Cameron Kara. I hadn't even opened my eyes yet, hadn't even woken up completely, but she was the first thought in my head. When I heard a soft, snoring sound, I felt myself smile. I wanted to open my eyes, but what if it was a dream? Would I find myself without her, find that I was just imagining her? It wouldn't be the first time. I kept my eyes closed. If this was a fantasy, I wanted to keep it. Just another second, just one more. Then I heard a hitch in her breathing and opened my eyes. She was here. In my bed. Just like in my dream last night, and my dreams of her before that. She'd shifted away from me, hogged the blanket and wrapped it around her possessively. I moved closer, lifted the blanket and went under it, pulling her into my arms. I groaned at how incredible she felt, how soft. Stroking her back, I buried my face in her hair. "Kara." She made a growling sound, pulled away from me, but I locked her against me, relishing in her warmth. "There's no one here with that name," she mumbled. I let out a quiet laugh. A few seconds and she was back to snoring. I held her tighter. Just because. I didn't have to glance at the clock to know it was before dawn. My internal clock was always set in work hours. We must have gone to bed just a couple of hours after I'd dropped off Dylan. It was tempting to wake her. The memory of her taste was still in my mouth, and I wanted more of it. More of her sounds, the desperate clutch of her fingers in my hair, the tight feel of her legs around my head. She'd been shy at first, then scandalized, then uninhibited. It was...addicting. When my heart began to race, I forced myself to carefully climb out of bed before I lose my self-control. She could use more sleep before I needed to wake her. We both had a shift at The Yard today. Another morning then, I decided, and reached for my shirt on the floor, put it on. Another morning with Kara. Something knocked in my chest that felt like...hope. She'd be here again, not just today, but many more times. As many as she'd like. As long as she wanted me. Something different for you, St. Laurent. That's right, I thought. Something good this time. Something I never wanted before—never allowed myself to want before, never thought I could have, but couldn't get enough of this time. I headed to the kitchen, stretched my back muscles, rolled my shoulders to get the kinks out before I programmed the coffeemaker, then hopped into the shower off the den. I smelled toast when I stepped out and felt a stupid smile on my face. She's up. I rubbed my hair with the towel—it felt too long and heavy now, vaguely thought of getting all of it chopped off as I padded barefoot to the kitchen. The sight of her standing in front of the window sink, her face buried in a cup of coffee, hair like a haystack, strike a chord inside me. Kara in the morning, I thought and stood there watching for a moment, filing the scene in my head like a picture. Could never get enough of this either. She looked up, sleepy eyes locked on my face for a beat. Then shook her head, muttered to herself, and continued sipping her coffee. She gestured at the plate of toast on the counter, poured more coffee in her cup, drank again with the concentration of a surgeon. When she was finished with her second cup, she blinked slowly, eyes clearing as she looked around the room. When our eyes met, she smiled. It was so damned captivating. "Hi," she said. I slid the towel around my neck, held the ends of it as I sucked my bottom lip in my mouth, trying not to smile that stupid smile again. "Hi." "I made breakfast." To Kara, coffee and toasting bread was breakfast. I'd take it. "Thanks." I reached for one and finished it in two bites. She poured a fresh cup, handed it to me. "Black, right?" "Yeah." I took a sip, another. "No salt this time." Her eyes glimmered with mischief, at the memory of that morning when I made a deal with her and backed her into a corner. In retribution, she'd made me coffee. And added a pound of salt in it. "No acid either," she added. "You're a blood thirsty woman." She lifted a brow. "You're just finding out now?" I slid the towel off my neck, hung it on the back of a barstool. Then reached for her arm to pull her to me, but she jumped back, laughing. She looked better, way better than she had last night, but her laugh didn't have the same carefree sound to it. "Too late though. Can't get a refund now," she said. "Don't need one. Got exactly what I want." Some emotion I couldn't identify glimmered in her eyes. "I thought you'd be scared by now." "I don't scare easy." "Oh, don't worry. I'll scare you soon." I sipped more coffee, drinking in her face, her neck, her naked shoulder from where the robe fell and exposed her skin. "How soon?" She shot me a dry look. "Have you seen Freddie Krueger make an appointment with his victims? You just know he's coming. No appointment necessary." She made claws with her fingers and wiggled them at my face. Collecting the dishes, she brought them to the sink. Enjoying her, I stood next to her and leaned against the counter to watch, felt a little disappointed when she drew the sleeve up and covered her shoulder. She reached for the half-empty bottle of dish detergent, uncapped it, turned on the tap and filled it with water.