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“Meow!”

The half shriek of the cat caused her to stumble back and almost fall on her ass. She caught a whirl of black fur as the thing launched through the air, and she scrambled away, desperate to avoid the sharp sting of claws.

“Crap!” she yelled, heading toward the safety of concrete and away from the bushes. “Get away from me.”

The cat, or whatever the thing was, stalked her. Blazing green eyes dominated the black face as massive paws closed the distance between them. Maggie jumped behind a wrought-iron chair and glared at it. She did not like cats. Never did. Dogs were sufferable because they were generally affectionate and only lived for you to pet them. Cats were different—they were like high-strung divas who assumed your only job in life was to serve them. They scared the bejesus out of her—even more than children—and there was no way she was sticking around a moment longer. But this creature was three times the normal size, almost like a small dog. He’d do a wicked witch proud because he stared her down like he was about to cast a spell, and he freaked her out.

“Ah, I see you met Dante.”

Maggie spun around. Michael grinned down at her, clean-shaven, with his long hair neatly tied back. He looked rested and refreshed, while she still felt completely out of sorts and scrambling for her composure. “What do you feed it? Small children?”

He chuckled and knelt down, trying to call the cat over. Dante swished his tail and hissed. Maggie jumped back another step. “You’re not afraid of cats, are you, cara?”

She shuddered. “I just don’t like them. They’re demanding and spiteful.”

His lip twitched. “Seems like you’d go perfect together.”

“Funny. Is he yours?”

Michael shook his head. “Nope, he’s a stray. Visits a regular route for food, but won’t let anyone near him. Even Carina, whom we call the animal whisperer, hasn’t gotten close. Dante has issues.”

She stared at the cat. Pretty clean, definitely not starving, but he seemed to dislike people. The sudden humor struck her. “So Dante gets fed and catered to by the same people he openly despises. Interesting.”

“Yes, I guess it is,” he murmured. Suddenly, she was in his arms. His minty breath rushed across her lips and made her belly tumble. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.” His dark eyes glittered with promise and a hint of danger. Shivers raced down her spine. “But if three times still gave you enough sleep, I’ll need to do better tonight.”

Oh. My.

She cleared her throat and reminded herself another night with him may be dangerous. She blinked and pulled back, needing the distance. His arms closed around her. “Michael—”

“I love hearing my name on your lips.” His mouth lowered and took hers, kissing her deep and long and slow. She opened up and thrust against each silky stroke of his tongue, pressing close. He caught her low moan, then slid over her bottom lip to nip. The sharp pleasure-pain shot a rush of heat between her aching thighs. He tasted so good she wanted to devour every inch and discover all those hard muscles straining under his clothes. Drowning in sensation, she let herself slide headlong into a pit of seething heat and fire and—

“Owww!” He thrust her away and jumped on one leg.

She looked down in horror to see Dante’s teeth stuck in Michael’s pants. The tiny puncture holes through the thin fabric caused her to freeze, afraid she was his next meal. The cat’s face turned upward in a sneer and he disengaged from Michael. He hissed low, then stalked toward her with intention.

“Dante!” Michael let out a rush of Italian and waved him away with a threatening gesture. The cat ignored him and reached her. She closed her eyes, unable to move and—

Dante rubbed his body against her calf. The low hum of a motor reached her ears. She opened her eyes and realized that noise was purring. He pushed his face hard into her leg, his long whiskers twitching with pleasure as he circled once, twice, then settled beside her.

Michael just stared at the cat, then back at her. “I don’t believe this. He’s never done that before,” he murmured. “And he’s never bitten.”

“What? It’s not my fault—I told you I don’t like cats. I didn’t tell him to bite you!”

“No. It’s deeper than that. Perhaps he sees something we’ve all been missing.”

Maggie watched with widened eyes. “And you feed this thing so he comes back?” she asked in amazement. “What is wrong with you? He came at you like he smelled a tuna dinner.”

The electricity between them jumped and burned like a live fuse gone wild. Her pulse rocketed. His eyes darkened with purpose, and he reached for her.

“Margherita? Michael?”

They both jumped back. His mother stood framed in the doorway, an apron covering her dress, her hair twisted neatly into a chignon. The aristocratic lines of her face shimmered with a classical power that had launched a successful business and raised four children. “What is happening out here?”

“I was just introducing Maggie to Dante.”

Mama Conte gasped. “Why is Dante near Margherita?”

“Yes, that seems to be the question of the day.” Maggie shifted uneasily and took a step back from the man-eating cat. Dante only stared with disgust at her cowardly retreat. “Mama, we’ll be going to the office with Julietta in a bit. Do you need anything?”

“I will give you a list of ingredients I’m running low on. Margherita, I need help in the kitchen. Will you join me?”

She hesitated. As much as she liked Michael’s mother, a deep-seated fear lodged in her gut. The woman was too sharp and asked too many questions. What if she slipped up and blew the whole cover story? Michael motioned for her to go, but she shook her head. “Um, I really don’t like cooking. Maybe Michael can help you.”

His mother crooked a finger. “Michael already knows how to cook—you do not. Come with me.” She disappeared back into the house.

Maggie cursed under her breath, indignant at Michael’s shaking shoulders as he smothered his laughter. “I hate cooking,” she hissed. “Your mother scares me. What if she suspects?”

“She won’t. Just be nice, cara. And don’t blow up the kitchen.”

She scooped up her camera, shot him a dirty look, and stomped off. A low meow sounded behind her but she refused to acknowledge the sound. The irony of her current situation blew her mind. She seemed to be confronted at every turn with all the items she refused to deal with back home. Already, she felt responsible for Carina and her current activities, she had to make sure she didn’t kill four small children, she had to deal with psychotic cats, and now she needed to please his mother by not poisoning the food. Muttering under her breath, she put her camera down on the table.


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