16
“I don’t care if he was undercover, over cover, or between covers, he needs to see me immediately.”
“He’s not decent, Lady Morena,” Laura told her, her tone soothing.
“Damn right, he isn’t.” But she sounded somewhat mollified. I debated waiting in my office to hear the fun, but then I remembered they’d be able to tell, either through scent or the sound of my breathing, that I was done. I opened the door.
Morena stood in the center of the room with feet planted and fists curled. The image of a two-year-old fireplug getting warmed up for a tantrum came to mind, which mixed so many metaphors it made my brain hurt. The shower had helped my headache somewhat, likely due to the warm water loosening up my neck tension, but when her gray eyes met my hazel ones, my temple throbbed again.
“W
