In an unusual show of stealth, Heathcliff leapt out of the shadows and slithered into the chair ahead of me. “That’s mine. No one else sits in this chair.”
“Hello to you, too.” Grimalkin jumped on the back of the chair and swiped playfully at my hair. I patted her furry head. I tried to pat Heathcliff’s head, but he ducked under me and slouched deeper into his chair. I gave him an exaggerated pout. “At leastGrimalkinis happy to see me.”
“You didn’t try to purloin her property,” Heathcliff replied.
“Come on now, is that any way to treat someone who brought dessert?” I lifted the lid of the box in my hands to reveal a stack of sticky toffee pudding cakes.
“Iwas the picture of politeness.” Morrie emerged from the alcove and grabbed a cake from the box. My jaw fell open. He must have just come out of the shower, because his hair was plastered to his face and droplets trickled from his exquisite jaw. In the gloom I’d also neglected to notice he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
My mouth dried. By Astarte, James Moriarty wascut.Toned pecs and an eight-pack led the eye down, down, down, where a snail-trail of dark hair and the tips of an Adonis-V let my imagination flirt with what was below his waist. A tattoo of a Napoleonic warship covered his bicep above his ‘the game is afoot” piece. The words, “I must confess, I covet your skull,” were written across his chest in an elegant gothic script, and a spider’s web hung over one of his glorious pecs, the spider dangling down over his abs.
“You okay there, gorgeous?” Morrie grabbed a second cake. “Your mouth’s hanging open like you’re trying to trap a fly in there.”
I snapped my mouth shut. “I’m fly… I mean, I’mfine. Are you going to put clothes on? It’s miserable out tonight. I’d hate for you to catch your death.”
“Can’t stand the sight of me, eh?” He tugged on a red shirt and buttoned a black-and-gold vest over top of it, rolling up the sleeves over his forearms.Be still my heart, that man knows how to dress.
“I’m just a concerned citizen. I also brought some berries for the raven. They’re a bit smushed, but—” The words slipped away as I noticed a third pair of eyes watching me from the hallway. “Who… who else is there?”
A figure stepped out of the shadows. Under the light of the chandelier, another guy came into focus, his features so striking he stole my breath. While Heathcliff had his rugged looks, and Morrie his slick charm, this guy’s skin radiated with a pale luminescence that wasn’t of this world. A pair of sensuous pouting lips turned up at me as long fingers reached up to sweep a silken strand of waist-length black hair from his face, grazing along a cheekbone that could cut glass. Eyes of deep brown, tinged with rings of fire like a Norwegian forest burning in the wake of Ragnarok, glared at me like he was the hunter and I his prey.
“Who… who are you?” I managed to choke out the words.
“The flatmate,” he whispered back, the words carrying the weight of a curse. “I’ll take the berries to the bird.”
I started at his voice. That throaty tone, that rich timbre, like chocolate melting over ripe strawberries.He sounds just like that random voice I keep hearing around the shop!
Then how come I’ve never seen him before?
“Have you been spying on me?” I demanded. Extreme, otherworldly hotness did not excuse this bloke from being a creep.
The flatmate’s eyes shifted, fire flaring through them as the forest gave way to the inferno. He closed his eyelids, tangling his feathery long lashes as he whipped the berries from my hand, turned on his heel, and marched back down the hall. His hair flared out behind him like the plumage of a songbird, collecting and reflecting the light, painting the stands in fleeting shades of color – indigo, lavender, copper, burnished gold.
I rubbed the corner of my eye, wishing like crazy my wonky eyes could penetrate the gloom of the hallway, because I bet the view of his arse was fuckingspectacular.
“That’s Quoth,” Morrie said. “He’s a bit of a loner. You won’t see much of him.”
“Probably for the best. But seriously, his name is Quoth?”
Morrie nodded.
“His real name? Not his World of Warcraft handle? Not his shitty post-punk band’s name? His parents actually called himQuoth?”
“That’s what it says on his gym membership,” Heathcliff grunted from the chair.
“Okay, this flat is too outrageous to be real. You’re sure only three of you live up here? I’m not about to meet Shakespeare and the Venerable Bede? Because I’m not sure my brain can handle the thees and thous right now.”
“Just us three merry bachelors,” Morrie sang as he reached in for another cake.
“Four, if you count the raven,” I added, surprised he’d forget the bird.
“Right, yes. Of course. Four.”
“Don’t you have some work to do?” Heathcliff picked up his book from the arm of the chair. “I believe there was a plot afoot to make my life miserable.”
“You’re already miserable. I’m hoping a website will make yousomiserable you come back around to joyful,” I said, managing to ruffle his hair a little before he shrugged me off.
“I hope he does a little joyful jog.” Morrie waved me through. “That would make my whole year. This way into my lair.”
