Page 70 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“Then we have time, we’ll figure it out.” I lift my head and press a kiss to his mouth. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving, and I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

He laughs and presses a kiss to my mouth before rolling off me. “Fine, you big baby. You get the toast on. I need to use the bathroom.”

I move to my side, propping my head on my hand, and watch him with a smile on my lips. Once he and his beautiful naked arse have disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door, I flop onto my back again and stare up at the ceiling, my smile widening even further.

I’m happy.

It’s quite a revelation, considering all the supernatural crap going on, plus Viv’s murder investigation and Tristan’s dad’s death.

My stomach protests loudly, and I laugh.

Fuck, okay. Breakfast it is.

I climb out of bed and pull my jeans on, leaving the top button undone. From my pocket, I pull a hairband and scoop my hair off my face, securing it in a messy bun as I pad through to the kitchen.

With the bread dropped into the toaster, I reach over and flip the button on the kettle, then pull down two clean mugs for tea and a couple of plates. I have to move the stack of case files from Mr Hadley, which I left in the kitchen last night, to set the plates on the counter.

I busy myself with the tea and then buttering the toast, and by the time Harrison saunters into the kitchen, I’ve got a triangle of toast in one hand and an open case file in the other.

Harrison’s arms slip around me, and his bare chest presses against my back as he drops a sweet kiss between my shoulder blades.

“What are you doing?”

I swallow the bite of toast and set the notes down on the top of the pile. “Just looking over some of the cases from Hadley.”

I turn to look at him and almost choke on toast crumbs as I inhale sharply. He’s now wearing tiny blue briefs and my unbuttoned shirt. There’s something decidedly sexy about him wearing my clothes. My gaze sweeps down his bare chest, over his flat stomach, and to the tiny trail of red hair disappearing into the waistband of those very brief briefs.

“Fuck, Prickles,” I murmur. “Are you trying to get me to drag you back to bed?”

His very kissable lips curve into almost a smirk as he leans in, but at the last moment, he steals the slice of toast from my hand and takes a bite.

“Case files,” he says after he’s chewed and swallowed his mouthful, “do not belong in the kitchen.”

Gripping the slice of toast between his teeth to free up his hands, he scoops the pile of files from the side, but as he turns toward the living room, the file on the very bottom slips loose and hits the floor. A handful of large photographs spill out at his feet.

He sets the pile back on the counter and takes another bite of toast, then drops it onto one of the plates. I turn and pour the water from the kettle into the two waiting mugs, but when I turn back, it’s to find Harrison hunkered down on the floor and staring at two photos, one held in each hand.

“Something wrong, Prickles?” I ask when he doesn’t move. “Prickles?”

I drop down next to him and scan the pictures he’s staring at with rapt attention. There’s nothing really unusual about them. They appear to be of the inside of someone’s house, a living room by the looks of it.

“Prickles?”

He looks up at me, his eyes troubled. “I know this place.”

I glance down at the photos again. “You do?”

He scoops up a handful of the pictures and stands, shoving the plates, cups of tea, and files out of the way before laying them all out side by side. I pick up what’s left of the file and move to his side.

“It’s different—I mean, the décor is,” he mumbles. “But the bones of it are the same.”

“What is this place?” I ask as he studies them intently.

His gaze rises to meet mine. “This house belonged to the judge.”

“The judge?”

“Judge Maycliffe,” he replies with a frown. “He was a member of Dr Whyte’s Demon Club.”