It was odd, Jag reflected a short while later, as he watched Val move about the kitchen, making breakfast. He'd been instructed to sit down and let him work, so he was doing just that, and watching him. And it was odd, because he really ought to be deeply uneasy, round about then. You could have fit a small flat in the kitchens (they were big enough that Jag thought they deserved a plural), a clear sign of opulence and everything that usually made him uneasy.

But it was just the two of them, and Val moved very confidently about the space. Jag's gaze kept being drawn to the width of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the curve of his arse. Was he supposed to find cooking breakfast sexy? Val made it sexy, right now. Jag was going to blame that on the emotional rollercoaster that had been last night, and just be glad that he could simply enjoy this moment, without anything else creeping into it.

"So where's your granda live?" he asked after a bit, forcing himself to make conversation instead of just watching Val.