Chapter Eight

Saturday, September 10, 2022

Violet opened her eyes, her body heavy from exhaustion.

She was in her bed, Simon next to her. She took stock of the aches that consumed her, smiling as she remembered how she'd gotten them.

Last night.

Simon Jennings.

Multiple orgasms.

Oh, man.

The sex … it had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Most of her first times involved some grunts and moans but never any talking. Hell, she couldn't remember much eye contact because it always felt awkward.

Never had she been quite so vocal or been with anyone who was. She probably should've been embarrassed that she'd gotten so lost in the encounter, but for some reason, it felt right with Simon.

After round one—the dirtiest sex she'd had to date—they'd taken a break, but only long enough to get water. It was during that trip to the kitchen when round two—the hottest sex she'd had to date—began. Simon had deposited her on the kitchen counter and proceeded to prove how skilled he was with his mouth. He made her come with his tongue, then proceeded to fuck her right there on the counter.

Round three—the sweetest sex she'd had to date—didn't come for a while later. After they'd cleaned up and fallen into her bed. Sleep had been instant, at least for her. At some point, he'd woken her up, teasing her with light strokes of his fingers along her arm. Instantly, she'd wanted him, so she rolled on top of him, kissing him until she was dizzy. She took the lead, straddling his hips and taking his cock deep inside her. She rocked on top of him, his arms banded around her, their lips fused, tongues dancing until they erupted together.

Now, with dawn looming in the very near future, she found herself aching for more of him. It hadn't even been two hours since their last go-round, and she was fighting the urge to reach for him.

Was she addicted? Was this what it felt like to crave something?

She tried not to move as she turned to look at him. He was completely relaxed, sleeping right beside her.

Violet knew in that moment that she had screwed up. Royally.

She'd tried to tell herself she could handle a casual hookup, but clearly, she'd been wrong. So very, very wrong. There was a strange tightening in her chest and a flutter in her belly. It happened every time she looked at him. More so since round one, and it had gotten more intense throughout the night.

This was bad.

So very, very bad.

It took a few minutes, but she managed to slip out of bed without waking him. A few more minutes and she managed to get dressed—in yesterday's clothes, no less—not bothering with a shower or makeup. That could wait. For the moment, the only thing she wanted to do was get as far away from this man as possible. He was dangerous to her heart, and the last thing either of them needed was for her to go and fall in love with him.

Because she didn't want to fail as a cat mom, she poured a little bit of kibble in Harry's and Hermione's bowls, patting them on the head as she headed for the door. She backtracked to grab her cell phone and keys. She could practically see the judgment in Harry's eyes as he sat on the couch arm, watching her. Yes, she was sneaking out of her own house. She had no choice.

"Be good," she whispered. "And don't fight with the Roomba today."

With that, she slipped out the door.

Thankfully, Simon hadn't parked behind her. If he had, she would've been screwed. That or forced to walk three miles into town. She wasn't completely opposed to it, but she preferred not to.

Ten minutes later, she was letting herself into her store, grateful no one wanted to stop and chat. It was still early, but Batter & Bliss was open already, as they were every morning. It was Saturday, so there would be a larger swarm than usual at the bakery since Ramona Weber made her famous cronuts—part croissant, part donut. They were so popular that she'd resorted to only making them one day a week to manage demand.

Once inside the bookstore, Violet breathed a sigh of relief.

Yeah, maybe she looked like a lunatic by sneaking out of her own house, but hey, it beat the alternative. Another round with Simon would likely seal the deal, but she wasn't ready for that. The last thing she wanted was to pine for a man who, thanks to the curse, would probably be two hundred miles away by noon.

·····

Simon opened his eyes to find an enormous cat staring back at him from its perch on Violet's pillow.

"Hello," he said softly. "Are you Harry or Hermione?"

The cat meowed back at him.

Since he didn't speak feline, he would have to rely on Violet to help him out.

Violet.

Fuck.

Memories from last night rushed through his gray matter, flooding his system with adrenaline. His cock was instantly rock hard, just as it had been through most of the night. Considering how many times he'd come last night, he was surprised the damn thing wasn't broken.

He peered around, listening for sounds coming from another room. Was she in the shower? The kitchen? Was she thinking about last night the way he was? About how easy it'd been between them. There'd been no first-time hesitance. Not that he'd noticed anyway. Had she noticed that, too?

Figuring there was only one way to find out, Simon sat up, dropping his legs over the side of the bed. He sat still for a moment, not sure what he was waiting for.

The cat moved closer, rubbing against his bare back, its purr so strong he could feel the vibrations.

"Let's just hope your mom feels the same about me this mornin'," he muttered as he reached down to grab his boxers. He pulled them on and headed for the bathroom.

Violet wasn't there, so he detoured to the toilet to relieve himself. Not an easy feat since his damn cock was fucking hard. Afterward, he took a moment to splash his face with water, rinse his mouth with the mouthwash sitting on the counter, and tame his hair with water.

A few minutes later, he went in search of her.

Not in the kitchen.

Or the laundry room.

No Violet in the living room or the second bedroom, which she was clearly using as an office/library. As he turned, his gaze snagged on two canvas paintings mounted on the wall. He stopped to admire them. The one on the left was of Walker Park—the sign a dead giveaway—and the one on the right was of Harry and Hermione. He leaned in to see if he could decipher the signature.

"Violet Anderson. Aren't you just full of surprises," he whispered. Not only was she an entrepreneur, a sassy conversationalist, a very fine dinner companion, and a wild cat in the bedroom, but she was also an artist.

As if he could've liked her any more than he already did.

Returning to his quest to find her, he left the bedroom and checked the second bathroom just to be sure before returning to the living room.

"What the fuck?"

The bigger cat was sitting on the end of the couch, cleaning his paws. He paused long enough to look up at him and meow.

"Where is she?"

Since he wasn't expecting an answer, Simon was stunned when the cat hopped down and went to the front door, rubbing his head against the wood.

"Why would she be out there?"

This time, the cat simply sat down and peered at him as though he was an idiot.

"Fine," he muttered, opening the front door to look outside.

He frowned when he noticed Violet's car was gone.

Closing the door, Simon went back to her bedroom to get his clothes. He pulled them on, searching for his cell phone in the process. When he found it, he sat on the edge of her bed and dialed her number.

The call went to voicemail.

"Hey … uhm… Yeah. It's me. Simon. I woke up, and you're not here. Call me, please."

He disconnected the call, tucked his phone in his pocket, then wandered back into the living room.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Did she run out to get coffee? Maybe breakfast? Should he wait? See if she comes back?

Worried she would be upset if she returned to find him gone, Simon took a seat on the couch. He found himself surrounded by felines within seconds. Both cats rubbed at him until he gave them the attention they were seeking.

Then there they were, the three of them, waiting for Violet to return.

Thirty minutes and three text messages later, Simon accepted that Violet wasn't coming back. Nor was she returning his texts. He wasn't sure what else to do except go back to the B and B so he could shower and change.

"If she does come back, make sure she knows I didn't bolt," he told the cats.

He flipped the bottom lock on the door, double-checked that he had his keys, wallet, and phone, then pulled the door closed and headed for his car.

The drive back to the bed and breakfast felt awkward. Considering how weird it was to wake up in a woman's house only to find yourself alone, Simon was having a difficult time sorting reality from fiction. Did last night actually happen? Or was he about to wake up from the best dream of his life and find out it was all in his head?

He made it back to the B and B, parked his car, walked to the door, and still didn't wake up. Once inside, he was greeted by the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee. His stomach rumbled in earnest.

Would that happen if this was a dream?

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," Holt said from his spot in the living room. "Things went well with Violet, I take it."

Simon frowned. "You can see me?"

Holt barked a laugh. "Of course I can see you."

That didn't make him feel better. Maybe this was his subconscious playing tricks on him. Was this a dream version of Holt?

Holt's grin faded. "You okay?"

"I don't know."

That wasn't the right thing to say because Holt got to his feet, his expression morphing from amused to concerned in an instant.

"What happened?"

"I woke up," he said, peering around, waiting to see if there would be a blue rabbit or a green tiger. Something to confirm this wasn't real.

"And?" Holt probed.

Simon exhaled heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I woke up, and Violet was gone."

"What do you mean gone? "

"You're a writer. You should know the definition."

"She's dead?"

"God, no. Fuck."

"In my writing, that would've been the plot twist I would've gone with," Holt defended.

"You need your head examined, man. No, she's alive and well. At least, I think she is. She just wasn't there. Her cats were, but her car wasn't. She's not answering the phone or returning my texts."

"You didn't wake up in a puddle of blood, did you?"

Simon's eyebrows slammed down. "No. Why?"

Holt shrugged. "Then you're not a character in one of my books." He smiled. "Did you check the bakery? Maybe she went to get you a cronut."

"What's a cronut?"

"Only the most amazing thing since sliced bread," Bailey offered, coming into the room with a cup of coffee in her hands. "Want some?"

Simon looked at the cup but shook his head. "I think I'm gonna grab a shower first."

Bailey smiled at him before walking over to sit on the couch.

If this was a dream, Simon really hoped he would wake up.

Now.

Right now.

With every step to the second floor, he waited for something weird to happen. When it didn't, he realized something.

He wasn't asleep.

And the woman he'd spent the night with, the woman who'd etched herself under his skin in a matter of hours, had snuck out to get away from him.

Of her own fucking house.