Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

On the massive bed is an open suitcase and three suit bags, unzipped. It’s a good thing. If they weren’t there I might have succumbed to the urge to ask how he feels about naked pillow fights. As it is, I’m having a hard time not imagining one.

“Sorry about the mess.” He rushes over and picks up the few discarded items from the end of the bed, crosses the room, and tosses them in the closet.

While he worries about tidying up, I glance around the room, and finally notice Francesca’s cage. It’s a wonder that I missed it until now, as it’s the second most prominent item in the room. Like the rest of condo, it’s a luxury setup with clear tubes and several levels, giving her lots of room to run around while she’s caged during the day.

“Hi there, pretty,” I say softly when she peeks her head out of a tube. Her pink nose twitches, her sable head lifting, the black swatch fur making her look like a masked bandit as she regards me curiously. She slides out of the tube, her long, brown body dropping to the wood chips. She does a little roll, showing us her pale belly. She is so flipping adorable.

“There’s my girl,” Bancroft says from behind me. The affection in his voice makes all my sexy parts excited. More excited than they already were. Men who love animals are so hot. So that takes Bancroft to volcanic levels.

He opens the cage and gently lifts her out. As soon as she’s in his arms she scales his chest and wraps herself around his shoulders, nipping at his jaw, then grooming his stubble. I want to do exactly the same thing. Except after he showers.

He coos at her and lets her snuggle into him. She’s so cute, and so is he, being all sweet with her. I think my ovaries are melting, or crying, or calling for his sperm.

After a minute of cuddles he asks. “Would you like to hold her?”

“Of course!”

“You can either take her by the scruff”—he gently grabs the loose skin at the back of her neck, holding her up—“or hold her under the front and back paws.”

I choose the latter because it would mean I would also come into physical contact with Bancroft. Having started off at a seven million on the hotness scales, he moved up several notches to off-the-charts with all his sweetness, patience, and consideration. Especially with how awkward this entire situation could be. How is this man not taken already? Maybe he has some weird quirks, beyond the socks.

Francesca is adorable and full of mischief, which is the allure of owning a ferret. As soon as I have her in my arms I remember exactly what it was like when I worked at the rescue sanctuary and why I’d wanted to adopt the one that ended up there. I’m in love with her within five minutes.

I put her down on the floor with Bancroft’s permission and she takes off, bounding for the door. She’s down the hall and into the living room in seconds.

“She’s fast,” I observe.

“She is. The condo’s pretty much ferret-proof, though, so it’s safe. All the wires are hidden and covered so she can’t get to them.” He gestures to the wall where the cords that would normally be visible coming out of sockets are not.

“That must’ve been a lot of work.”

“I had a professional come in and do it for me. It took a bit of getting used to, but she’s worth the effort. I always wanted a dog as a kid, but my mom’s allergic, and my dad traveled too much, and I played competitive rugby, so there were a lot of away games. It wouldn’t have been fair to do that to a dog.”

“So why did you decide on a ferret instead of getting your own dog?”

“It was accidental. Someone snuck a ferret into one of my father’s New York hotels a while ago. They’re uh . . . illegal to have as pets in some states, and she was at risk of being exterminated, so I brought her home instead.” He looks nervous as he waits for my reaction.

“Really? It’s illegal in some states?” I had no idea.

“Just a few.”

“But not New York, right?”

He purses his lips but stays silent.

I lean around him and smooth my hand across his back, between his shoulder blades. The muscles flex and he draws in a sharp breath.

“What’re you doing?”

“Checking for your angel wings.”

He laughs and then motions to Francesca whose head is peeking out from under the couch. She bounds across the living room and skids into the kitchen. “Look at her. How could I let them do that?”

“Exactly. That’s really great that you decided to keep her. And your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you’re harboring a fugitive ferret.”

“I appreciate your discretion. I didn’t realize quite how involved the whole process would be, but she’s proved to be worth it. I also wasn’t expecting to do a lot of traveling, so I thought it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m hoping that part will only last a short while.”

Francesca finds a ball with a bell in it, the same kind you’d give a cat, and rolls it across the floor. I snatch it up before she can get to it. “Wanna play, little lady?” I toss it across the room and she races after it.

Once she catches it, she brings it right back to me. I look over my shoulder at Bancroft who’s watching me with an amused expression.

“She plays fetch!”

“It’s her favorite. She also loves snuggles while we watch TV.”

“I’m in love with her already.”

He mutters something I don’t catch. “If you’re all right with her, do you mind if I have a quick shower? Or I can put her back in her cage and you can have one, too.”

For half a second I take that completely the wrong way. Probably because the second he said shower I started picturing him naked and wet. “Why don’t you go now and I’ll have one when you’re finished.”

“Sure. Great. Then I’ll order dinner?”

“Um, you don’t have to order in. I’ll eat pretty much anything.” Except for everything Armstrong ordered the other day. And I can’t really afford to splurge on expensive takeout.

“My fridge isn’t well stocked. It’ll be my treat.”

I feel some guilt over accepting more handouts from him, but I’m hungry enough to agree. “Okay. Sure.”

“Excellent. I won’t be long.” I smile and turn back to Francesca when she nudges my hand, the ball already at my feet.

I toss it and watch her bounce across the floor. She really is the cutest little thing. The next time she comes back she has a new toy. It’s a mouse, so I dangle it and she jumps for it. When Bancroft returns from the shower I’m lying on my back on the floor with one mouse dangling from the tail between my toes, and jingling the bell ball in my hand.

His feet show up in my field of vision first. His socked feet. What the fuck? Maybe he’s got a thing about bare feet. Maybe he hates feet. Maybe he really loves socks. At least these are ankle socks and not the ones that cover up his amazing calves. I look up, past his knees to the cargo shorts, the black belt that cinches at his waist, and the half-unzipped fly. I get a very brief glimpse of red as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Too bad he’s not commando. Not that I’d be able to do anything about it if he was, but I’d have five weeks of self-pleasure fodder.

I remember, rather vividly, what it felt like when what he’s hiding behind his fly was pressed up against my stomach during our accidental kiss. I keep going, up, up, up that very mountainous body. He’s wearing a red T-shirt. That’s rather disappointing. No shirt would be greatly appreciated. Maybe I should make a sign while he’s away, one that says No Socks, No Shirts Required or something. He seems like the kind of guy who might find that funny. And who might accommodate me by taking it seriously.