Out of habit, I tucked my tail between my legs, clamping it tight as his hands curved around my waist and pulled me close to him, just like I’d done at every high school dance I’d attended, at every nightclub I’d ever danced in. And it may seem like a small, silly thing, but it was a moment of pure bliss to realize I didn’t have to.

I unfurled my tail and slid my arms around Sinclair’s neck, gazing up at him as we swayed slowly together. He lowered his head to kiss me, tasting of scotch tinged with a faint hint of chocolate, while Etta sang in the background.

Hands down, most romantic evening ever. Way better than a funky satyr booty call. Although that had had its merits, too. Just thinking about it, I felt my temperature rise a few degrees. But this time I wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. I’d wait for Sinclair to do it.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The song ended, and Sinclair tilted his head toward the bedroom with an inquiring look. “Shall we adjourn?”

I smiled up at him. “Love to.”

Eleven

“What the holy hell?”

“What?” Jolted awake, I sat upright, looking frantically for my phone, or dauda-dagr, or . . . I don’t know what. “What?”

“This . . . thing!” Sinclair was lying flat on his back beside me with Mogwai perched high on his chest, paws neatly tucked, purring contentedly as he gazed down at Sinclair with slitted eyes.

I laughed out loud. “I told you I had a cat!”

“That’s a cat?” He took a sharp breath, Mogwai rising obliviously with his chest. “More like a duppy.”

“A what?”

“Nothing.” He let out his breath in a sigh. “S’okay. Is he your familiar or something?”

I lifted Mogwai off Sinclair’s chest and set him on the bed between us. It was true that he was a pretty big cat, eighteen pounds and none of it fat, and according to the vet, male calicoes were a genetic rarity. Other than that, he seemed pretty normal. “Something, I guess. He likes you.”

“Good thing.” He eyed Mogwai, then reached out to give him a tentative scratch under the chin. “You startled me, bwai! Give me a chance to get to know you, eh?”

Glancing toward my bedroom window, I saw sunlight. All right, I had a sexy naked guy in my bed, but it was Labor Day in Pemkowet and I had an agenda. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m going to make coffee, then run down to Mrs. Browne’s for a couple of cinnamon rolls. If you want to shower before we do the Bridge Walk, now’s your chance.”

Sinclair stretched, slow and leisurely, giving me a significant look. “Bet I’ve got a couple of hours before my first tour. You sure about this Bridge Walk?”

Um . . . no?