Page 41 of Captivated
How could her head be on his chestandher mouth be at his ear? Anatomically speaking, it just didn’t figure. But then again, he’d seen her do several things that didn’t figure in terms of the simple laws of the real world. But this wastooweird. Even half-awake, his lively imagination bounced.
Would he open his eyes to look and see something so fantastic, so out of his realm, that it would send himscreaming out into the night?
Day, he reminded himself. It was day. But that was hardly the point.
Cautiously he let his hand lower until it touched her hair. Soft, thick, but... God, the shape of her head was wrong. She’d changed. She’d... she’d shifted into... When her head moved under his hand, Nash let out a muffled cry and, with his heart skating into his throat, opened his eyes.
The cat lay on his chest, staring at him with unblinking—and somehow smug—amber eyes. Nash jolted when something cold slid over his cheek. He found that Pan was standing with his forelegs on the bed, his big silver head tilted curiously to one side. Before Nash could speak, the dog licked him again.
“Oh, boy.” While Nash waited for his mind to clear and his pulse to settle, Luna stood, stretched, then padded up his chest to peer into his face. Her muttered purr seemed distinctly like a chuckle. “Okay, sure, you got me.” He reached out with each hand to rub a furry head.
Pan took that for a welcome and leapt onto the bed. He landed—light-footed, fortunately—on Nash’s most vulnerable area. With a strangledoof, Nash sat bolt upright, dislodging the cat and making her rap up against Pan.
Things looked dicey for a moment, with the animals glaring and growling at each other. But Nash was too concerned with getting his wind back to worry about the prospect of fur flying.
“Ah, playing with the animals?”
Sucking in air, Nash looked up to see Morgana standing in the doorway. The moment she was spotted, Luna flicked her tail in Pan’s face, strolled over to a pillow, circled, sat and began to wash her hindquarters. Tail thumping, Pan plopped down. Nash figured he had about seventy pounds of muscle pinning his legs to the mattress.
“My pets seem very fond of you.”
“Yeah. We’re one happy family.”
With a steaming mug in one hand, she crossed to the bed. She was already dressed, in a little red number with beads and embroidery on the wide shoulders, and tiny snaps running down the front until they ran out at thehem, which stopped several inches above her very sexy knees.
Nash wondered if he should undo the snaps one at a time, or in one quick yank. Then he caught a scent that was nearly as exotic and every bit as seductive as her perfume.
“Is that coffee?”
Morgana sat on the edge of the bed and sniffed the contents of the cup. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Grinning, he reached out to toy with the end of the hair she’d woven into an intricate braid. “That was awfully sweet of you.”
Her eyes mirrored surprise. “What was? Oh, you think I brought this in for you.” Watching him, she tapped a fingertip against the mug. “That I brewed a pot of coffee, poured a cup and decided to serve it to you, in bed, because you’re so damn cute.”
Properly chastened, he sent one last, longing look at the mug. “Well, I—”
“In this case,” she said, interrupting him, “you happen to be exactly right.”
He took the cup she offered, watching her over the rim as he drank. He wasn’t a coffee snob—couldn’t afford to be, with the mud he usually made for himself—but he was sure this was the best cup to be found west of the Mississippi. “Thanks. Morgana...” He reached up to set one of the complex arrangements of beads and stones at her ears jangling. “Just how damn cute am I?”
She laughed, pushing the mug aside so that she could kiss him. “You’ll do, Nash.” More than do, she thought as she kissed him again. With that tousled, sun-streaked hair tumbled around a sleepy face, that surprisingly well-muscled chest tempting her above the tangle of sheets, and that very warm, very skilled mouth rubbing against hers, he did magnificently.
She pulled back, not without regret. “I have to go to work.”
“Today?” Lazily he cupped his hand around the back of her neck to urge her closer. “Don’t you know it’s a national holiday?”
“Today?”
“Sure.” She smelled like night, he thought. Like flowers that bloom only in starlight. “It’s National Love-InDay. A tribute to the sixties. You’re supposed to celebrate it by—”
“I get the picture. And that’s very inventive,” she said, closing her teeth over his bottom lip. “But I have a shop to run.”
“That’s very unpatriotic of you, Morgana. I’m shocked.”
“Drink your coffee.” She stood to keep from letting him change her mind. “There’s food in the kitchen if you feel like breakfast.”
“You could have gotten me up.” He snagged her hand before she could retreat.
