Murphy's Law

“Yes. Aside from my brother, Moonshine is the only family I've ever had.” Feeling Garrett's tension, Murphy added, “I don't think I could part with him.”

Garrett's answer was a long time in coming—to an anxious Murphy, it seemed to take forever before he finally spoke. “Not even if I asked you to?”

After a thoughtful minute slipped past, she countered his question with one of her own. “Are you? Asking me to find another home for Moonshine, that is?”

“No.”

“But your allergy—”

Garrett pulled back. Cupping Murphy's cheeks in his hands, he braced his forehead lightly against hers. “Do you trust me, sweetheart?” She nodded unhesitantly, and he smiled. “And do you remember when I said the problem is being taken care of?” She nodded again. “Then here's the answer to that question I never got around to. I started getting allergy shots when I was in the hospital in Bangor. It won't cure my allergy, but it will make it livable.”

She blinked. Hard. Twice. “So it isn't a problem?”

He shook his head and scratched the cat behind one of his chocolate tipped ears; Moonshine purred delightedly and arched into the touch. “Sweetheart, I'd never ask you to give Moonshine up. Besides, I've grown kind of fond of him.” Garrett's gaze returned to Murphy, and his blue eyes shimmered with unsuppressed passion. “And you. I've grown very fond of you.”

Angling his head, his lips claiming hers for a kiss that was long and deep and wonderful. It left them both feeling hot and restless.

“I love you,” Murphy whispered against his mouth. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“I love you, too,” Garrett replied huskily. He claimed her lips again, as though he couldn't stop kissing her. Or touching her. Or holding her.

That was fine by Murphy. She didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not ever. Her body burned from his recent possession, and burned with the equally strong need to be possessed by him again.

In her lap, Moonshine yawned, then purred his approval.

After a few minutes, as though bored from lack of human attention, he jumped to the floor. He was padding into the kitchen, heading for the half-eaten bowl of tuna he'd abandoned earlier, when he heard the bedroom door open and close.

This time he waited a good long while to start scratching and yowling at the door. After all, even a demanding feline such as himself respected the need for human privacy. Sometimes.