Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [59]
The only certainty she had reached when she returned to him was the rueful knowledge that she had fallen for an extremely complex man she might never fully understand even after a lifetime of knowing him. On the other hand, he was also the most intriguing, baffling, maddening, exciting man she'd ever known, and impossibly sexy to boot.
None of that was a revelation, of course, except for her acceptance of her own feelings. And, being Morgan, once she accepted them, that particular struggle was over. After all, what was the use of kicking and screaming about something beyond one's power to change? She might be the last woman in the world who should have fallen for a famous cat burglar, but the fact remained that she had.
Dealing with it was the issue now.
After careful thought, Morgan very deliberately dressed in a loose and comfortable outfit consisting of baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt, with her only pair of bedroom slippers (ridiculously fuzzy things) on her feet. Hardly sexy attire. She had no intention of throwing herself at him yet again and trusted that he would get the point.
Being Quinn, of course, he did.
“Where did you get the blanket?” she asked calmly as she limped back into the living room. The blanket had been folded up and placed over the back of a chair, catching her attention when she came in.
He had been on the couch, looking rather broodingly at an old black-and-white movie on television, and got to his feet as soon as she spoke. His gaze scanned her from head to toe, and a faint gleam was born in the green eyes.
“Jared brought it when I called him to come relieve me on watch,” he answered.
“Ah. I wondered.”
“Feeling better?”
“Heaps. Don't I look it?”
“Fishing, Morgana?”
“Curious.”
He smiled. “I get the point, if that's what you're wondering. But I think I should tell you that you'd look sexy draped in sackcloth.”
She eased down on the other end of the couch and looked up at him expressionlessly. “I always wondered what that was. Sackcloth, I mean.”
“A very rough, coarse cloth.”
“That was what I thought. But I wasn't sure. Did you happen to earn a college degree in the history of fashion?”
“No.”
Morgan waited, one eyebrow rising, and Quinn suddenly uttered a low laugh.
“Actually, I have a law degree.”
For an instant she wanted to laugh but managed to control the impulse. “I see. Well, at least you completely understood the laws you were breaking.”
“I'll get the coffee,” Quinn said, retreating.
Morgan smiled to herself, then searched among the pillows on the couch for the remote and turned the television off. When he returned, she accepted her cup and sipped the hot liquid cautiously. “I won't be worth shooting tomorrow,” she commented as he sat down a foot or so away from her.
“You mean today.” He glanced at her, then said, “I talked to Jared while you were in the shower and asked him to fill in the others in the morning. So they probably won't expect you to show up on time. If at all.”
“I guess they had to know, huh?”
“I think so.” Quinn gazed into his coffee cup as if it held the secrets of the universe. “If that was Nightshade who put you to sleep, he's getting either nervous or suspicious—and either way could mean it's likely that he'll make his move soon.”
There were still several questions Morgan wanted to ask about all this—things that bothered her in a sort of vague, indeterminate way—but she chose not to ask them right now for two reasons: first, because she was more than ready to focus on their relationship and, second, because she had a hunch he would tell her more if allowed to do so in his own way.
While all that was floating through her mind, he leaned forward to set his cup on the coffee table and then half turned toward her as he sat back.
“Morgana?”
She looked at him, finding his expression very serious.
“I wasn't trying to use your feelings to distract you. At least . . . not consciously. I didn't particularly want you to ask questions about what I was doing at night, but we both know I'm capable of lying if I have