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windows that ran along the north of the loft. She suspected the glass had been changed to privacy panes to keep people from looking in. The apartment was filled with the gray wash of the day, for clouds still lurked on the horizon and rain threatened.
    Setting down the one bag she’d brought up with her, she glanced at the opened door to what she suspected was his bedroom. The room was dark and as she listened closely, she heard the rumble of snoring echoing forth and that put a smile on her face.
    “Heavy breathing, huh?” she said to herself as she went on into the kitchen area of the open space.
    Working quietly, she set a pot of coffee to brewing and began looking through the cupboards, finding where everything was, taking out plates, mugs, silverware, and cookware as silently as she could.
    It was the cough that alerted her that he was awake. She’d heard such morning coughs from her father who had been a heavy smoker and she glanced toward Rory’s bedroom and froze.
    He had obviously thrown the drapes aside in the room, for she could see clearly all the way to the massive Spanish armoire in front of which he was standing. Her lips parted and she couldn’t have moved had her life depended on it. Her mouth went dry for a moment and then flooded with saliva. When he turned his head and looked at her, her eyes widened, jerking up from the object of her attention to his grinning face.
    “Are you staring at my naked bum, Angie?” he asked her.
    Indeed she had been, she thought as color flamed in her cheeks and she spun around, swallowing hard as she reached into the pantry. She knew she’d not get the image of his smooth, broad back and lean hips and that killer ass out of her head for the rest of her life. With his long legs standing braced wide apart as he opened the armoire door, his butt cheeks flexing, his back muscles stretching, his scrumptious nudity had rocked her to her very foundations.
    She heard him behind her and glanced around, her face still hot. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans he’d left unbuttoned at the waist as he padded up to the peninsula of the bar area.
    “You were, weren’t you?” he said, hooking a leg over a bar stool and sitting down, leaning his forearms on the bar top. He grinned like a little boy. “You were staring at my bare ass.”
    “If I’d had a camera, I could have become a very wealthy woman selling pictures of it to the tabloids,” she said as she rummaged through the bags of groceries. He’d told her not to bother putting them away the evening before when the market delivery boy had shown up while they ate supper. The only things he’d allowed her to put away had been the perishables.
    He propped his chin on the heel of his hand. “So what did you think of it? My bare ass, I mean? Its world class, ain’t it?”
    Her lips quirked. “I believe my exact thought was that you could bounce a quarter off it,” she replied, deciding he was in a good mood, something the agency had warned her was not usually the case with actors and actresses the first thing in the morning.
    His eyes lit up and he came to attention like a puppy will when its master produces a rubber ball. “Wanna try?” he asked eagerly. “I can shuck off me jeans and we can ….”
    “I’ll take a rain check,” she countered.
    Shoulders slumping, he sighed. “You’re no fun.”
    “How do you like your coffee?” she asked.
    “Brewed,” he responded.
    She sighed. “Sugar, cream?”
    “Nope, just black.”
    “What about your eggs?”
    “I like them cooked,” he replied.
    She wouldn’t let that pass, just raised an eyebrow, and looked at him.
    “Oh, you meant how do I want them cooked?” he queried. He shrugged. “Scrambled with a bit of salt and pepper.”
    “Do you like grits?” She walked out of the kitchen and to the bag she’d brought with her.
    He frowned as he twisted around on the bar stool, watching her as she lifted the bag to a chair and unlatched it, reaching in for a