Page 27

Then again, maybe I want to believe the good in Mr. Whiskers—in Vincent—because there’s a man sleeping in my bed and I… part of me thinks that he belongs there for reasons I can’t explain.

Or maybe that’s just me getting horny because I can still feel his dick against my ass…

“Are you awake?” I whisper.

His arm tightens around my waist. There’s no way in hell I’m missing his erection now even as he mutters in a thick, throaty voice, “No.”

He’s talking. That’s good enough. “You are. And you know what? You’re also in my bed.”

“Mmm… you mean our bed.”

My heart jolts. “Vincent.”

That gets another pleased rumble out of him. I made the mistake of using his name last night and discovered that he liked it way too much. I can tell he still does because he buries his face against the back of my neck.

“You said you were going to sleep on the couch.”

“I did.”

I wait for him to add on to that. When he doesn’t, I prod him to continue. “And?”

“And then I woke up around three, you weren’t there with me, and I decided to come to find you. The door was unlocked. You were asleep. So I joined you. I waited decades to snuggle up with my mate like this. I only get one night, Kate. Are you really going to deny me the pleasure of sleeping next to you and breathing in your scent?”

Oof. When he says it like that, so fucking reasonable when it’s anything but, I don’t know how to react. I also know it’s a bad idea to stay like this, being the small spoon to his larger one. So, rather than respond to him, I roll over.

And, yup, that was a huge mistake because now I’m face-to-face with him.

Human Vincent in the middle of the night was unfair enough. Human Vincent first thing in the morning is somehow worse. His shaggy blond hair is sticking up in every direction. His brown eyes are heavy with sleep. His lips are curved slightly, his expression dazed, and there’s a faint crease on one cheek from one of my pillows.

He looks rumpled.

Soft.

Gorgeous.

Damn it.

I work hard to sound stern. “You crawled into bed with me without asking.”

His brow furrows, like he doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t have done that. “You let me do it every other night.”

“When you were a cat,” I point out.

“I’m still me.”

That… that’s true, isn’t it?

That might be the most unsettling part of all this. There’s no denying that, when I look at Vincent, it’s easy to see Mr. Whiskers in the man. There’s that head tilt he does. The expressive looks he has, like every thought is there to read on his face. The flash of green in his eyes, and how he watches me like he’s debating the best time to pounce.

And, of course, we can’t forget the whole ‘eating with his hands’ thing or how he lost it a little when I put a closed door between us…

It’s him. He has to be.

Either that, or I’m having a nervous breakdown, but I can’t have a nervous breakdown because it’s morning and I have pies to bake and a shop to open.

I groan and shove against his chest. “Move. I have to work.”

“But it’s Halloween. You’re going to work today?”