For the third time in as many days, Cass stood stock still, a bowl in each hand, obliged to remind Devorlane Hawley of the rules of this particular game.
"Sorry." He shifted his lean frame in order to adjust the robe. At least he'd learned that much, even if he didn't adjust the robe. "I forgot."
"Thank you."
She set the bowls down, aware as she pushed them where she always put them that the stare he'd fixed on the opposite wall was intent enough to burn holes in the lathe and plaster. Why? Because she might have placed the contents of one of these bowls somewhere other than the bedside cabinet and he expected to suffer agony? Or, he was so addicted to s*x, he longed for her? A man who could have any woman he wanted, and probably had?
So long as he didn't need help with that addiction
