Page 17

Not his hand. He’s still standing several feet away from me. It’s more like a breeze, only there isn’t any air moving in the kitchen with the notably closed door and windows. All the same, strange warmth curls around my wrist, loosening my fingers around the handle of the knife before removing them entirely.

Only the knife doesn’t fall. It floats.

Seriously. The blade floats right out of my hand. I gape as it drifts through the air before settling gently back into its place in the knife block.

I open my mouth to scream again, but he waggles his fingers. Suddenly, I have no desire to scream. That weird sensation low in my belly becomes all the more powerful and I admit that I was right: he doesn’t want to hurt me. He just wants to talk and, well, would it really kill me to hear him out?

Vincent’s expression turns apologetic. “I don’t want to use magic against you, Kate, so forgive me for that. But you were making me very nervous with the knife. I know you’re a pie-making pro, but even the best have mistakes. Remember last week? When you nicked yourself slicing apples for that one pie?”

I got distracted when Mr. Whiskers bumped into my ankle and I made a little slice against my finger while I was chopping up the apples. I bled a tiny bit and the cut’s already healed, but…

“How do you know that?”

It comes out more curious than confrontational.

He shrugs again. “Because I was there.”

“The only one who was in the kitchen with me when I sliced my finger was Mr. Whiskers.”

He arches his eyebrow, almost like saying, “You get it now?”

I don’t say anything to that, but when he uses two fingers to pluck a piece of the lattice off my cherry pie before popping it into his mouth, I can’t stay quiet.

“Stop that!”

His hand goes still. “Kate?”

I huff under my breath. “The damn pie! For God’s sake, use a fork!”

His eyebrows shoot sky-high.

I don’t know why that’s the thing I focus on. There is a naked man in my kitchen on Halloween who is either my cat or a magic-using warlock, but I can’t stand here and watch him destroy the remains of my award-winning cherry pie by digging through it like a raccoon in a dumpster.

I yank open a drawer, grab a fork, and hold it out to him.

He looks at it.

“Take it. Jeez. I’m beginning to think you are a cat. Only Mr. Whiskers would keep shoving his nose and his paws in something because he doesn’t have opposable thumbs. You do. Use the fork if you’re going to demolish the pie.”

He takes the fork, his lips curving up into a wicked grin. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

I’m also dreaming. That’s it. I have to be. There’s no way in hell that this is happening. I’m suddenly way too calm that there’s still a naked man in my kitchen, holding the fork like it’s the first time in a long time as he takes a much more delicate nibble of the cherry pie. I’m not all that surprised I’m dreaming about a gorgeous blondie with a pretty nice dick who is claiming to be Mr. Whiskers. Not like I have any carnal thoughts about my pet. I love him, but not like that. Still, it’s been ages since I’ve gotten laid, and, like it or not, Mr. Whiskers is the only male I talk to these days.

So, since this is a Halloween-induced dream, I watch Vincent eat my pie and, when my eyes drop a little too low again, I decide that it’s not fair to openly ogle a naked man, even if I am dreaming.

I grab the dishcloth hanging from one of the oven’s handles and throw it at him. “Cover yourself.”

Cat-like reflexes or not, he catches it one-handed while still clutching his fork with the other. “What?”

“You’re naked.”

“Yeah. It happens. When you’re in your fur, you can’t wear clothes. Whenever I change back, I’m naked. Normally, I would take care of that, but someone refused to share their popcorn and I was hungry. I decided pie first so I had energy to conjure, but⁠—”

I wave my hand, not interested in the explanation my tired and obviously twisted brain has come up with, especially once he said ‘conjure’ like that. “Don’t care. Just put that over your… your…”

“My cock?”

I bury my face in my hands for a moment before snapping, “Cover it!”