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“Wha’ time izzit?”

“Early.”

“How early?”

“Early,” he said again, and brushed his lips over hers.

Bianca opened her eyes. She looked past him, at the windows where the vertical blinds were half open.

“Chayton. It’s still night.”

“It’s morning.”

“But it’s dark out.”

He kissed her again. This time, her lips clung lightly to his.

“It’s five,” he said softly.

“In the morning?”

The disbelief in her voice made him laugh. “Yup. That’s what it is. Five in the a.m.”

“Please don’t tell me this is your idea of when to start the day.”

“Certainly not.” He paused. “I usually don’t get moving until five-fifteen.”

She groaned. He laughed, nuzzled a soft spray of curls away from her shoulder and pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

“I hated to wake you, sweetheart.” He sat back. “But we have lots to do.”

He saw the change steal over her face as she remembered what was happening and it damn near killed him.

“I know,” he said gently. “Not the best way to start a Sunday. But we don’t have much choice, honey. You know that.”

She looked into his eyes. Then she sighed, held the duvet to her breasts and sat up.

“You’re right. You want me to phone the psychiatrist treating John Cartwr—Treating my former patient.”

He wanted more than that. For starters, he wanted the name she’d almost let slip, but this wasn’t the time to get into that.

“Yes,” he said, “I do.”

“And I will, but, mannaggia, not at five a.m. Nobody’s going to talk to anybody at this hour.”

“True.” His gaze dropped to her hand, clutching the duvet to her, then rose to her face. “But we have to go over what you’re going to ask him. And we need to do a couple of other things.”

“What things?”

His gaze fell to her hand again. Slowly, he reached out and tugged the edge of the duvet from her grasp. It fell to her waist. She made a grab for it.

He stopped her, and his eyes met hers.

“You have to provide me with lists of names,” he said, and, Jesus, how could he sound so calm when all he could really think about was the sweet taste of her nipples?

“Chayton.” She swallowed hard; he could see the action of the muscles in her throat. “I told you—”

“Your patients,” he said. “The subjects in your study.”