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He laughed. “No, no roses.”
“That's a relief.” She almost added that, whatever it was, she didn't want it. Almost. And then she realized how big a lie that was. The truth was, she wanted everything he could give her. And more.
“Where's my duffel bag?” Garrett asked.
“What duffel bag?” Murphy replied, distracted.
“The one I gave you to hold onto a few weeks ago. You know, that ugly, beat-up looking green thing…?”
“Oh, that duffel bag.”
His gaze shimmered with…something. Concern? Laughter? “You still have it, don't you?”
“Of course! I promised to keep it safe, and a McKenna always keeps his—or, in this case, her—word. It's in my bedroom. Hang on a sec, I'll go get it.”
Murphy stood, and noticed that Garrett stood, also.
“I'll go with you.”
“No!” she replied, remembering the shambles her bedroom was in. “I mean, I-I can get it myself. Really. It's no trouble. You wait here.”
She turned, intent on hurrying from the room before he could follow. She should have known better.
Murphy wasn't aware Moonshine had crept back into the living room and had curled up on the floor close to her feet…until her anklebooted-toes accidentally hooked underneath him.
The cat yowled.
Murphy startled.
Her arms flailed as her balance tipped. She tottered on one foot, afraid to put the other one down in case she stepped on the cat with her sharp heel.
Moonshine growled low and deep in his throat, then sprung indignantly to his feet. The base of the cat's tail hooked in the curve between the sole and heel of Murphy's ankleboot as he scurried from the room.
Unfortunately, while the tug his furry tail gave to Murphy's foot was minimal, it was enough to decide the question of her balance. She yelped when she felt herself going down, knowing she couldn't stop the momentum.
The cushions on the couch crunched, and from the corner of her eye Murphy saw Garrett lurch to grab her. His fingers closed around a fistful of skirt, all he could reach from that angle, and she felt the waistband cut into her stomach as he tried to yank her backward.
Over the pounding of her heart in her ears, the rending of cloth sounded unnaturally loud.
Suddenly, there was no resistance at all, and Murphy was going down harder than ever. Her knees and palms slammed into the cold, hardwood floor, breaking her fall and saving her forehead a painful collision by a mere fraction of an inch.
There was a loud clattering, and at first she thought it was the racket her heart was making as it tried to break free from her rib cage. It wasn't. Murphy had never been that lucky.
Drip, drip, drip.
Something cold and wet was soaking into the back of her nylon encased legs. Milk. Somehow, she'd managed to upset the copper serving tray. Murphy groaned and wished the floor would open up, swallow her whole, and be done with it!
Moonshine trotted back into the living room, no doubt drawn by the racket and the luring scent of fresh milk. The cat's sandpaper rough tongue lapped away the wetness coating the back of her calves. The sensation tickled. If she wasn't so mortified, Murphy might have laughed.
Her arms and wrists, sore from the way her hands had broken her fall, nevertheless supported her weight. The strength now drained out of Murphy's neck and she hung her head and sighed. What must Garrett think of her?
“Are you okay?” a serious voice asked from behind her. She thought his tone sounded too serious, like he was struggling to hold back…laughter?
“Of course. Don't I look okay?” she replied. Her mind's eyes flashed her a picture of what she probably did look like, sprawled face-down on the floor, her skirt…
Wait a minute. Where was her skirt?!
Murphy's head snapped up, and she glanced back before she could think better of it.
