He swore softly, then dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, the gesture full of frustration. The muscles in his neck tensed as he swallowed. But the rigid line of his jaw, beneath the shadow of morning stubble, had relaxed a fraction more when his gaze met Tatum’s. Where he had seen only heat and then fury before in those turbulent blue eyes, what he saw now was a searing concentration. Andrew was staring at Tatum as if he were some strange, annoying and unknowable creature he couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t what you’d call a complimentary look, but it still made the thrum of awareness chase over Tatum’s skin.

He really was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen before in his life. “The bee's knees”, as they would say in London, despite the disturbing stare and the scowl furrowing his forehead. The patchwork of scars only seemed to enhance his raw masculinity.

He reminded Tatum of a He reminded Tatuferal hound he’d found hiding in their garage as a child. Andrew Pearce had the same hunted look about him. The look of a creature so brutalized and abused they had learned to lash out to protect themselves.

“Not one single word?” he rasped. “You swear?”

Tatum did a zipping motion across his lips, then crossed his heart and kissed his pinkie.

“Okay,” he said, his reluctance echoing through the word with deafening clarity. “I’ll eat the damn pancakes. Then you can leave.”

It was hardly an invitation, but he’d take it.

As Andrew settled on a stool at the breakfast bar, Tatum drew the warming pancakes from the oven and began making up a plate for him.

Over to you, Mum. Time for your secret recipe to work miracles, and stop my hot new boss from kicking me out on my backside!