She wondered if brains actually could spill out of the ears, and she sent Roarke another section. “Ah, well now, that could be useful,” he mumbled. “Pry this bleeding bitch open just a bit more. Aye, that’s clever, but not fecking clever enough, is it then?” She rose, turned to the friggie because she realized she’d finally hit a point she’d never believed possible to hit. She couldn’t handle more coffee. She got water for both of them. “And there, you shagging, cross-eyed whoremonger, I’ve got it.” Half-asleep, too used to his mutters to think anything of them—though whoremonger was new—she
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