In the evening?”

“Yeah,” he said apologetically. “I thought you—the doctor said you should sleep as much as—”

“Manny, I was supposed to go to the office!”

“Yeah, well, you really don’t need to go until—”

“Manny!”

“Sorry.” He held up his hands and turned away, shoulders hunched. She glared at him for a second, then shook her head and grabbed the cordless phone from the counter as she headed for the bathroom.

It was impossible to stay mad at Manny, especially in the bathroom, which was very possibly the most heavenly place she’d ever seen. Marble, massaging jets of water, a tub big enough to hold three or four … it was hard to hold a grudge. She still thought of it as Manny’s bathroom, but really, it was hers now, too. For the time being.

Weird.

As she toweled her hair dry with one hand, she dialed Borden’s cell phone one-handed. He answered on the second ring.

“Are you in town?” she asked.

“Well, across it,” he said. “Meeting with some corporate clients. Just finished.”

“I was planning on going to the office, but Manny’s blown that by forgetting to tell me to wake up.”

“That’s his job now?”

“Shut up.”

“Who’s a grumpy late riser?”

“I’m starving. And I want dinner. I heard you eat, sometimes.”

“When the company’s agreeable,” Borden said. “I’ll be there in—twenty minutes. Tell your boyfriend not to shoot me on the way in, okay?”

She smiled and hung up on him, but he had a point about Manny. Not the boyfriend part, the shooting part. Manny was taking guard duty way too seriously. Even Lucia thought he’d gone a little loony on the subject.

She put extra time in at the mirror, experimenting with makeup and blush and eyeliner, and when she was finished, she decided it wasn’t too humiliating. She still looked like Jasmine Callender. Just not the one who got drunk and beat up truckers.

After some thought, she chose a black pantsuit with a plain white French-cuffed shirt—Lucia’s shopping influence—and some mid-heeled shoes. By the time she was slipping them on, Borden’s rental car appeared on the security monitor, and she had to race to tell Manny not to activate his more extreme self-defensive measures.

She met Borden downstairs, in the garage, and found him leaning against his sedan, looking tall and lawyerly. Very legitimate.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, and he straightened up. She deliberately slowed down, enjoying the effect.

“Counselor,” she said, and gave him a long, measuring look. “Something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m pretty sure there are some laws being broken, I’m just not clear on which ones.”

He walked around and opened the door for her. Handed her in, fingers warm around hers.

She didn’t let go. She tugged hard on his hand, tipping him off balance and down to her seated level.

Grabbed his tie and kissed him.

Warm, slow slide of lips, just as hot and sweet as she remembered from that strange, dizzying day at Simms’s prison. His lips parted, and she plunged her tongue into the opening, tasting coffee and caramel. His tongue scraped hers, teased, stroked. She moaned, deep in her throat, and grabbed a handful of his hair to try to get him deeper into her. It was unbelievable, really, how much she wanted this.