Maisie
"Uh…" I hid the clothes behind me. "Nothing."
His eyes narrowed. "You are very obviously stealing my clothes."
"Stealing?" I scoffed dramatically. "What's yours is mine, remember?"
"How convenient that you remember that now of all times," he said. "Why do you smell like that?"
"Like what—hey!"
The rest of my protest vanished into a yelp. He crossed the room in three strides, and then his hands were on my waist and I was leaving the floor, my feet dangling uselessly as he lifted me to his eye level.
"What are you—"
He was hardly listening. He was sniffing me. His nose pressed into my hairline, dragging down toward my temple. Then my cheek. The hinge of my jaw. The soft skin just beneath my ear. Then he made a sound somewhere deep in his chest, a vibration I felt before I heard the purr, like a cat that had been stroked.
"You were out," he said against my neck.
My grip on his clothes was loosening. "Yes."
"Looking for me?"
