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“Okay.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Here goes. Pretend we’ve never met.”
“All right.” I watched with interest as she stepped away from me and began flailing her arms.
She danced around like ants had found their way inside her clothes. “Ah, ooh.”
Were the ants biting her?
Concerned, I began to ask, “Are you all—”
She slammed into me, and I easily caught her. I cupped her elbow and her hip through the thick pink fur of her costume. Her body flush against mine, I held her still as a wash of memories flooded back.
I remembered pinning her to the wall outside the hospital. I remembered the way she tilted her hips against my thigh, the feel of her body pressed to mine. I remembered another day, just like this, where she’d fallen into me,at the carnival.
A flood of joyous relief hit me.
“I caught you,” I said. “Last time.”
“Yes.” Excitement lit her golden eyes.
My lips flicked down to her lips. “I wanted to kiss you.”
“Oh?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and rocked her hips against mine.
Did she not know what that did to me? No, my dick throbbed and there was no fucking way she couldn’t feel that, that she wasn’t purposefully rubbing against it.
I breathed her in—peaches and marshmallows—and couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. I felt the softness of her breasts on my chest, the wide flare of her hip under my palm.
I wanted her. I wanted to run my fingers across every inch of her body and watch the way she responded to my touch. I wanted to sear her mouth with a kiss that promised every dirty thing I could do to her.
She tilted her chin up. Her gaze flicked to my mouth and she parted her lips.
I held my breath in anticipation. After her proclamation of never dating, I needed to maintain saint-like restraint. It had to be her move, even if it killed me.
She inched closer. The world blurred at the edges, everything fading away but Morgan. Her breath hitched. She twisted my shirt in her fist and lifted onto her tiptoes.
A set of whiskers tickled my chin.
Morgan didn’t have whiskers. What was happening?
I blinked in confusion.
Miso peeked her weasel head out the neck of Morgan’s pink pajamas, her claws digging into Morgan’s collarbone.
Morgan took a step back. She opened her mouth and shut it again, like she couldn’t find the words she needed to say.
But I knew exactly what to say. I recalled the moment we’d shared almost exactly like this.
“You whacked me with your weasel,” I said.
“I’d like you to whack me withyourweasel,” she said under her breath. Then a fresh blush crossed her cheeks. She took another step back, clearly embarrassed.
I spared her further embarrassment by pretending I hadn’t heard her.
“The weasel—Miso—scratched my face,” I said. “Then someone called out to you, right? An officer tackled you.”
“You remember. Too well.” She laughed. “Let’s pretend that part didn’t happen.”
I couldn’t stop now, not the memory, not reliving the details. I had to savor every piece of knowledge I could. There were so few I had of who I was. “The police asked me if I knew anything about you kidnapping a child.”
