Jamie has been a willing and eager participant in many fantastic, stirring kisses, but this one is easily in the top five. When Eleanor waves at the incredibly ill-timed interruption, Jamie dives his hand into her hair, getting his fingers good and tangled, and tugs her that much closer.

He's hungry, all right; just not for food, or whatever that infernal woman is peddling. He's close to growling his acceptance that she get out, at top speed if she doesn't want to see more than she should; then his traitorous brain raises a stray but pertinent thought.

Food he can do without, but answers to their questions are vital.

Biting his own lip, he lifts his head and fixes a glazed stare on Emily. Words are temporarily beyond him, so he gives his head a swift shake. No. Stay. It's followed by a small smile, as charming as if she'd caught him daydreaming, not wrapped up in Eleanor.

And now that he's bothered to look, the food on the tray looks rather good.