Savas's Wildcat. Anne McAllister
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of the lot. But in the back, above the garage, there was a light on in Gran’s living room. Apparently Mr Savas had left the light on for her.
Grudgingly, Cat gave him one point for that.
She opened the car door and, in the unaccustomed silence, could hear the sounds of waves breaking against the shore. Getting out, she stretched, working the stiffness out of her cramped muscles and breathing in the damp sea air. Then, still rolling her shoulders, she opened the back door and reached in, scooping a cat up into each arm.
She carried them past Yiannis’s house, through the small garden and up the stairs to the apartment. Then she opened Gran’s door and shooed the cats in. Then she went back for her suitcase. Lugging it up the stairs, she tried to imagine when her grandmother would be able to climb them again.
Or if she would.
Something else she didn’t want to think about.
Finally she reached the small porch, shoved open the door and heaved the suitcase inside. The cats loped toward her, then wove between her ankles, purring and meowing.
“Food,” she translated and fished a can and their bowls out of her suitcase. While they were eating, she filled the litter box that Gran kept for their visits. By the time she finished Hux and Baz were back, looking for more food.
“Tomorrow,” she told them sternly “Now just chill out and let’s get some sleep.”
They purred a bit more, but she resolutely ignored them. She was too exhausted to think. Her brain buzzed. Her eyes felt scratchy.
At least tonight, with Gran in the hospital, she wouldn’t have to sleep on the sofa.
She went into the bathroom and stripped down to her T-shirt and underwear, too tired to dig through her suitcase for a nightgown. Then she brushed her teeth and shook her head at the sight of her bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror. Then, yawning, barely able to keep those eyes open, she pushed open the door to the bedroom, flicked on the light …
And stopped dead.
Yiannis—and a baby—were fast asleep on Gran’s bed.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU!”
At the squawk of feminine indignation and the sudden blinding overhead light, Yiannis threw up a hand to protect his eyes. Squinting, trying to figure out where the hell he was, he raised his head and saw two things—a sleeping baby on his chest and Catriona MacLean—in her underwear—gaping at him from the doorway.
He gaped right back, as dazed by the view as by the light. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to keep a hand firmly on Harry’s back as the little boy began to stir. “Turn off the damn light,” he commanded, though it rather pained him to do so. The view—as his pupils adjusted—was stunning.
“What?” Cat didn’t move.
Harry whimpered.
“Turn off the flaming light, woman.” Yiannis would have levered himself up and done it for her, but doing so would have disturbed the baby. “Unless,” he added through his teeth, “you want him to start screaming. Again.”
After three hours of virtually nonstop crying that had only tapered off what felt like minutes ago, Yiannis sure as hell didn’t. All his nerve endings were frayed. Harry would probably still be yelling if Yiannis hadn’t finally taken a page out of his brother Theo’s book and settled the little blighter down on his chest.
That at last, had worked. But even as he finally quieted and drifted off, Harry still emitted intermittent heart-wrenching sighs that shuddered through his small frame. They made Yiannis feel guilty, though he wasn’t the one who ought to be, heaven knew.
Fortunately the shuddering sobs were getting fewer and fewer. But he was not inclined to let anyone wake Harry again any time soon. He thought he might have to get up and shut it out for her when finally Cat did what she was told. The light flicked off. But he could still glimpse those memorable slender curves silhouetted in the doorway.
“What are you doing in Gran’s bedroom?” Cat demanded.
What the hell did she think he was doing?
“Guess,” he said irritably. “And shut the door while you’re doing it. I’ll be out when I’m sure he’s settled.”
“Huh.” It was a snort that carried with it a truckload of doubt. But at least she finally pulled the door shut and remained on the other side of it.
Yiannis ground his teeth. He would have shut his eyes and gone back to sleep again, given half a chance, even though he’d doubtless have Cat’s curves dancing on the insides of his eyelids. But he knew sleep was out of the question.
Cat would be back, even more annoyed than she was now—and she’d wake Harry. And while a part of him thought it would serve her right to deal with a screaming child, the sane sensible part knew that Harry didn’t deserve to be awakened again.
Sighing, Yiannis worked a hand under Harry’s belly and slowly rolled onto his side so he could slide Harry off onto the mattress. Harry made a soft whuffling noise. Yiannis froze.
The door cracked slightly. “Well?” a voice whispered.
Yiannis’s teeth ground together. “Out!” And he held his breath, waiting until he was sure Harry was asleep again. Then he brushed a hand over Harry’s downy head and started to slide off the bed when suddenly he felt something bounce onto it.
“What the—?”
A hard fur-covered head bumped against his shoulder. Yiannis reached out a hand and encountered a cat. A cat?
He grimaced. Oh, hell, yes. He remembered it now. Careful not to jostle the mattress, Yiannis eased himself off it, then snagged the cat up into his arms and, quietly as he could, he crossed the room and eased open the door.
Catriona MacLean was hastily zipping herself into a pair of baggy shorts. Pity. He would have liked to have seen more of those long bare legs. He remembered them well enough. Too well, damn it, for his peace of mind. The sight of them and the pert breasts that still peaked braless beneath her shirt were distractions that would only complicate things. More complications he didn’t need.
When he dragged his gaze up to her face, he found her glaring at him. Deliberately and quietly he shut the door behind him, crossed the room and dropped the cat into her arms. “Yours?” he said acidly.
Her arms came around the cat and she buried her face against him for one long moment. Excellent. The feline covered her breasts.
“Mine,” she said tersely. Then she lifted her flashing eyes. “What are you doing here? You and … and … your baby?” She almost stumbled over the last word.
Hell! She thought it was his?
“Not my baby,” Yiannis said firmly.
An expression he couldn’t quite interpret flickered across her features. “Then what are you doing with it?” she demanded.
“Him,” Yiannis said. “His bed is here.”
“His bed?” She blinked.
“Crib,” Yiannis said. “Didn’t you see it?”
“I didn’t notice. I saw—you … and …” She gave a wave of her arm toward the bedroom.
“Harry.”
She stared. Her mouth opened. And shut. “H-Harry?” There was a flicker of recognition colored by doubt.
Yiannis nodded. “Harry.”
“Not …” She shook her head as her voice trailed off. Her gaze flicked to the closed door, then back to him. She hugged the cat tighter, as if he were some sort of shield she could hide behind. But of course he was a cat and had no intention of letting himself be used for anything at all. So he twisted and rippled