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“Cats can be prickly.” His chest rumbled beneath her ear. “Do you want to travel?”

“I suppose.” But being a traveler, a temporary visitor in a place, was never part of her dream. “I want a home that’s mine. That reflects who I am.”

“Not what other people think you should be.”

“Exactly.” She shrugged. “I doubt such a place exists.”

His arms tightened around her. “I hope you won’t give up looking for it.”

CHAPTER 21

Phineas rolled over in his bed and knew something was wrong.

First, sunlight streamed through a break in the heavy curtains. Wind and rain no longer lashed the windows as though demanding their surrender. The storm had passed, and the relief almost settled him.

Second, and far more troublesome, was his lack of company. He hadn’t been alone when he’d fallen asleep hours before. Bridget had been with him—under him, over him, but most importantly, at his side, naked, warm and sated in the circle of his arms.

He forced his eyes open further, blinking at the intrusive sunlight until she came into view. “What are you doing?”

She startled where she sat at the escritoire in the corner, but when she met his gaze, a fond smile softened her features. “I was thinking,” she said, “and I wanted to write my thoughts down. It’s easiest for me to organize them when I can see them in front of me.”

The worry inside him eased; she hadn’t run from him. He folded the blankets down to make space for her. “May I see?” When she stood, he swallowed his moan and shook his head. “That’s unfair.”

Her smirk returned, the wicked glint in her eyes flashing as she glanced down at her clothing. “You mean this?”

“That’s my shirt.”

“You weren’t using it.” She sauntered toward him; the tails of his shirt reached mid-thigh, and she’d rolled the cuffs up to free her hands.

“It’s more effective if you use more buttons.”

She tilted her head and pouted, fingering the single fastening holding the garment together between her breasts. With her movement, the plackets opened enough for him to glimpse the thicket of dark curls guarding her sex. “I think I’m using the buttons very effectively.”

His mouth watered. “I want to see what you’re working on, but you’re not making it easy.”

She closed her journal and set it on the nightstand. He wasn’t certain when she’d gone to retrieve it from the ruined turret, but his head—and his cock—were too distracted to let the concern linger. “When have I made anything easy for you?”

She popped the button free, and his shirt gaped open.

“Never.” He tugged the shirt tail dangling in front of her. Her thighs bumped the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t expect you to change that.”

“I won’t.” She dragged her hand through his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp. “I love that your hair curls like this. It’s far too wild for someone so…”

“Uptight?” he finished for her. He could barely think with her touching him like that, with her pussy so close to his face he smelled her arousal. He stroked her mound, slipped his fingers between her swollen folds. Christ, she was soaked. “Curmudgeonly?”

She whimpered, her head falling back. “You’re none of those things.”

“Not with you.” He found the bud at the apex of her sex and pressed it, pinched it gently between his fingertip and thumb. She tilted her hips into the pressure, seeking more. “You make me forget who I am.”

“You do the same to me.” Her voice was thick with arousal. “I don’t like it.”

“Yes, you do.” He removed his hand.

She grunted and fixed him with a glare. “I hate you.”

He chuckled, low and dark, and lay flat on his back. “You won’t for long. Come here, you menace.”

She climbed onto the bed and straddled his waist. His cock was aching, swollen and leaking from the tip, and the pressure of her hot, wet flesh against the organ nearly undid him. But he gritted his teeth. The suffering would be worth it.