Flipping up bed skirts and pulling out drawers, I check every room for him. Barely contained panic threatens to spill out. It’s not helping at all that I can’t get Zayn’s handsome face out of my head. Just gazing and smiling at me like that from the doorway of the little cottage the other night. Constantly waving at me through the windows in the days since. Always smiling confidently and assuredly, as though aware of his soothing effect on my ragged nerves.
And I had done, what? Forgiven him? Just like that. Allowed him to be all up in my business and around the house 24-7. Why, purely because he is hot as all sin?
What is wrong with you?A little voice quips from the back of my head.
I slam my palm onto the floor in frustration and rise from where I’m kneeling by an end table.
Well, he did save your life, the little voice in my head pipes up again, helpfully.
“Oh, fuck off!” I say out loud to myself, continuing to tear through the house, now trying not to lose it.
With every passing minute that I can’t find Bundy, I feel like ripping my hair out at the roots.Where the hell is he?He has never stayed away from me like this before, and my stomach is in knots wondering who or what could have possibly scared him enough to make him hide from me. Unless… a question passes through my mind.
Could he have somehow gotten out?
I dash up the stairs and start checking the windows. Sure enough, I spot the window by the upstairs lounge cracked open about half a foot. Wincing, I remember spilling some wine on the carpet the other night. I had opened the window to help the rug dry faster after spot treating it. I had forgotten to close it.
Damn you and your alcoholic tendencies, Kat.
I race out the front door, flashlight in hand, and tear down the steps. A few yards out, I veer off the black wet pavement of the driveway and turn onto the spongy green moss of the wild landscape that surrounds the house.
“Bundy?” I call out, feeling panic rise in my throat. “Bundy!”
What if a mountain lion or coyote had gotten to him?
“Bundy!” I repeat, shining my light low under every fern and tree.
I keep my head down, scanning side to side, when I all but crash into a tall, solid figure. I stifle a scream as I look up and meet the sea blue eyes of Zayn.
Wrapped in his arms is Bundy. I stare incredulously at them both and exhale a relieved breath.
“Bundy!” I exclaim. “Oh my God, where did you find him?”
Zayn tries to pass Bundy over to me, extending his arms, but Bundy digs his claws deeper into Zayn’s flannel shirt, apparently hanging on for dear life.
What in the hell?
“Come here, Judas,” I murmur, trying to gently unhook his claws from Zayn’s shirt, but Bundy continues to resist, jerking his paw away from me. Then, he butts his little head up underneath Zayn’s chin and starts to purr.
Fucking traitor,I think. Zayn smiles at me and leans forward to show Bundy off better. His dimples are on full display as I take in his handsome face. He smells like wet pine and cedar.
“I was behind the house clearing out some of the old growth firs by the ravine when I heard his meow,” Zayn explains. “He sounded so sad. So, I took a knee, called out to him, and he ran right over to me.”
“Jesus. Thank you,” I breathe out, relief washing over me. How was he always in the right place at the right time?
“Well come on, bud. Let’s get you back inside,” I say, turning to tread back toward the house.
Once on the front stoop, I turn to face Zayn who is now giving Bundy gentle scratches behind his ears. Far from appearing traumatized, Bundy looks like he’s in heaven.
What is it about this man that even my cat trusts him?
“Um, would you like to come in?” I ask, realizing that he has saved my ass twice now, and I should at the very least, extend some basic politeness his way.
Zayn gives me a smirk and a small nod. His eyes twinkle with some inner thought. It’s then that I remember he has already been inside Pearson House. Just not when I wasawareof it.
Jackass.
“I’d love to. But I’m a bit wet and muddy,” he states, gesturing down at his dark jeans and boots.
