The moment felt so fucking right. Like earning my first million. Only this was terrifyingly better. Money could be made and lost. It could be replaced. Sloane couldn’t.
I savored the moment…until it was ruined by another stab of claws. Silently, I glared at the stupidly named feline. She returned the look, tail flicking against my bare chest. Then, with a glance in Sloane’s direction, she opened her mouth and released a feral-sounding yowl.
“Shut. Up,” I hissed at the cat.
Sloane grumbled in her sleep and shifted against me.
I saw the gleam in the cat’s eyes, the shift of her weight, and caught her just before she pounced on Sloane’s sleeping form.
“Absolutely not, you demon fur ball from hell.”
I dumped the cat on the floor and carefully slid my arm out from under my exhausted librarian. Meow Meow must have felt I was taking too long rearranging the pillows behind Sloane because I received another puncture wound. This one to the calf.
“Christ, cat. I’ll feed you. Just give me a minute to find clothes.”
I was naked, and yesterday’s suit was not an option. Between the tree climbing and cradling the soot-streaked Sloane, my suit had met its maker.
With the cat obstinately threading her way between my feet, I poked through Sloane’s closet until I discovered a pair of pale pink sweatpants that would have to do. I dragged them over my thighs, seams straining, then unearthed the sweatshirt she’d offered me when I’d chased her home.
The ex-boyfriend sweatshirt. I was going to take it with me and conveniently lose it in a trash bin.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The pants barely covered the top of my ass crack in the back. In the front, the thin, tight fabric did everything it could to accentuate the outline of my cock.
“Meow,” the cat said, sounding smugly amused.
“Let’s never speak of this again.”
Together, we quietly headed downstairs where the cat went into full meltdown mode, yowling at me like she was a spoiled heiress and I was an incompetent waiter.
“I want to make Sloane breakfast, not you.”
Meow Meow was unimpressed and narrowed her yellow eyes at me.
“Fine. I’ll feed you. Then you’ll stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal?”
I took the slow blink as a binding contract and went in search of cat food. I poured a medium-sized mound of dry food into the cat face-shaped dish on the floor and then headed to the coffee maker.
Coffee started, I was ten minutes into a recipe for pancakes and texting Petula a list of necessities that I was going to need here since I’d be staying for the foreseeable future when the doorbell rang.
Cursing, I pulled the pan off the burner and made the quietest, fastest run possible to the front door. I nearly took a header into the door when the cat appeared out of nowhere and cut in front of me at full gallop.
“You furry little fucker,” I snarled as I threw open the door.
Nash and Lina stood on the doorstep, gawking.
“If you woke her up, I’ll be kicking your ass,” I warned Nash.
“Uhhh.” Lina’s mouth was open, her eyes wide and riveted to an area below my belt.
Nash covered his fiancée’s eyes and choked out a laugh. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“The only thing that fucking fit.”
“No, you’re not,” Lina said, her voice tinged with hysteria.
“Wardrobe opinions aside, what the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
Nash pokered up immediately. “It’s about the fire.”
Ice formed in my gut. “You know the cause?”
“Can we talk about this inside?” he hedged.
“Fine. But if either of you wakes her, you’re fired and you’re getting your ass kicked,” I said, pointing first at Lina and then at Nash.
“Fair enough,” Nash agreed.
They followed me inside and into the kitchen.
“It’s just as bad from the back,” Lina whispered.
I tried to hitch the pants higher but only succeeded in nearly spraining my balls.
She gave a strangled laugh.
“Jesus, man. Have some dignity,” Nash said, throwing a dish towel at me.
“I have clothes being sent,” I said testily. “Tell me about the fire.”
“Wait a second. Why are you answering Sloane’s door dressed like that?” Lina demanded, recovering from the hilarity.
“I spent the night.”
She shot Nash a long, meaningful look. He rolled his eyes.
“Man, how many times are you going to fuck this up?” he asked me. “Didn’t we beat some sense into you last time?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Apparently not. Talk.”
“I’ll be honest. I need to talk to Sloane. You can be here if she says it’s all right, but I’m not talking directly to you about this.”
“It was arson, wasn’t it?” I demanded. The thought had kept me up through the entire night. It was the only thing that made sense.
“Arson?” We all turned to see Sloane standing at the foot of the back stairs. She was wearing knee socks and an oversize long-sleeve shirt that I wished I had seen when I was raiding her wardrobe. Her hair was exploding out of a knot on the top of her head. The bruise on her forehead was more vicious-looking today. She looked so fragile and so beautiful I forgot how to breathe.
“Hey there, Sloaney,” Nash said gently. “How ya feelin’ today?”
“Sore. You said arson,” she repeated.
“That was Mr. Fashionista here,” he said, hooking his thumb at me. “But yeah. Investigators found evidence that someone set the fire in the back of the first floor near the kids’ section.”
Sloane’s face remained impassive as she crossed the kitchen and walked directly to the coffee maker. “Do you guys want coffee? I want coffee.”
Lina, Nash, and I exchanged a look. “Sure, honey. I’ll take some coffee,” Lina said and headed in her direction.
With the women occupied with coffee, I punched Nash in the arm and then shoved him into the dining room. “What. The. Fuck?” I demanded.
“What what the fuck?” he asked, rubbing his bicep.
“She almost died last night. You think you could break the news a little more gently, asshole?”
His eyebrows winged up. “You’re the asshole who said ‘arson,’ not me.”
“Who did this? I want names.”
“We don’t have any suspects at this time,” Nash said snootily.
“Bull fucking shit.”
“I do.”
I turned and found Sloane standing in the doorway holding a mug of coffee. Lina was behind her.
“Who?” I demanded.
She shook her head, making the bun on her head wobble precariously. “Uh-uh. First, tell me how extensive the damage is and how long it’ll be before we can open again.”
I bared my teeth and Nash elbowed me. “Humor her,” he hissed under his breath.
“Why don’t we talk over those pancakes Lucian was making when we interrupted him?” Lina suggested.
I sucked in an irritable breath. “Fine,” I growled.
“Maybe don’t clench so many ass muscles, Lucy. You might owe Sloane a new pair of pants,” Nash said, slapping me on the back.
She blinked, then her eyes widened behind her glasses as if she noticed what I was wearing for the first time. “Those are my pants.”
“I’m not sure you’re going to want them back. He’s commando underneath,” Lina warned cheerily as we all trooped toward the kitchen.
I snagged Sloane’s hand and pulled her around to face me. She was staring at my crotch, so I nudged her chin up. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. Sore. And very, very mad.”
Mad was good. Mad was better than shattered.
“I’ll find whoever did this and make them pay,” I vowed.
“Not if I find them first,” she said.
She didn’t get it. Not yet. But she would understand soon. I would make sure of it. I reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She looked vulnerable yet so fierce. A pixie ready to do battle.
I leaned down, intending to brush my mouth to hers, but she pulled back. “Why didn’t you go next door to change?” she asked.
“Because I’m not leaving you.”
Not now, not ever again.
She rolled those green eyes at me. “You’re so weird. And don’t think for one second just because we took a bath and you made me pancakes that we’re back on, bucko.”