Waking up Sunday morning was a painful experience. I stomped into the kitchen, prepared to snarl at anyone that got between me and coffee. I flung open a cupboard, grabbed a mug, and did a double take.

The paintbrush on the counter was back to its original color.

"I'm guessing you heard our little chat?" Kane braced his hands at the top of the door-frame, leaning into the kitchen. His lime green pajama bottoms slid a tantalizing smidge down his hip and his bare chest ...