Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(85)

“Tonight I’d much prefer you touching me. With your hands. And that mouth,” I instructed as I perched on top of him. I’d positioned the bed so that when we cuddled up, we could see the lights twinkling over the bay.

“Look at that view,” I whispered.

“I’ll say,” he muttered from below, peeking up my nightie. The next thing I knew, he’d wiggled me right out of my coordinating panties.

And with the ruffled bottoms abandoned, the pink nightie pushed up around my shin, Simon brought it on home.

And goddamn it if he still didn’t find a way to bang that headboard.

Thump.

“Be careful . . . Oh, God . . . That’s new paint . . . Oh, God.”

“You want me . . . to be . . . Christ, Caroline . . . Careful?”

Thump thump.

“Well . . . maybe . . . a little . . . Oh, God . . . Simon!”

“There’s my Nightie Girl.”

Thump thump thump.

? ? ?

“Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Mmm.”

? ? ?

“Caroline?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.”

“Mmm.”

? ? ?

“Caroline?”

“Mmm?’

“You wanna fool around?”

“If I said no, what would happen?”

“I’d lie here next to you, thinking dirty thoughts.”

“Would they be about me?”

“They’re always about you.”

“Really?”

“You’re literally my fantasy girl.”

“Okay, it’s getting a little thick in here.”

“Speaking of getting thick . . .”

“Oh, kiss me, you big Wallbanger.”

? ? ?

I sat straight up in bed, body tense and hyperaware. Why had I suddenly awakened? At . . . 2:37 a.m.?

Simon was curled up on his side of the bed and snoring.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, my skin pebbled into gooseflesh. Something was up, but I couldn’t put my finger on . . . Wait, what was that?

I ran to the window, peering out into the darkness. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. I crept back into bed, not able to shake the feeling that— Oh my God.

“Simon!” I ran out the door and down the hallway. The tiniest hint of a thought took hold on a corner of my heart as I raced downstairs, hearing Simon call out to me as his feet hit the floor. I flew down the stairs, across the living room, and into the dining room. I plastered myself against the window, searching, not wanting to let this feeling take hold, because I couldn’t bear it if it wasn’t . . .

Meow.

It can’t be. He doesn’t know where—

Meow.

“Simon!” I screeched, and he ran around the corner, brandishing a bat.

“Is someone in the house?” he asked, whirling about.

I burst through the patio doors with Simon right behind me, hope now blooming fully and out of control.

There, on the grass right below the dining room window, was Clive. Licking his paws like it was no big thing.

“No way,” Simon breathed behind me as I sank to the ground and opened my arms.

Clive washed his ears like he had all the time in the world, then slow-trotted over to me with the biggest kitty grin I’ve ever seen. He tried to play it cool, but I could hear his rusty purr from four feet away. Tears ran unabashedly down my cheeks as I sobbed on the ground, holding my cat. Who purred and purred and purred. He was skinny, he was muddy, he was cold, and he was back.

Simon crouched next to me, running his hand down Clive’s back as I held him tightly. “There’s a good boy,” he said over and over again as he stroked him and scratched between his ears. When Simon’s eyes met mine, they were shining brightly.

I stood finally, clutching my Clive. I cooed and coddled him, telling him that he could never do that again or I’d kill him, and he could eat steak all day, every day. Simon just smiled as Clive head butted him, eager for more boy-on-boy lovin’.

As I turned to take him into the house, he suddenly dug in with his hind legs and jumped from my arms, running back into the bushes he’d disappeared into weeks ago.

“No! Clive, no!” I yelled.

But before I was even two steps across the lawn, he poked his head back through. He came out, and seemed to shrug his left shoulder. And there, materializing almost out of nowhere, was another cat. A tiny calico, round and plump, with the sweetest face I’d ever seen. She rubbed against Clive, then sat companionably next to him.

“Who’s your friend, Clive?” I asked, kneeling down once more, not wanting to spook them.

Simon crouched next to me and whispered in my ear, “Looks like our boy’s got himself a girlfriend.”

Clive nodded at Simon wisely, and I smothered a laugh.

“I always thought it might be fun to have another cat. Think she belongs to anyone?” Simon asked.

“How do you know she’s a she?”

“Oh, she’s a she, all right,” he responded, and Clive once more nodded at him. If they were closer, a paw bump would have occurred.