When everything but the box of kitchen supplies had been delivered to the guest room, he stood once again at the end of the couch. She was still asleep, but she’d shoved the heavy quilt down to her waist. The black tank top she wore was nothing special, a simple ribbed cotton that should’ve looked utilitarian and practical. But it was snug on her breasts and rucked up at the waist, showcasing luscious tits and the sweet curve of her belly. The dip of her belly button was a faint shadow just above her waistband, and predictably, his slacks once again grew uncomfortable. A plaintive meow made him jerk, startled, and he looked down at the fluffy white cat winding around his ankles. She looked up at him and meowed again, butting her head against his shin and shedding on his pants.

“Hey, Phoebe,” he murmured softly, and since his clothes were already destined for the dry cleaner, bent to pick her up. He rubbed his fingertips on the top of her head, just behind her ears, and smiled when she began to purr. “Where have you been, hmmm? And why do you stink?”

“I gave her a can of tuna.”

He glanced up to see Olivia sitting up, blinking groggily, a pillow crease on her cheek. Her hair was falling out of its topknot, and she reached up to tug the rest of it free. Her arm flexed, the quarter-sleeve tattoo a flash of color in the darkness.

“So I smell,” he said mildly, and tried to ignore what that subtle flex of muscle did to his heart rate. “She has an automatic feeder, you know. Plenty of kibble.”

“I know.” Olivia yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, then shoved the blanket aside and swung her feet to the floor. “But she looked so pitiful.”

Cade looked away from smooth, pale legs to find the cat eyeing him with smug blue eyes. “The pitiful bit, huh?”

“I know it’s an act.” Olivia stood to stretch. He kept his eyes on the cat, but his peripheral vision was excellent. “But she’s really good at it.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Why do you think I keep tuna in the cabinet?”

She smiled back, the crease in her cheek deepening like a temporary dimple, but her eyes were heavy and troubled, reminding him that there was a reason she was camped out on his sofa on a Friday night.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, and was watching her closely enough to catch the flinch.

“Not yet.” She turned back to the couch and began to fold the blanket, her lush mouth turned down in a frown.

Cade let the cat leap out of his arms and stepped forward. “Here, give me that end. You take the other.”

“I love this blanket,” she said. “It’s so cozy.”