I Slept in His Bed

Liam prepared a guest room for me.

Pink sheets.

A fluffy blanket.

A giant goose plush.

Honestly, it was perfect.

Unfortunately, I shredded the sheets within ten minutes.

He had not bought me a scratching post.

That was on him.

Near midnight, I stood outside Liam’s bedroom holding the goose plush nearly as large as my torso.

I raised my hand to knock.

Lowered it.

Raised it again.

Before I could decide, the door opened.

Liam stood there in black sleepwear, hair slightly damp, expression tired.

“Why are you lurking?”

“I’m not lurking.”

“You are holding a goose.”

I squeezed past him into the room.

“The guest room is unacceptable.”

He turned slowly.

“I prepared everything you like.”

“You forgot a scratching post.”

“So you destroyed the bed?”

“Instinct.”

“Mia.”

“I’m sleeping here.”

Before he could respond, I placed the goose plush on his serious black-gray-white bed and crawled under the blanket.

The sheets smelled like him.

Clean soap.

Rain.

Something warm and annoyingly comforting.

Liam stood at the bedside for a long moment.

Then he sighed.

A while later, the mattress dipped beside me.

I was almost asleep when I felt his hand pat my back lightly.

Like he was soothing a cat.

Like he was soothing me.

“Sleep,” he said quietly.

I should have kicked him.

Instead, I slept.

The next morning, I woke in his arms.

His arm was locked around my waist.

My face was close enough to see the faint stubble along his jaw.

I had never seen Liam like this.

Not cold.

Not sharp.

Not better-than-me.

Just warm and asleep.

My heart started doing something stupid.

I panicked and tried to retreat.

The goose plush had vanished somewhere.

Liam, apparently sensing movement, pulled me back without opening his eyes.

“Sleep more,” he murmured.

His morning voice was unfair.

Deep.

Lazy.

Terrible.

My heart went even more stupid.

I lay there rigidly, staring at the ceiling.

This is cat instinct, I told myself.

Cats like warm places.

Liam is just a warm place.

A six-foot-tall, annoyingly handsome, childhood-rival warm place.

I was losing my mind.

When Liam finally woke properly, I attacked first.

“Liam Blackwood, you took advantage of me.”

He sat up, hair a mess, eyes half-open.

Then he remembered the guest room.

“You shredded my sheets.”

“You didn’t buy a scratching post.”

“That does not justify vandalism.”

“You held me all night.”

“You climbed into my bed.”

“You should have resisted.”

“I did. Emotionally.”

That was it.

I lunged.

He caught me easily.

For two seconds, we struggled.

Then my body betrayed me again.

The world expanded.

My clothes collapsed around me.

I was a cat.

Liam held me by the back of the neck and lifted me to eye level.

I glared at him.

“Meow.”

He laughed.

A real laugh.

Soft.

Bright.

So rare that I forgot to be angry.

Then I remembered.

I raised one paw and pressed it against his nose.

He smiled at me.

“Cute.”

I hissed.

He took me to breakfast anyway.

And yes, I ate.

Because I am a woman of principle.

But I am not stupid enough to refuse Liam Blackwood’s cooking.