“You’ll do no such thing.” I wade back across the soaked carpet, water oozing in through my shoes to dampen my socks. “The guy who redid my bathroom last year is amazing, and he owes me a favor. I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow morning and get a crew over to clean up the water ASAP. Hopefully we can have this all dried up and tiled by next week. My treat.” I extend a hand to Arno. “Agreed?”
“You pay bill?” He cocks his head, studying me out of the corner of his eyes. “All bill? Whole bill?”
“Every dime,” I assure him.
“And you pick nice color,” he adds, pointing at my chest. “Nothing too crazy. No pink.”
“No pink,” I agree drily. “It will be tasteful and of the highest quality.”
With his lip curling in apparent satisfaction, Arno nods and clasps my hand, pumping my arm up and down. “Good. Done.” He releases my palm and points his stubby finger in CJ’s direction. “You find cat. You take him out. I let work crews into apartment and make sure valuables are safe. No worries.”
CJ presses her hands together. “Thank you so much, Arno. Thank you.”
Grumbling and nodding, Arno waves away her thanks and shuffles stiffly across the room. A moment later, CJ and I are alone with the soaked floor, the potato and onion chunks, and the smell of wet carpet, which is better than wet dog, but not by much.
“Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate the sweet offer, but I insist on paying for the work and the clean-up.”
I shake my head as I reach out, pulling her in for a hug. “Not a chance, Murphy. I’ve got this covered. Consider it an early birthday present.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
Failure is not an option tonight. That applies, too, to my offer to pay. Given the uncharitable thoughts that just coursed through my head about her poor cat, I need to pay. It’s only right. “Butterfly, this is not up for negotiation. I’m paying for it. It’s that simple.”
She pulls back from the embrace to stare at me, searching my eyes, like she can find an answer there. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“And you’ve done so much for me.” As the words emerge, I realize how true they are. We’ve only spent a few nights together, and they’ve not only been insanely sexy, but fun and tender, too. More than I expected. “I intend to pay.”
She softens. “You’re so chivalrous.”
It comes out the same way she said I was lovely earlier, and it does funny things to my chest. “That’s me. Graham Chivalrous Campbell.”
“That means I’m paying for birthday brunch this year. No arguments.” Her arms go around my waist as her cheek rests on my chest, sending a wave of pure contentment washing through me. This night certainly isn’t proceeding the way I thought it would—I was sure I’d be dreaming dirty dreams while she dozed in my arms—but somehow, it’s okay. It feels like about anything would be okay, or at least survivable, as long as I get to hug CJ after it’s over. She just feels so good, so right.
“I guess we should get hunting for this wayward kitty,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head because I can’t help but touch her. “Any idea where he might have gone?”
CJ tips her head back, gazing up at me with a crooked smile. “I have a few ideas, but you’re not going to like them. When he freaks out, he tends to hide in the darkest, dustiest places he can find. Once, I found him behind the furnace. Another time, he wedged himself behind the toilet.”
I frown. “Are you implying that I’m a squeamish man who won’t brave the elements on a rescue mission?”
She laughs. “No, you’re a very manly man who knows how to turn off water and has a tile guy on speed dial. But you’re also wearing very expensive pants.”
“Forget my pants. Let’s get that cat and get out of here. I would like to get you back in bed sometime before midnight, Miss Murphy. I was enjoying spooning you very much, but I also think I’ll enjoy sliding my hand between your legs in the middle of the night.”
Heat flashes in her eyes. “I would like that, too.”
“Maybe even a refresher on lesson one or two?”
Her eyes darken, a hint of desire flickering in them. “Extra credit is good.”
I chuckle and smack her rear, hauling her close for a hot second and planting a kiss on those soft, delicious lips. “You’ll get lots of homework, I promise.”
Then I let her go because it’s kitty-cat time. “Let’s go kitty hunting.”
We start with her apartment, but unsurprisingly, there’s no sign of Steve. But with the amount of screaming that went on in here tonight, I wouldn’t have expected an anxious animal to stick around. A thorough search of the hallways and common areas comes next. We scour the stroller storage and the janitor’s closet on the first floor, where snow shovels and mildew-scented mops crowd in the darkness, but there are no signs of fuzzy feet or a twitching tail.
Down in the basement, we pace every inch of the boiler room, using our phones for light as we poke into windowless rooms that clearly haven’t been touched—or cleaned—in the past century.
“If there isn’t black mold down here, I’ll eat my own hand,” I mutter as we finish another horror-movie-worthy exploration.