Werecats and Werelocks (Collection) (8 page)

"You run the flower shop in the lobby of my building."

His
building being the operative word. Damn. Foiled. “That's me."

"I
own
the flower shop in the lobby. Along with everything else at Carsters, Weston and Felton."

Eek. “Uh-huh. You do. You own the coffee shop and the newspaper stand too.” Lots and lots of ownership here. Oh. God. She'd slept with Sam Carsters. The man whose name was on her lease.

"And you ended up in my bed how?"

"Well, I was kind of scoping the place out and all of a sudden, er ... you grabbed me and then one thing led to another and we were all ... um, you know..."

He eyeballed her with a cold glare. “Uh, yeah. I get the ‘you know’ part of this.
Why
did I grab you and how did you get in here to scope anything? I went to bed alone last night. That much I'm sure of."

Frankie tightened the sheet around her and gave him her best innocent look. “I don't have a clue why you grabbed me, but you did. I swear. You were really woozy afterward, though. Maybe you thought you were dreaming?"

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Sam rolled his tongue in his cheek and cocked a dark eyebrow upward, arrogantly assessing her. “I took one of those prescription sleep aids last night. You know the ones that say you need to prepare for eight hours of sleep before taking it? I have insomnia..."

And an awesome chest
...

His jaw squared. “Forget it. You do realize you just slept with someone you don't know."

How kind of you to say it out freakin’ loud
. Her lips puckered. “You did too.” So hah.

"But I wasn't aware I was sleeping with you."

That so sucked. To not remember such amazing sex was criminal. Heinous even. Fuck, what had she done? “Well, there were parts of your body that say different. You'll be happy to know all of your man-parts are in perfect working order."

"Those parts of my body were drugged. Yours? Not so much."

Hookay, he was making her sound fast and loose and she wasn't. All right, so she'd been a little fast and maybe even a little loose last night, but she had a reason. A good one. A human or perpetually feline one. So how would she explain this? “I do have an explanation."

His caustic glare made her cringe. “And that is?"

There was just no getting around this. None. She had no choice but to come clean. If she didn't, he might call the police or worse, not hear out her intended proposition. For shit's sake, of all the times for her hormones to decide to roar to life. It had to be her hormones on overdrive that had done it. The scent of an attractive man and all. Yet, she was in human form and she hadn't shifted back yet. This was promising, if not slutty to all outward appearances. “Look, I just need you to watch for a minute, okay? I say we get the freaked out shit over with now and move forward because my time is limited."

He cocked a sleep-rumpled head in question. Gawd, he was sexy when he first woke up, all bleary eyed and naked. “Freaked out shit?"

Frankie shook her head, pushing long, blonde strands of hair from her eyes and cracking her knuckles. “Yeah. Believe me when I tell you, you'll freak out. It's standard procedure. But when you're done with all the typical adjectives like disbelief, astonishment, denial and then finally horrified acceptance, it'll all be okay. I promise. Then maybe we can talk because I need your help and I don't have a lot of time to screw around."

Frankie scooted to the end of the bed and slipped off the edge. Forgetting modesty, she let the sheet flow to the floor.

Sam's gaze was many things. Confused was high on the list of things, but there was also a hint of appreciation for her nudity.

"Ready?"

"For?"

Frankie held up a hand to silence him. “Just watch.” Thankfully, the shift was easy this time, probably due in part to the sex they'd had.

For the love of dick. She'd had sex with the man she leased her flower shop from. Oh, if she lingered on that thought she'd hide in a tree for the remainder of her days. But she couldn't afford to do that right now.

As her body took over, her human form melting away, she vaguely heard a yelp from where Sam sat, in all his yummy goodness, on the bed.

But he didn't scream or anything and seriously, that was a testament to his strong constitution.

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"More whiskey?"

Sam held up a big hand and shook his dark head, plunking the tumbler on the kitchen counter. “I don't know that any amount of whiskey will ever be enough, but I'll be in AA after what you just showed me if I keep this up.” His voice was gruff, his face shell-shocked. He was sooooo cute, drifting in and out of disbelief like he was. Poor thing. She'd have liked to work up to that, but there'd been no time for easing him into her lifestyle.

Frankie's smile was apologetic, concern for his mental health at the top of her list. “Sorry. I know it can be a shock."

His lips formed a thin line. “A shock?
A shock?
You're a cat. A cat, woman, person ...
cat
..."

"Which is better than a dog, don't you think? Dogs can be so territorial and they're much harder to potty train. Plus, sometimes they drool. I've never drooled. Not once."

Sam's mouth popped open for a moment, just hanging there, then he closed it with a sharp snap. “Which is surely consolation for the fact that you're a cat. I don't think I can process this right now."

Their silence ticked uncomfortably between them.

"So
you're
my Christmas present from Glynice?"

Frankie threw her hands up in the air as though she were throwing pretend confetti. “Yep. Just like I said. So yay! Merry Christmas and all that fa-la-la jazz."

His gaze pierced hers, dark grey and stormy. Clearly, he wasn't feelin’ it. Scrooge. “I think I need a moment.” His hand tightened around the glass of whiskey, but she hadn't broken him yet.

Such a man. Such a gorgeous, hunky, brick shithouse man.

"But we have to talk.” It was probably too soon after her revelation, but she had no choice. She'd formed a plan in her mind and nothing would make her deviate. Well, unless he said no. Then deviation would be cause for Plan B. Which she hadn't formulated just yet, seeing as Plan A was still in the fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants stage.

"Is anyone able to talk after seeing something like that?"

Frankie grimaced, tugging his borrowed shirt closer around her. It smelled spicy and male. Soooooo male. “I guess it depends. I mean, there once was this kid who lived down the road from me and whenever I shifted to my cat form, in order for me to get to the field to roam, I had to pass his house. Christ, he was a total shit. I mean, he threw stuff at me, even shot me with his BB gun, the freak. So one day I just got tired of being tormented and I shifted—like in broad daylight. Risky, I know, but he was a complete tard who deserved it. Anyway, after that, I think he did time in the local nuthouse, but I'm not sure. I just know I didn't much see him around after that. And no, he didn't talk. He did cry, though. So you're right. We can wait to talk. Want to nap? Maybe sleep will help you assimilate this—me—our situation. Sometimes sleep is a defense mechanism against the unbelievable."

Sam's brow furrowed, his broad chest expanding with air. “I have to be honest when I say I don't know that I'll ever sleep again. Not with my eyes closed, anyway."

Frankie ran a sympathetic hand over his forehead. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were kinda glazed. “I really think you should lie down."

His lips became a firm line again. Obviously, he was hanging on to his sanity. By a thread, no doubt, but hanging nonetheless. “Ooooh, no. Absolutely not. I'm all in now. I want to hear the full story. So let's begin from the beginning.” Folding his hands in front of his wide chest, he turned with expectation written all over his hunky face. It was clear he wanted her to make sense of the incredibly, and unfortunately for him that just wasn't going to happen today.

Frankie saw his lawyer mind working all the angles and finally said, “Okay. Ask and I'll spill."

"You're the cat Glynice gave me as a Christmas gift? The big, fluffy, white cat in the cage on my desk?"

"I am. A Persian cat to be precise."

"
You
were in a cage on my desk yesterday with a red bow around your neck? That was really
you
?” He sank back into silence.

Her snort made him jump. “I so thought the bow was overboard and so did Beulah, but Glynice insisted. You know, I have to wonder something..."

Sam's head cocked, his gaze bewildered. “You—
you
have to wonder something?"

"Yeah. I mean, we see each other from time to time all over the building, but how did I miss ever seeing Glynice. She is your secretary, right?"

Now he snorted. “Well, that's easy. She hardly ever shows up to work. I inherited her from my father and she really should be considering retirement, but she clings because she thinks she's helping me and I let her because I love her and she's been a part of my family since as far back as I can remember."

The hint of affection in his tone for Glynice made her heart warm. “Ahh. Okay, anyway, yes, that was me on your desk. You want I should show you aga—"

Sam flipped his hand up so fast it was almost
Karate Kid
-like. “No!” he cleared his throat. “Once was enough.” He paused and ran a hand over his stubble-riddled chin, the sound rasping in his sterile kitchen. “And why were you a cat? I mean, how..."

"I'm always a cat. Well, half of one anyway. The other half of me is human. I'm what's known as a shapeshifter."

His shoulders, broad and thickly muscled, flexed under bronzed skin, but his face remained calm with no outward signs of panic. If he was going to freak, he sure didn't show it. Dude was a man, through and through. Yum-my. “And you were in a Dumpster, why?"

"Because I was stuck in my cat form while I was looking for food. Embarrassed as I am to say it, I was starving and I smelled food in the Dumpster. It was just my kind of luck someone would close the top on me. Truly, it was disgusting. I could have died of asphyxiation in there.” She made a face to emphasize just how disgusting.

"And you couldn't shif—uh ... be a human because?"

"I couldn't shift back to my human form because I got stuck and then I got lost and well, you know the rest..."

His hard, chiseled, oh, so angled, fabulous face held nothing but bewilderment—disorientation. His luscious mouth—a mouth that had dedicated much time and pleasure to places on her body she didn't know could respond like that—fell open again.

Frankie placed a hand under his chin and gently closed it, settling onto the barstool at Sam's breakfast bar. “Okay, here's the short story. I'll try to go slow so you can absorb everything. I come from a culture of shapeshifters. We can shift from human form to cat form. My culture believes procreation is the way to keep our breed alive. If we don't mate and begin to at least try and procreate by the time we're thirty, as sort of a punishment because we're not doing what's necessary to keep our breed alive and kicking, we're cursed to remain in our cat forms. It's some ancient bylaw or something. The time between shift from human to cat gets longer and longer the less I mate and inevitably, if I don't mate, I become someone's house pet—
forever
."

Sam massaged his temples and muttered, “Jesus Christ."

Frankie shook her head in agreement. “Huh-huh. Believe me, I've said that a lot lately. It's archaic, I know, but it is what it is. I had a horrible argument with my parents and I stepped outside for some fresh air before I said something I'd regret, shifted and got lost, couldn't shift back, then got myself stuck in a garbage can. But seriously, I'd do it all again. In fact, I'd go out on a limb and venture to say I'd rather be stuck in PetCo for the rest of my life than mate with Harry Weintraub."

"Harry who?"

"Weintraub.” She shuddered for effect.

"So
why
do you have to mate with him? Is that an ancient bylaw too?"

With a roll of her eyes, she clucked her tongue. “I have to mate with him because he's the guy my parents thought would be a good mate for me and he's available, and I haven't produced anyone to show them I'm working toward mating for life—or even mating at all. I was career oriented and a procrastinator, if you listen to my cousin Maude. Anyway, Harry ... well, he's icky."

"Icky ... Wait, they mate you off in this shapechanging whatever place? Like arranged marriages?"

Frankie tugged at her long tendrils of hair, pulling them up and twisting them into a knot on the top of her head. “
Shapeshifting
and yep. Unless I find a mate on my own I'm on the chopping block and the curse of being a shapeshifter means I have to abide by the laws and the laws say I must mate and procreate."

"So you were stuck as a cat ... What unstuck you?"

My raging, flamin’ hormones? The fact that you're hotter than volcanic lava? Your deliciously decadent scent?
“I'm not sure,” she hedged. “It just happened and then you grabbed me and well, desperate times and all ... truthfully, I think it was the sex."

"So what we did—"

"Boinked. We boinked, Sam.” No use in not stating the obvious. They'd wonked, banged, stomped the shit out of his mattress.

"Right. What we did ... it kept you in your human form?"

Frankie blew out a nervous breath. “Yeah. I think so, and that's why we need to talk. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you aren't around here much because, according to Glynice, you work all the time, yes?"

The look of surprise at her blunt assessment might have made her chuckle. If she wasn't so desperate. “Glynice thinks I need a life. I think she needs to retire. We often spar about it."

Sliding off her chair, Frankie gave him a coy, playful look. She didn't have much practice at it, but her mortal life
was
in the balance here. Her flower shop ... her cute apartment on the West Side. Giuseppe's fine Italian dining. Manicures. Oh, God, there was no way she could give up her manicures. “Right, I heard. So I had a thought, seeing as I have a predicament and all.” She winked a green eye and let her lips slide into a slow upward tilt of a half-smile.