She fell against him. His arms went around her.
“Easy,” he said. “Easy, honey. What happened?”
Lissa waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen.
“Brutus has something.”
Nick sighed. “Damn. I’ve been trying to break him of that you can’t eat anything unless you hear the secret word crap. It’s working, more or less. Couple of weeks ago, he swiped a roast off the kitchen counter. If he’s done that again—”
“It’s not that kind of something.” Lissa shuddered. “It’s a live something. He’s going to kill it.”
“No way. Not Brutus.”
“Yes, Brutus. Come and see.”
“I will,” Nick said.
But neither of them moved.
His arms were hard around her. Her face was pressed against his chest. The soft wool of his sweater tickled her nose; his scent engulfed her. Hay and horse. Dies
el and snow. And man. Not just man.
He smelled of Nick. Clean. Male. And wonderful.
Lissa closed her eyes.
She burrowed closer.
Nick made a low sound deep in his throat. He bent his head, pressed his lips to her hair.
“Duchess,” he whispered, “about last night—”
Brutus whined.
Nick’s arms dropped to his sides. Lissa stepped back. Brutus looked at them from a few feet away. The thing, whatever it was, was still in his mouth.
And still moving.
“Jesus,” Nick muttered. He went toward the dog. “Brutus. Drop!”
The Newf lowered his head, opened his mouth and gently deposited the thing on the floor.
“Ohmygod,” Lissa gasped. “It’s a kitten!”
An extremely small kitten, pale gray and oyster white with darker gray tiger stripes. The animal wobbled to its feet and gave a piteous mew.
Brutus whined and touched his nose to it.
“Yeah,” Nick said, “that’s a good boy. That’s a very good boy.”
Lissa squatted beside the kitten. “I don’t think it’s more than four weeks old.”
Nick thought about squatting down, too, thought better of it and reached his hand to the dog’s head for a long stroke.
“I wonder where Brutus found him.”
The kitten was trembling. It mewed again and fell on its side.