Her gaze went to the window. Had he gotten in through there again? Or did he go through the front door this time, because maybe he was an expert lock-picker as well? More importantly, why wasn't she angry? Why was she getting out of bed, smoothing her hand over her sleep-tousled hair, and wondering if she should put on something more appealing than her long cotton pajamas with their constellation pattern?
She heard a clatter of pans. "I know you're awake. Come on out, your breakfast is getting cold."
"Nothing comes before the bladder," Isa muttered under her breath, surprised when she heard him laugh a moment later. He couldn't have heard her… could he?
She walked into the kitchen five minutes later, too proud to change out of her pajamas, but conceding to brush her teeth and run a wet towel over her face. As far as her hair—well. It was hopeless, as it always was in the morning.
Chance was in the middle of her kitchen, looking far better than what was in the array of pans on her stove. He had on a light blue shirt that complimented his pale skin and deep brown hair, plus a pair of darker blue, loose-fitting jeans. His feet were bare, and Isa found herself momentarily fascinated by them. They seemed at once so completely masculine and yet so… cute.
She stopped staring at his feet to sit on one of the stools across from her counter.
"You're a regular repeat offender with the breaking and entering, aren't you?" she asked flippantly.
Chance grinned. "You skipped dinner last night. One would think since you owned a restaurant, you'd get around to eating, but apparently not."
She had skipped dinner last night, but how did he know that?
"Aren't you supposed to be spying on Robert, not me? Or better yet, breaking into his home, not mine?"
He heaped generous portions of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns onto a plate before sliding it across to her.
"Robert's later tonight. You're hungry now. I'm just going down the line of priorities, darling."
"I told you not to call me that," Isa replied automatically, though she didn't mean it now. Truth be told, she rather liked the caressing way he said "darling."
And the look in his eyes when he said it was even better.
Oh, shit. She was so in trouble. Last night after almost kissing him, Isa had berated herself for hours about the stupidity of getting involved with some pseudo-magician whacko—albeit a smolderingly sexy one—when she still had to find her brother and get out of marrying a career criminal. Yet here she was now, getting all starry-eyed over something as benign as Chance's feet, for crying out loud.
That was it. She was getting a vibrator. Clearly she was in need of sexual healing, and right now a battery-operated device had the least amount of complications.
The timer on her oven went off. Chance turned around with a graceful spin and then lifted out a pan of wonderful-smelling bread. Isa's mouth watered even though she'd just taken a bite of food.
"You'd make a great chef," she said once she'd swallowed. "Ever think of leaving the honor-bound, criminal-interrogating hypnotist society to try your hand at that?"
Chance sliced her a steaming piece of bread, an odd smile on his face. "I can never leave the society I'm part of, Isabella. Once you become a member, you stay that way forever."
"Then I hope they have a hell of a retirement plan," she quipped.
That made Chance grin, highlighting the dimple on his chin. "The best there is, I assure you."
He took the stool next to Isa, but didn't bother getting himself a plate. Isa gestured with her fork at all the food spread out in front of her.
"Are you going to eat anything?"
His lips were parted, so Isa could see his tongue flick out to caress the tops of his teeth.
"Later."
There was something in the purr of that single word that made Isa suddenly lose her appetite. Her appetite for food, to be more specific. Another appetite reared its long-neglected head and began screeching to be satisfied.
Chance reached out, gently brushing her hair back from her face. His hand was cool against her cheek, like silk made into flesh. Isa drew in a breath, noting with curious detachment that it was uneven. Funny, the more she stared into Chance's eyes, the more she became convinced they were turning green.
"Back away, Chance. We need to keep things professional between us."
She made herself say it, because even if it wasn't true, it made sense to utter those words. Chance was practically a stranger, and a peculiar one at that. So what if she was drawn to him in ways she'd never felt before? So what if he fascinated her with his unusual mix of courtliness and utter disregard for the law? Getting Frazier back safely was her top priority, period. That meant canoodling with a local crime boss who thought she was going to marry him, not making out with an out-of-town hypnotist who might get killed with his next act.
Chance leaned closer, so that the breath from his words fell directly on her lips.
"You don't want to."
Boy, was he right about that. Keep things professional? Hardly. All Isa wanted to do now was press her mouth against his and rake her tongue inside until she couldn't taste anything but him.