Page 42 of Her Purr-fect Christmas Mate

11

Peony

EveryideaPeonyhadwas the worst, and yet she kept on having them.

Her heart was in her throat as she waited for Mordecai’s answer. Part of her wanted him to say no. She wanted his eyes to blaze and his voice to go frosty and for him to reject this new, idiot scheme that her new cat-brained self had decided on.

But please say yes,she said, careful to keep her voice silent inside her own head.Please, please say yes. I don’t think I can manage this conversation without any distractions.

“Ice-skating,” he said at last. His voice didn’t blaze, or crackle over with ice. Was that bad? “Very well.”

Peony loved ice-skating. She told Mordecai so, as they waited in line for tickets and skate rental, and tried not to feel as though she was babbling.

“We always skated at home in winter,” she said. “Whenever I tell people that now, they talk about how dangerous it sounds, skating on a pond in the middle of nowhere, and sure, it’s all veryLittle Women,but…” She switched to telepathy. *Beth didn’t have a flying deer babysitting her, or a kelpie cousin hanging out under the ice ready to boot her out if she fell in.*They both had their skates now; she sat down on a bench and began to take off her boots. “Really, the worst that could happen was being late for dinner. Which we always were. Dadhatedthat.”

“He’s the cook in your family?”

“Oh, yeah. Mom bakes, Dad cooks, the rest of us wash up. We all pitched in to try and buy them a dishwasher one year. Didn’t work. Washing up is a sacred task, apparently, not to be fobbed off on mere appliances. Anyway, ice-skating…”

They were rink-side, now.

She put one skate on the ice. It was nasty, scarred-up fairground rink ice, but it still sent a thrill through her. *It always felt like flying to me. It made me wonder if my inner animal would have wings, too.*

“And now you know it doesn’t?”

Why the hell wouldn’t he respond to her telepathically? If anyone was listening in, the two of them would sound mad, their conversation full of weird pauses and answers to questions nobody asked.

She sighed and pushed out onto the ice. *Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Regardless, I’ll still have ice-skating, and if I ever want to know what it’s like to actually fly, I’ll OH GOD OH GOD I HATE THIS, WHAT IS HAPPENING??? MY FEET??? MY FEET ARE SLIPPERY???*

Mordecai moved across the ice like a striking snake, intercepting her before she flailed into the path of a group of small children. *What happened? Are you all right?*

*FEET??? SLIPPERY???*her cat wailed. She clamped one hand over her mouth. Which didn’t help, of course it didn’t help, because her cat had taken over hermind,not her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “It’s… not used to—”

“Of course.” Mordecai pulled her close against his side, his arm sure and strong around her waist. All the breath left her in a rush. Her feet scrabbled on the ice—Not my fault,she wanted to tell him,I’m GOOD at ice-skating, this is EMBARRASSING—but he was holding her so firmly that she didn’t fall.

She was safe. He was keeping her safe.

Do you get that, you crazy little freak?she yelled at her cat.We’re safe! Nothing’s wrong! Stop freaking out!

WHY ARE WE SKIDDING?it yowled back. She—or her cat, ohgod, she was never going to live this down—grabbed Mordecai with both arms and dug her fingers into his coat like they were claws.

He drew her closer and whispered in her ear, “What’s that you were saying about loving ice-skating? You seem to be having a little trouble.”

Thebastard. “I—”

At the same moment, her cat went rigid with outrage.What? Who’s having trouble? We’re not having trouble. Everything is fine here. Everything is horrible and fine.

And it went limp.

Peony sagged against Mordecai. He chuckled and guided them both to the Christmas tree in the middle of the rink. A waist-high railing surrounded the tree, and he leaned her against it. *Better?*

She looked up into his eyes. He stared back—not with suspicion or impatience or lost in the heat of lust, but with concern.

*Better,*she confirmed. And at the touch of her mind to his, the echo of the word he’d placed in her head like a golden offering, he retreated.

Her head snapped back like he’d slapped her. “Do you even like me?” she blurted out.

He frowned. “What?”

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