Page 14 of Catnapped

Pulling back, she takes in a breath and stares up at me, her eyes dazed. “That was …”

I keep her against me, her weight nothing in my arms.

“Unexpected.” She blinks, as if trying to clear her mind.

Fuck, did I overstep? OfcourseI did. We’re working together, and here I am pawing at her like some sex-crazed teen.Jesus, Carson, get it to-fucking-gether.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t be sorry.” She presses her swollen lips together, then smiles a little. “I’m not.” She cocks her head to the side. I’ve noticed she does that whenever she hears the cat. Her smile only grows.

I resist the urge to ask her what Mousey said. After all, some secrets are meant to stay between girls.

“Are you good?” I ask and force myself to release her from my grasp.

“All good.” She doesn’t wobble, but she still has that slightly dazed look on her face.

My heart is racing, my body on fire for more of her skin. I want to grab her again, to grab her by her ass and lift her up so I can kiss her more deeply, feel her against me.

“We should um–we should–” She points toward the woods.

“They’re long gone. We’ll have to go around to the estate wall and check the road, see if there’s any evidence. I have no doubt they scaled the wall somehow or another, then took off with the cat.”

“So someone definitely stole him?” May’s brows draw together.

“It certainly looks that way. Hey–” I tuck the stray strands of her hair behind her ear. “We’ll find him.”

She brightens at that. “I love how certain you sound.”

“Like I said, I excel at finding shit.”

May shakes her head. “No, Mousey, he’s not saying Fitzy is shit. It’s just a turn of phrase.” Silence for a few beats, then May rolls her eyes. “Why are you always messing with me? I thought you were being serious! You think it’s easy for me to detect sarcasm when I’m talking to a cat?”

Mousey, apparently pleased with herself, flounces away across the grass toward the front of the house.

“Come on.” I put my hand on the small of May’s back and lead her in the same direction. “Time to meet with Dudley.”

“You think he’s still standing in the same spot? We’ve been out here for a while.”

“I thought you said I was scary.” I look at her sidelong, the fading sun lighting her hair in tones of gold.

“You’re right. He hasn’t moved a muscle.” She grins.

Her prediction proves true as we walk back into the house. Dudley is right where we left him.

“Find the cat yet?” he asks, perturbed.

“We found some clues,” May chirps.

“How veryScooby Dooof you, young lady,” he retorts dryly.

I don’t like his tone. Stepping up to him, I take satisfaction in the way he cringes slightly back from me. “Hey, starched shirt, you talk to me. Not her. Where were you when the cat disappeared?”

His chin trembles for a second before he says, “I was working on the third floor, directing the maid on how to correctly unfurl Mrs. Farrol’s brand new llama-hair rugs.”

“Which maid?”

“That unfairly beautiful Cece?” May pipes up.

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