The Cat's Pajamas

by Soraya May

  We weren’t here. The unconscious use of ‘we’ stuck in my mind for a moment. There hasn’t been a ‘we’ for a long time; just an ‘I’.

  The curtains were closed, and I resisted the urge to surreptitiously pull them aside to see who our visitor was. Getting to the door, I slid back the lock and opened it a crack. Farrah’s face appeared, looking determinedly perky.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. You took a while to answer.”

  I scowled at her. “Yeah, I was…still in bed. What the hell are you wearing?”

  Farrah was wearing a pair of gym pants, a spandex top and running shoes. For a woman who routinely never went below a two-inch heel, this was a very unexpected appearance.

  The redhead beamed. “It’s activewear.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Are you being…active?”

  “That’s the idea, genius. Want to come for a walk with me? I’d popped into town to do some shopping, and I thought we could go to the beach.”

  I took a deep breath. Normally I wouldn’t be averse to the idea, but right now the prospect of going back to bed with Ryan was a lot more appealing. “Sorry, Faz. I’m a bit slow this morning. You have fun, though. Besides,” I stepped back and opened the door a little to indicate the bar, “I’ve still got clearing up to do.”

  Farrah glanced inside. “Looks like it’s not too bad. How was last night? Sorry I couldn’t make it; May’s sleepover fell through at the last minute.”

  “It was…good.” Do I really want to talk about this right now? “Yeah. Good. It was very successful.”

  “I knew you’d—” Farrah stopped, and her eyes widened. Her face assumed a look of fiendish glee. “Looks like it was very, very successful, babe.”

  Uh-oh. Following her eyes, I turned around, and my heart sank. Damn.

  Next to the bar, my jeans and panties were still on the floor where they’d been discarded the previous night. My high heels lay scattered a few feet away.

  Farrah opened her mouth and I shook my head vigorously. “Oh, no. Not right now.” I began to close the door in her face. “Definitely not.”

  “But—”

  “Nope. Later.” I made a placating hand gesture as the door closed. “Later, okay. Not now.”

  “B—” The door closed, and I could hear Farrah still talking outside it, with muffled indignation. Shaking my head ruefully, I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Yeah, this is going to be one of those in-depth conversations. Great.

  By the time I went back upstairs with the coffee pot, two mugs and milk on a tray, Ryan was sitting up in bed, reading. I took a moment to admire him, bare-chested in my bed. How the hell did this happen?

  Engrossed in his book, he didn’t notice me for a minute until I put the tray down on my bedside table. “Hey. Coffee?”

  He looked up and smiled at me, a pure, uncomplicated expression that made me want to get straight back into bed with him, despite myself. “Hey, you. Everything okay downstairs? Coffee would be lovely.”

  I made a face as I poured. “Well, sort of. It was Farrah wanting to go for a walk.”

  “Oh, yeah? How is she?” Ryan took the cup from me carefully.

  “She’s great, now. Unfortunately, we forgot to clear up a few items after last night, and they’re still on the floor. I think that discovery just made her day.”

  Ryan gave a snort of laughter. “Whoops. Hope I didn’t put you in a difficult position.” He sipped his coffee, and looked at me over the rim of the mug. “Although, come to think of it, we did…”

  “Oh, not you too.” I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m already up to my ears in innuendo thanks to Farrah, and now I’m going to have to tell her what happened, or she’ll never leave me alone.”

  “And very nice ears they are too. Are you coming back to bed with your coffee?” He patted the mattress next to him.

  I made a show of deliberating. “Weelllll…okay.” Slipping out of my robe, I slid between the sheets again and pressed myself up against him. “Maybe just for a little bit.”

  “Mmm, that is very nice.” Ryan made appreciative noises. “In fact, it’s every bit as nice as seeing you get out of that robe. You must do that more often, you know.”

  “Hmm. I think that can be arranged.” I smiled at him, and he kissed the top of my head, lightly, as if he’d done it a hundred times before, and this was how every morning started.

  This all feels so natural, so right.

  I was amazed at how un-awkward the whole thing felt; had I thought about it, I would have expected that normally when you wake up with a strange man in your bed, after having hot sex on top of the bar with him the previous night, there’d be at least some sense of awkwardness or discomfort, but there wasn’t. Just a sense of warm comfort, and the deep, visceral satisfaction of being close to him.

  A small part of my mind kept turning over the problem of who he was and what he was doing here.

  He’s only here because he might want to demolish my bar. Then he’s going to leave.

  I couldn’t shake that slight feeling of worry, but right now all I wanted to do was push it to the back of my mind, lose myself in this moment, this easy, uncomplicated feeling of being precisely where I wanted to be.

  I’d never felt like this before; with Kirk, there was always somewhere for one of us to go, something which required our attention and focus, every moment of being awake. Before this, the idea of just spending a morning in bed with a man sounded to me like something that happened in a chick-flick.

  The sort that Farrah would watch and then come back and tell me about the dirty bits. It’s a miracle her daughter hasn’t grown up traumatized with some of the things she hears.

  “So,” Ryan closed his book and propped it against the window, “what have you got to do today?” Part of me wanted to talk about what happened last night, to try and make sense of it, but I stopped myself.

  This is only a temporary thing, and I’d better get used to that. He’s never made any secret of the fact he’s not staying. Don’t spoil things by asking questions all the time. Just enjoy it.

  “Just cleaning up the bar and doing a stock-take, I think. I do remember we ran out of limes last night, and I’ll bet there’s a bunch of other stuff we’re running low on. What about you?”

  Ryan leaned back and put his arms behind his head. “This morning, I’m at the library. I’ve found…well, some background information about the site.” He looked away for a moment. “Then, I need to go and visit Daisy to get on with these repairs I’m doing for her. Every day it rains, that place accumulates more water, and I shudder to think what it’s like in the attic right now.”

  “That was a really kind thing you’re doing for her, you know.” I leaned over and kissed his shoulder, which was all I could reach of him.

  He grinned. “I do have my moments.” Sliding an arm around me, he brushed my hair down again, and I resisted an urge to purr. “Hey, thanks for letting me help last night. It really was great to be part of a team, you know.”

  “Well, thank you for doing such a great job. I got a bunch of people telling me how good my ‘new bartender’ was. I didn’t have the heart to tell them who you really were. In fact, I think you’ve missed your calling.”

  Laughing, Ryan pulled me into him. “Maybe I have, come to think of it. I will be expecting breakfast in bed from now on, you know.”

  “Don’t push your luck. You’re still paying my bills, remember. Mind you,” I stretched a hand out beneath the covers, “there is one way I could thank you properly for something you did last night…” I found his shaft, and delighted in how he hardened at a single stroke of my fingers.

  With a deep groan, Ryan pushed himself into my hand. “Damn, Cat. How can you do that to me so quickly?”

  I wrapped my hand around him, stroking him gently. “I was going to ask you just the same thing, as it happens.” Feeling a tingle beginning inside me, and sensing my own wetness, I slid beneath the covers. “Mmm, just as nice as I remember.” This time, I
wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he’d done so expertly to me the previous evening, and I wouldn’t stop until he’d given himself up to me completely. My mouth slid over him, and Ryan hissed involuntarily.

  “Fuuuck, Cat…” His hands played in my hair, and I inhaled the warm, masculine, woody scent of his skin. Moving my head up and down with exquisite slowness, I felt him swell yet more, until he was almost too big for me to take completely. My tongue swirled around him, and with every stroke I felt him pulse, again and again, all for me.

  The wetness between my thighs was growing, and I pressed myself into him, enjoying the sensation of grinding on him as I swallowed him whole, in and out. My other hand stroked him, and he shuddered with pleasure. I loved being able to please him this way, feeling him helpless to his own desire, just as he’d made me helpless last night. I began to move my head faster, sucking him more hungrily, and he thrust up into my mouth, unable to stop himself. With each stroke, I felt him building towards his orgasm, throbbing and urgent. His breathing was ragged, and I knew he was going to be mine before much longer.

  Lifting my head, I looked up at him. He took one long breath.

  “Cat…”

  “In my mouth. I want you in my mouth, right now.” I dived back onto him, licking and sucking without pause, until within a few seconds Ryan gave another deep groan and began to shake. I felt him begin to come, hot and urgent, up through his shaft and into my mouth, giving me everything as he shook in his orgasm. Holding on to him as he came, I kept him in my mouth, until finally he’d given all he had.

  Licking my lips, I looked up at him again. “Good morning again, Dr. Sanders.”

  His eyelids fluttered, and he looked down at me blearily. “G-good morning.” Raising me up from his waist, he wrapped his arms around me. “Come here, you.”

  I breathed out, enjoying the last of his taste in my mouth, and the sensation of pleasing him so fully. “Coming.” I nestled into him again, just as when we woke up together. I could do this every morning, I really could.

  A little later, he looked down at me. “I hope you enjoyed that half as much as I did. I may need health insurance if we make a habit of this.”

  “I did.” I stretched, remembering the delicious masculinity of the way he groaned with pleasure as he came for me. “I’d been thinking about doing that since last night.”

  Ryan drew in a breath. “Had you, now? I’m glad I didn’t know that while I was working, or I would have dropped something for sure.” Stroking my shoulder with one hand, he turned toward me. “I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to think we should get up.”

  “Mmmph.” I gave a reluctant nod. “I’d rather just stay here, preferably for about a year or so. But I suspect you’re right. Besides, people would come looking for us sooner or later.”

  “They would, that’s true. Oh, the wickedness of the world.” Kissing me on the forehead one last time, Ryan peeled back the covers, shivering briefly. “Damn. Okay, now I’m out of bed, I need to get some clothes on.”

  I admired his back, angular hips, and strong buttocks, and resisted the urge to whistle. “That is a pity.”

  By the time Ryan was back from his room, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and carrying his jacket, I’d gotten up, put my robe back on, and was heading downstairs to refresh the coffee pot and retrieve my clothes.

  “More coffee?”

  He shook his head, striding to the door. “I’d love to, but I’d better get out and see Daisy about this roof. I’ll be back soon.”

  I watched him leave. This time, I didn’t draw back when he looked behind him. For a moment, our eyes met, and he smiled. “Take care of yourself, huh?”

  23

  Ryan

  The guest-house attic was anticlimactically unspooky; dry and empty for the most part. I pushed the extending ladder into the ceiling and brushed the dust from my hands. “There,” I said. “I’ve put waterproof sheeting across the hole in the roof, and all around the area where the leak was. I’ve also scattered a whole lot of calcium carbonate drying agent up there to try and soak as much moisture out of the timber as possible. I’ll come and check on it in a few days, but it should hold for a little while at least, and it’ll stop things from getting any worse.

  Daisy hovered about me, one hand on my arm. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sanders. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Are you completely sure you won’t take any kind of payment for this?”

  “Not so much as a dollar.” I shook my head. “It’s the least I could do after the kindness you’ve shown me.” I thought for a minute. Although the guest house was weird—really weird—it was warm and welcoming in an odd way, and the whole reason for that was Daisy. Even if her cookies are terrible. “I really admire you, running this place on your own; it’s really a lot of work for one person.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Well, you’ve got to keep busy. The cleaning does get to be a lot of work, though, I’ll admit that. If I’d known when I bought the place how much time it would take to dust all of these ornaments and paintings that came with it, I would have gotten rid of them. Cookie?”

  “Uh, no,” I said quickly, “thank you.” Anxious not to dwell on the matter of cookies, I continued. “So you didn’t own the furnishings beforehand?”

  “Oh, no, not at all.” We walked into the parlor, and Daisy shook her head. “It was a deceased estate, you see. The previous owner was a great collector, it seems, and when he died, none of his heirs seemed to want the furnishings.” She indicated the enormous, faded armchairs, gold and green paisley faintly luminous in the half-light.

  I did my best to feign astonishment. “That is hard to understand.”

  “So, when I moved here ten years ago, I thought I was getting a great deal on the place. Just look at those paintings! What a wonderfully lifelike collection of pigs. I’m not as keen on the horses, though.”

  “Quite. I can see what you mean about the upkeep. But you did bring some of your own things, I suppose?” I indicated the picture of the young Maori man in uniform on the mantelpiece. “Was that…a sweetheart?”

  For a moment, Daisy looked slightly miffed; the crochet square waved in short motions through the air. “Good Lord, man, how old do you think I am?” Then her face softened. “I suppose it was a long time ago, though. No, that’s my older brother Wiremu. Half-brother, really. I only have a few memories of him, but he was killed during the war. This is the last photograph of him before he went to fight in North Africa.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I looked again at the photo, and now I could see a similarity about the young man’s eyes to the elderly lady in front of me.

  Daisy waved a hand. “That’s quite alright. It was a long time ago, and we did have a large family.” She turned to face me. “But, you do remember what we were saying about remembering the past, don’t you? Well, remembering Wiremu reminds me to take the time to cherish the people around me.” She sighed. “Because they won’t be around forever, and remembering people takes some effort.”

  “Yes indeed, Miss McNeish. I’m lucky that I have my work; I’ve always hoped that people will remember that, even if they don’t remember me. Now, let’s go and check in the guest room—sorry, the Paihamu Suite—and make sure that the sheeting is holding up.”

  We mounted the stairs, Daisy leading the way up the landing and into the guest room. Inside, the opossums regarded us with glassy inscrutability, tiny jaws agape as they silently belted out long-forgotten pop hits. I was growing more resilient with every exposure, though, and this time I suppressed my involuntary shudder. The plastic sheeting was visible through the ceiling, but it looked dry and secure, and I was happy with the work.

  “It may not be enough when you get older, you know.” Daisy spoke suddenly as we looked at the ceiling together.

  I blinked. “Sorry?”

  “Your work, Mr. Sanders. As much as I admire what you’re doing, you need to think of yourself as well as posterity.” She pointed a finger at m
e. “You’re a young man, and the time you spend building relationships now will resonate with you for the rest of your life. Don’t be so consumed by your work that you forget about the people around you.”

  “Again, ma’am, you may be right.” I acknowledged her words with a rueful look. “I’m afraid my work doesn’t make it easy for me when it comes to relationships. Flying in and flying out of places the way I do doesn’t leave a lot of connection to them.”

  “I should think not. But don’t leave it until it’s too late.” She looked around the room. “All these things have a history, but the real history of people is in the hearts of those whom they love.”

  I was quiet for a minute. “You’re right.” I thought about my years of travel, all those discoveries I’d made, all those memories saved. I didn’t often dwell on it, but I’d paid a price for them, drifting away from relationships, and never being present even when I was.

  I thought of Cat, of waking up with her that morning, the easy familiarity that had come upon us so suddenly. Stroking her hair, feeling her curled up next to me, listening to her talk about her day.

  What would it be like to have her next to me like that every day?

  I shook my head. That isn’t going to happen. She won’t leave even if she loses the bar. This is only a temporary thing, and I’d better get used to that.

  Daisy coughed. “Mr. Sanders?”

  “Sorry. I was just…admiring the artwork in here.” Searching for something to say, I gestured at the stuffed opossums.

  “Artwork?” Daisy had a tone of confusion in her voice. “You mean the opossums?”

  “Well, yes…I mean, I thought they were here in the guest room because they were a central feature of the experience. That is, a prized…” I tailed off into silence.

  “Actually,” Daisy said, after a moment, looking at them warily, “I hate the bloody things. I only moved them in here because they give me the creeps.”

  24