Page 47 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

She says it so emphatically that I do it without thinking, watching in horror as the glob of half-chewed jerky or whatever falls to the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

“It was for the cat,” she says, laughing now, gripping her stomach. “It’s a cat treat. I should’ve said—”

She starts laughing harder as Saint Nick darts forward and eats the half-chewed cat treat. A wave of nausea blasts through me.

“Oh God,” I say. “I need—”

Still laughing, she pulls a candy cane from a different desk drawer.

“Nope. Not going to eat it before I get verbal confirmation that it is a candy cane meant for human consumption and not a squeaky cat toy. There’s only so much humiliation one man can take.”

Laughing harder, she snorts, then her eyes widen. “I…snorted.”

“I’ve been known to do that to a woman.”

Something shifts in her gaze, turning hot andaware, and her laughter dries up. I’m again very conscious that we’re alone together in her space, aside from the cat, who’s currently chewing on my first-ever cat treat.

I clear my throat. “Is it a real candy cane?”

She snaps it into two, handing me the straight end, our fingers touching. “We’ll test it together.”

I’ll be damned if it’s not the sexiest thing a woman’s ever said to me. Her gaze is holding mine, and I have to wonder—to hope—whether she feels it too. Then I watch, mesmerized, as she unwraps the candy and sucks on it.

Either the universe is suddenly being kind to me, or very cruel. Because all I can do is watch her, like one of those dipshits on a hypnotism show.

“Aren’t you going to try your half?” she asks.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what yours is like?”

She smiles at me. “That wasn’t our bargain.”

“You play dirty,” I say, then unwrap my half and bite on the mint.

“Of course you bite your candy canes. You’re too impatient to suck.” Her tone is teasing, but damn, I don’t think she realizes how she’s affecting me with all this talk of sucking and biting in her bedroom.

The cat finishes the meaty treat and yowls for another. Anabelle nods encouragingly at the bag of doom. “Saint Nick loves those. Give him a few. Maybe he’ll want to be friends.”

I pop the rest of the candy cane in my mouth—earning myself an eye roll—and get down on my haunches and hold out a treat for him.

He stalks forward cautiously, sniffs the treat, and gobbles it. I stay down and try to pet him.

He stiffens at the first touch of my hand but then allows it.

I glance up at Anabelle, beaming. “It’s a Christmas miracle. He doesn’t want to murder me anymore!”

She’s still sucking on the peppermint, but as she watches me, her eyes warm, and suddenly bites down on the candy cane and chews.

“Hey, that’s not so bad,” she says.

Anabelleand I get her orders packaged up, and the cat who seemed to think I was the spawn of Satan a few days ago likes me so much now he humped my leg. Twice. Anabelle told me it’s probably a dominance thing, which wasn’t great for my ego. No one wants to think they’re owned by a twenty-pound cat.

The electrician I found shows up a few hours later. Unfortunately, he delivers unpleasant news. Some rewiring is needed for safety, but it can’t be done today. Anabelle makes an appointment with him, though, and at least we’ll be able to tell the inspector the upgrades are in the works.

So I tell her to take a rest while I hold down the fort for Hot Chocolate Happy Hour. Again. I already know Enoch and Grace won’t be back in time, and Lauryn and Ben are going on some candlelit tour, so I’m expecting a light crowd of no one.

I grab a drink, feeling the stress of the day in my neck, even though I was able to get in an early workout before breakfast, and settle back on the couch.

I text Javier, whom I haven’t heard from in a while.

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