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Resisting more than a kiss was already killing him. And now she was up, humming, like nothing had happened.

He groaned softly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

It was going to be a long morning.

He finally made it out of bed, tugging on loose drawstring pants and dragging his fingers through his tangled hair. The scent of coconut and browning sugar hit him next, and he followed it like a trail—his bare feet quiet against the wood floor as he reached the kitchen doorway.

She was standing at the stove, one of his tunics swallowing her frame, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on her cheek. The back of it dipped low, revealing the curve of her spine beneath. Her braid swung gently as she moved, her humming breaking off when she heard him.

"You don't have a heart," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "You left me to face my nightmares alone."

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. "You were snoring. I barely escaped with my hearing intact."

He scoffed, stepping in and reaching for the steaming mug she'd set aside for him. "I do not snore."

She shrugged innocently. "The walls say otherwise."

Hagan sipped his coffee, eyes never leaving her. "You talk in your sleep, you know. Said something about... squirrel diplomacy?"

She made a face. "I was dreaming about the foxes, thank you."

They fell into a rhythm, bumping hips gently as they moved around each other. She handed him a finished rice pancake wrapped in toasted leaf, warm and fragrant. He unwrapped it slowly—revealing the sweet, coconut-brown sugar filling inside, golden and sticky.

He took a bite. Moaned. "This should be outlawed."

She only smiled as she placed another pancake on his plate.

He leaned against the counter beside her, chewing slowly. "Soooo good."

Her smile faded just slightly when she turned to face him fully. He had that intense look.

He nodded. "I want my morning kiss."

His muscled arm wrapped around her to pull her close with a jerk. Their breaths mingled with the smell of coconut and sugar between them. His hand slid over the bare skin of her spin to curve over one buttock. Her sensitive breasts squashed on his unyielding chest. The kiss was nothing like the one beneath the branches. It was hotter. Hungrier. Less careful.

His lips moved over hers with a purpose, the tension between them snapping like a drawn bowstring. Her hands flattened against his bare chest, then curled into the fabric of his pants at the waist. He pressed her lightly against the counter, deepening the kiss, tasting sugar on her tongue.

She kissed him back like she'd been waiting for it.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little stunned, her braid was tangled over one shoulder and his coffee sat forgotten behind him.

But between them, the bond was thick as honey now. It clung to every word left unsaid, every glance that lingered just a moment too long. It hummed beneath the surface of their laughter, made their brushing fingers feel like sparks, made the space between them feel like it might collapse at any moment.

"I don't know how you do it," he said softly.

She tilted her head. "Do what?"

"Act like everything's normal when I feel like I'm about to come apart every time you stand too close."

Her smile was small, quiet, and a little sad. "Who says I'm not holding it together with string?"

The silence stretched, warm and restless.

"A very very thin fraying string," she muttered.

Then she handed him another pancake and said lightly, "Eat before you melt down completely."

He grinned. "Bossy."