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"Coffee is better for kicking ass."
"Well, we're not doing any more ass-kicking tonight. Do you want anything with your tea?"
"What if I said I wanted a kiss?" she asked, a reckless light in her eyes.
"I'd say that would be as bad for you as coffee," he returned, feeling a rush of desire run through him. "No more excitement tonight, Callie."
"I feel wired. I need to burn it off. And since I assume you won't let me go for a run—"
"You assume right."
"Then I need another way to release all this tension, and I can think of a really good one."
He put up a hand, as she leaned into him. "You are not making this easy."
"I'm not trying to," she said with a smile. "I almost died today, Flynn. I feel like savoring how alive I am."
"I get it. I've felt that way before."
"Then why are you resisting?"
"Because I want to protect you."
"From you?"
"And from yourself. I'm making you tea and then you're going to bed—alone."
"You're not as much fun as I thought you'd be," she complained.
"I don't have fun with women who just suffered a concussion. You need to rest." He got to his feet, which required an almost superhuman effort. But he was going to do the right thing tonight.
Tomorrow might be a different story.
* * *
Callie woke up Monday morning around nine. As she glanced at the clock on the nightstand, she was surprised she'd slept so late. She was usually an early bird, rising with the sun, getting in a run before a shower, but that wasn't happening today. While she felt immensely better, she still had a small ache in her head, reminding her of yesterday's close call.
As she slid out of bed, she heard Flynn's voice in the kitchen. He appeared to be on the phone. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but there was energy in his voice. Hopefully, he was getting some new leads.
She used the bathroom, making a face at her tangled hair and pale skin. She needed a shower before she could see anyone.
Stripping off the sweats and T-shirt that Flynn had loaned her the night before, she hopped into the shower, letting the warm water ease her aching neck muscles. She'd been hit on the back of the head, but fortunately she'd only had some minor bleeding and hadn't needed stitches. But she still washed her hair with gentle hands, as the bump on her head was quite prominent.
When she moved back into the guest room, she found a bag of clothes next to those she'd stripped off the night before. And they were her clothes.Where had they come from?Frowning, she got dressed and then made her way into the kitchen.
Flynn was off the phone and at the stove, flipping pancakes and frying bacon. He wore dark jeans and a navy-blue crew-neck sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes. His blond hair was damp and a bit curly, his cheeks cleanly shaven, his mouth looking oh so sexy as it curved into a welcoming smile that put a knot in her throat. Every time she thought she was imagining how attractive he was, he appeared in the flesh, looking just as handsome in person as he was in her head.
"You're up," he said.
"And you're cooking. I love pancakes."
"Good. I also made coffee." He moved over to the coffeemaker and poured her a mug. "Do you take anything in it?"
"No. I like it strong."
"I figured."
She took a sip and sighed with delight.