Marcus cleared his throat, jaw ticking. “Adopting a pet is not improv, Francesca. It’s schedules, enrichment, litter hygiene, and consistent boundaries.”
She lifted a hand. “Did you copy-paste that from a parenting blog?”
His mouth flattened. “Fine. Consider it pet adoption transparency. Did you know cats demand daily apologies from their humans?”
She smiled. “Cute. I don’t apologize. He’ll get toys, boundaries, and a performance review.”
When she eventually returned to Manhattan, the cat would stay behind with Marcus. A parting gift. She fully intended to train it to pee in men’s shoes and judge them while doing it. Therapy hadn’t revoked her grudge-carrying privileges. And after banishing her to the damn cottage following one night that ended afterappetizers, followed by lackluster date manners, Marcus was overdue for payback.
Marcus frowned. “Be aware—cats and ghosts? Not a great mix.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Harriet claims cats attract or enrage ghosts. She even made charts about it. Something about liminal energy.”
“Liminal energy,” she repeated. “Refresh my memory on that term.”
“One paw in this world, one in the beyond. Cats are beacons to ghosts. Especially in old houses with history.”
“In other words, I’ve upgraded to Haunted Manor Plus?” She grinned. “Delicious.”Naked Runwayhad taught her one non-fashion truth: the otherworldly was real.
His brows drew together. “If you hear phantom footsteps or wake up to find that cat staring at the ceiling like he’s translating ghost Morse code…don’t blame me.”
Frankie couldn’t believe her luck. He’d just handed her the perfect, gift-wrapped, Friends with Perks opening. “So basically, you’re volunteering to sleep with me for protection?”
He huffed out a breath. “It’s my way of saying haunted houses aren’t for the faint of heart. Or faint of fashion.”
She laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re afraid to take me to bed again. Afraid the other night was a fluke. That you can’t make me come twice in a row with just foreplay.”
Bullseye. His jaw worked, a tell he couldn’t hide.
Spiraling never looked so handsome.
She lowered her voice. “Performance issues?”
“It wasn’t a fluke.”
“Great. I’ll be ready in an hour. I’ll settle Sir Hissalot, take my bath, and you can come and prove it. Bring confidence. Leave excuses.”
Chapter 30
Marcus stared after Frankie, who had strolled off as if dismantling his sabotage traps had been penciled onto her morning schedule.
The cat? Total failure. She’d cuddled the damn gremlin.
The ghost warning? She’d laughed. Actually laughed. His attempt to terrify her had landed as comedy instead.
Two sabotage attempts. Two epic fails.
Only one tactic left on the table. The nuclear option. Catastrophically, unforgivably, bad sex. The kind of performance that would make Yelp reviews weep.
Marcus dragged a hand down his face as he trudged up the stairs. He didn’t want to do it. It violated personal ethics. It dishonored the proud legacy of exes who’d sung his praises over bottomless mimosas.
He took a long shower. Trimmed his nails. Stared at himself in the mirror. Briefly considered relocating to another continent. For a man plotting bad sex, he was disturbingly committed to hygiene.
Thirty minutes later, nowhere near emotionally prepared, he stepped into his bedroom like a man marching toward the gallows of his own reputation.
“Bad kitty!”
