The Cat's Fancy Prologue There are people in this world who believe in magic, who search for the possibility in their daily lives. With awe, they open fortune cookies hoping for an omen, and turn over stones searching for fairies. They avoid sidewalk cracks, the thirteenth floor, and the underside of ladders. Secretly, they believe that Darren was an idiot for not letting Samantha give his career a boost, and hold fast to the conviction that if they keep combing beaches they'll find Barbara Eden in a bottle. To these people, love is just as magical as a unicorn in your driveway. Nicholas Goodman was not one of these folks. It didn't matter. Maggie found him anyway. "This is what you want?" Old Tom teetered in the crook of the juniper tree, peering down at her with his one good eye. Maggie pictured her Nicholas. Perfect Nicholas. She didn't hesitate. "Yes." Old Tom cocked his head so that his bad eye, the one covered with the grey-green film, appeared to focus on her. Maggie stood fast. They said he could see deep with that eye, he just couldn't see the world. Well, let him look. She had nothing to hide. Nothing to fear, and everything to gain. As far as she knew, no one had ever asked to do, had never even considered trying, what she wanted. Certainly no one had the gall to come to Old Tom for help. But she wasn't going to flinch. She wanted this. So much she could feel it in her stomach. So desperately she couldn't sleep for thinking about it. If it couldn't be done, so be it. But if it could ... well, Old Tom would know how. Or he could find a way. "You would do this for love?" She raised her chin. "Yes." "You understand the consequences? What you would be giving up?" Consequences? She was asking to be human. Wasn't that consequence enough? Could there be more? "I haven't ... I don't ..." "Your life. It is quite fine now, no?" Everything except for not having Nicholas. "Yes." "You are very young —" "I'm almost —" "and this is only your first life. Humans get only one, you know." "With him, one would be a blessing. Without him, eight more would be torture." Was that compassion in his dead eye? She wanted to look more closely, to explore the enigma, but just then he lifted his head to snarl at a mockingbird cackling at them from the branches above. When he turned back, the eye was flat. Emotionless. "This love of yours that is so deep you would give up all you know ... will he return it?" His nose twitched. Could he smell her hesitation? She turned away. "He calls me precious. He calls me sweetheart. I make him happy." "You haven't spoken with him of this? He hasn't told you how he feels?" Old Tom blinked and the pupil in his good eye narrowed to a slit. Maggie shrank back. "He doesn't understand me. I've tried, but he doesn't hear." How could she make Old Tom understand? She knew how Nicholas felt. He loved her. And if he didn't now, he would. Eventually, he would. He had to. "Child, you ask the impossible of me." She struggled to breathe as her world collapsed around her. The stories were lies. He didn't have the power. She was trapped. Trapped in her world, and Nicholas in his. She sank down to the ground, her head resting on the cool dirt, her eyes closed. Soon Nicholas would belong to that female. And there would be nothing Maggie could do except watch and seethe. She could scratch and spit and howl and claw the furniture, but none of that would matter. The female would get Maggie's Nicholas. How could she have such horrible luck? "But the stories...." "If there was a bond... if he had the hearing. But no. Without that assurance ... no, no I must not. You are special, Maggie. And I cannot risk being wrong." Must not? She opened her eyes. "Oh, please, please, you must. If you love me at all, you must help me." It was unfair of her, she knew. The members of Old Tom's clan were close, and she knew he loved them all. Still, there was a special place in his heart for her. She'd never asked for favors before, and she knew that her failure to take advantage made him love her all the more. But now, now she would do anything. "Why now?" She looked away, ashamed that her thoughts were so vulnerable. "There is no special reason." "Maggie ...." The compassion was back in his eye, but there was a sternness also. "I have seen the female. The one in the tall shoes. She touches him as a lover." "They are to be married." "Married? The bonding ritual of humans. You would interfere with this? Why?" "He doesn't love her. He couldn't love her." "And you? You would be a better mate? You who are not even of his species? One he does not even know exists?" Pride straightened Maggie's spine. She lifted her chin and looked down her nose, composed and serene as a child of Ra. Old Tom grunted. "Humph. What is it you dislike about this female? Why could he not love her?" "She smells ... unreal." Maggie tried to search Old Tom's face without looking like she was watching him. They all trusted their noses, but Old Tom more than anyone. Maybe it was because he only had that one eye, the one that she was now desperately searching for a clue. "If I do this thing, it will be by my rules. Do you understand?" She nodded. "You must choose now. Once it is done, only then will you know the rules. But before you choose, ask yourself. How well do you know his heart? How well do you know your own? Are you sure that he will love you and turn away from his female?" He squinted at her. "How do you choose?" "I choose Nicholas." "Then it is done." As he spoke, she felt a tingling in her limbs, like the crackling of the air during a lightning storm, only this was inside her, ripping her apart. Dizzy. She felt dizzy. Focus. Old Tom was speaking. Must focus. "...not completely human ... your soul, yes ... but not your shape ... only at night ... only until All Hallow's Eve ... By day ... yourself ... Secret ... can't reveal to Nicholas ... forfeit...all ... " No use. She was fading. So tired, so dizzy. The sun was setting. Her legs wouldn't support her. Old Tom crouched above her, a silhouette against the full moon. His words. Needed to understand his words. "Maggie, child," his tone cut through the fog in her head. "He must declare his love of his own free will before your time is up. He must tell you. Or you will remain a cat, and I will be unable to help you." Chapter One "Maggie, here kitty, kitty. Maggie?" Nick Goodman dumped the overstuffed bag into the garbage can and took another look around his front yard. Where the hell could that cat be? Something rustled in the brush that had taken over the vacant lot across the street. "Maggie?" He padded down his driveway, making a mess of his socks in the process, and stood on the curb facing the lot. Nothing. "Maggie-cat?" As if waiting for his cue, a swarm of birds lifted from the junipers and oaks, flooding the purple sky. "Nickie? Come back in the house, darling. You look like hell." Angela's high, nasal tones accosted him and Nick cringed, then caught himself. He put on a smile and turned toward the house. "I'm putting out the garbage, babe. I hardly think that calls for a necktie." Her eyes met his, then roamed down his body. He knew well enough what she'd see. A paint splattered t-shirt touting some band he'd never heard play, Harvard athletic shorts that always seemed on the verge of splitting but held together with a fortitude he admired, and dime-store athletic socks. Not GQ by any means, but hardly unreasonable attire for a Sunday evening. She rolled her eyes, then leaned against a newel post wrapped in orange and black Halloween streamers and began to examine the fingernails she'd been fussing over for the last hour. Nick bit back the observation that her fire-engine red manicure didn't quite match the coordinated leggings and sweater that had probably cost more than his car payment. He didn't give a damn if she was coordinated, and the comment would only piss her off. He turned back to the trash can. What the hell was wrong with him? This was the woman he was going to marry, after all. She was supposed to be the love of his life. Bells, whistles, fireworks and other pyrotechnics. So why was he so on edge every time she decided to stay at his place for the weekend? Because you're used to being alone. Right. Sure. Just typical bachelor jitters. Nothing to call Dr. Ruth about. A yellow Ferrari glided by. Nick raised one hand in greeting to his neighbor, a prep school type who'd moved to Los Angeles after making and losing a fortune in Internet stocks. "Do you really think Robert is going to trust his next deal to an attorney who hangs out in his driveway in his underwear?" "Angie ...," he said, knowing he shouldn't be annoyed. She was Reggie Palmer's daughter, after all. Killer business instincts were in her genetic code. "I'm just saying there are certain things that you should keep in mind if you want to get ahead." She arched her brow. "If you want us to get ahead." He glanced down the road, giving the neighborhood one last once-over. No Maggie. "Have you seen Maggie?" Her nose crinkled. "I haven't seen the little beast all afternoon. She's probably in the closet clawing my clothes to shreds. She hates me." Nick cast a glance skyward. Just what he needed. A fiancée who was jealous of his pet cat. "She doesn't hate you." Angela followed him into the house. "Oh, you're so right. I forgot. I'm the one who detests her." "I'm not giving up my cat, Angela. Can we not go there again, please?" "I didn't say a word, sweetie. Really. I'm sure little snookie wookums is around her somewhere. She'll turn up. She always does. Usually when it's most inconvenient." She flashed him her trademark smile, the one that had practically brought him to his knees the first time they'd met. "Speaking of, do you want me to stay the night?" "Whatever you want," he said, hoping she'd go back to her place. "Can we go out to dinner?" He shook his head and gestured to the pile of SEC filings and other equally dry documents stacked neatly on the coffee table. "Can't. Work." Angela tapped one of her nails. "All dry. I think I'm going to run, then, sweetheart." "Sorry if my livelihood annoys you. You liked it just fine when we went to Paris." He immediately regretted opening his mouth. It was a tacky thing to say, true, but mostly he feared she'd change her mind and stay over just to prove him wrong. It wasn't that he didn't love her. Of course he did. He'd agreed to get married, hadn't he? He just liked having his space, wanted to enjoy it while he could. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, then rubbed the lipstick off with the edge of her thumb. "Ah-ah," she warned, but there was a tease in her voice, "don't play high and mighty with me. You know you want me to leave. Poor Nickie just hates when his routine is upset. I never thought there was anything in the world that could ruffle the great Nicholas Goodman's feathers. At least not until I saw how you reacted when I left my pantyhose drying on your shower rod." "Angela—" "Now, I'm not criticizing. I think it's adorable. And wouldn't Daddy think it's a hoot. His fireball deal-maker, his secret weapon, brought to his knees by control top pantyhose and a jar of face cream. You're going to have to get over that after the wedding." "Angela, of course you can stay. Really —" She just threw him that I-know-you-better-than-you-think-I-do smirk, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Nick didn't try to talk her into staying, and when he saw her turn off his street and onto Laurel Canyon, he felt more relaxed than he had in hours. Maybe that made him a bad person, but the truth of it was, other than her drop-dead good looks, Angela Palmer wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy either. Hell, they deserved each other. He wiped his hands on the beleaguered Harvard shorts and wondered what the hell had happened to him in the nine years since law school. No, he didn't really wonder. The answer was plain enough. Youthful idealism and a belief that he could somehow make the world a better place had been trampled like a bug trying to cross a highway at rush hour. He shoved the melancholy aside and took another look around the neighborhood. No Maggie. Now it was after dark, after her supper-time. She so rarely ventured outside that he couldn't blame her for wanting to do a little carousing, but now her whole schedule would be screwed up. She'd probably be jumping all over his bed, wanting to play, when all Nick wanted to do was sleep. "Maggie? Here, kitty. Maggie!" he shouted, knowing it pissed off the neighbors, but not in the mood to care. After watching the lot across the street for any sign of her, he pulled the door shut. He wouldn't worry yet. He'd do that if she hadn't shown up by midnight. Work beckoned from the living room, and he planted himself on the couch, planning on reading over the stack on the corner of the coffee table. To Angela's credit, she'd left the house exactly as she found it. She'd even straightened the magazines so that the edges were square and had picked up the wine glasses they'd left on the back patio. He couldn't help but smile. Yes indeed, Angela was great. Smart, beautiful, well-connected. The perfect wife for an up-and-coming lawyer. He'd told Hoop the same thing not two weeks ago and, in typical Hooper fashion, Hoop had told him that he was justifying a bad deal he was going to regret. That was the problem with Hoop. He always said exactly what was on his mind. And just because he was often right, didn't mean he was on the mark about this. This time Nick was doing what was right. Settling down, getting married. And getting a good wife in the process. The fact that marrying Angela would lock in what was already sure to be a successful career was little more than a perk. The phone rang and he said another thank-you to the powers that be. Angela had left the phone in the cradle, exactly where it was supposed to be. One of the few women he'd ever dated who did that. He scooped up the hand set, expecting it to be her on the cellular. "Hey man, the Ice Queen leave?" It was Hoop. "Last time I checked, she was still going by Angela." "No shit? Well, I'll tell you a little secret. I just call her Icey to piss you off." He paused, and Nick could hear him take a swig of something, probably a beer, and exhale loudly into the phone. "Ah, I thought I saw her perky little I'm-a-daddy's-girl Beemer slip past my place a few minutes ago. Can't believe she's leaving a birthday boy all alone." "That's not until tomorrow, and she hasn't mentioned it." "Then you're in for it." "You know this for a fact? She invited you?" "Are you crazy? She thinks I'm the spawn of Satan. It's just when a chick doesn't mention your birthday, that can only mean she's pulling out all the stops. Either she's taking you some place amazing and you're gonna get laid, or she's throwing a surprise party and you're stuck with fifty people you avoid all year wandering through your house making small talk. Considering it's Miss An-gee-la we're talking about, I'd say either way you're pretty much screwed. So," he paused, "wanna come over for a beer?" "I'm working." "Bullshit, man. You're always working. One beer won't slow you down. Besides, you got me sucked into this mess, too, and I've got some news to report." Some news? Now that could be interesting. Hoop might be crude and offensive and generally despised by women the world over, but he was a damn good investigator. If Nick managed to pull off the Vision Entertainment deal, no small part of it would be because he had some heavy-duty ammo tucked away. Heavy ammo he hoped Hoop could lay hands on. "What have you got?" "I'll tell you about it when you get here. Phone lines. Let's just say we all get by with a little help from our friends." So Hoop had someone on the inside. That was good. If the scoop was juicy, well, who knew how far Nick could milk that? Reggie Palmer would be thrilled, and some of that goodwill would likely rub off on his future son-in-law. And that meant Nick could walk away with a hefty year-end bonus in a couple of months, not to mention making partner. "You've talked me into it. One beer." He hung up and headed for the bedroom. It never got too cold in Los Angeles, even in late October, but there was a definite chill in the air, and he tugged on the sweat pants that he'd left hanging on the hook inside his closet door. He folded the shorts and placed them back in the drawer, straightened the magazines on his bedside table, then noticed Angela's fingernail polish and manicure tools scattered along the window ledge above the bed. He ignored the rising irritation. He'd have to get used to sharing his personal space. He could do it. He could leave the miniature nail salon. Purposefully not looking back, he headed into the narrow hallway between the bedroom and his study. He managed to grab a hooded fleece jacket from the hall closet, and then pass through the living room without giving in to the urge to head back to the bedroom. When he reached the front door, his resolve melted. He trotted back to the bedroom, shoved the paraphernalia into the drawer of his bedside table, and returned to the entrance hall. "Nick, you're a basket case. Nail polish and emery boards aren't going to rock your world." He was right. A second later he opened the front door and saw her standing there. An exotic vision of a woman with close-cropped raven black hair and probing green eyes. And not a single stitch of clothing. That was when his world really began to spin out of control. Chapter Two The first thought that went through Nick's head was that he was dreaming. The second, that he had died and gone to heaven. But since he didn't remember any pain, tripping over anything, or otherwise meeting his demise, he abandoned that theory. No, there was only one explanation for finding a naked woman on his doorstep at twilight on the eve of his birthday—somebody was playing a really wild joke on him. And he knew who. Hoop didn't have news. He just wanted Nick to open the door and see his birthday surprise. He pulled open the screen door and tried to grab her arm without gawking. It was more difficult than it sounded. Maybe a monk could have ignored the way her skin glowed in the light of the rising moon or the way her green eyes stayed locked, unblinking, on him. But Nick doubted it. Besides, he was no monk. He finally managed to grab her wrist and tug her firmly inside. He shrugged out of the fleece jacket and threw it over her shoulders. She stared at him for a moment, blinked, and then slipped her arms through the sleeves. Luckily, the jacket was extra large and she was extra small. It more or less consumed her. "Didn't anyone tell you that you're supposed to wait until after the birthday boy opens the door before you strip? These mountains may have been a hippie haven during the sixties and seventies, but walking around nude up here now will get you arrested." Not a word from his little visitor. His eyes drifted down and ... Oh, Lord, the jacket was unzipped. Trying not to look at her or brush any of the soft skin he knew lay just beyond the zipper, he reached over, joined the zipper halves, and tugged until she was enclosed in gray fleece up to her neck. Still, she didn't say a word, just grinned at him like the Cheshire Cat, some impish maiden who knew a secret that he didn't. Well, that was probably the case. She opened her mouth and tilted her head forward. The bridge of her nose crinkled and her eyes squinted slightly in concentration. He waited for her to speak. And waited. Nothing. "Do you speak English?" She cocked her head, but never took her eyes off him. After a couple of seconds, she nodded slowly, while her perfect white teeth worried on her lower lip. But still no words. Nick tried again. This whole situation was exasperating. What made it truly odd was that, despite the fact that the woman wouldn't give him a clue who she was, and despite that under normal circumstances he would be throwing up his hands and throwing her out the door, here he was, urging her gently toward the sofa, one arm looped around her shoulder, like she was some poor lost creature instead of a flake who'd shown up naked on his doorstep. Disgusted with himself, he dropped his arm. She might be Hoop's idea of a birthday bang, but Nick had work screaming at him from the living room. Having a half-naked woman inches from him was disconcerting, to say the least. Of course, his body didn't seem to think the situation was off-the-wall. No sir. His traitorous body was happy for the opportunity to jump into these new birthday festivities. Fat chance. He took a step back. "Look, Miss, I'm sorry if you came here for nothing." Those big eyes held his. They were full of ... what? Wonder? Adoration? Nonsense. He'd never seen the woman before. Her mouth curved into a smile, not more than a tease, and she eased toward him. Nick's heart beat a little rhythm and blues number. His throat parched. Another step backwards. She took another forwards. And on and on with this ridiculous dance until he'd managed to back himself up against the edge of his sofa, before falling backwards over it, Dick Van Dyke style. As vantage points go, the couch ranked up there. His knees curved over the arm of the sofa and his back was stretched out on the seat cushions. She stood there, the picture of wide-eyed innocence, with his less than innocent eyes about even with the bottom hem of his jacket. For just a second he imagined what he would see if she lifted her arms and the jacket rose just a few inches higher. He shifted, scooting backwards until he could maneuver himself back around into a normal sitting position. She crawled toward him, over the edge of the couch, almost stalking him, her moves agile. Cat-like. A smug smile dancing on her lips. Her eyes bright. No question but that he was her canary. The thought didn't scare him. On the contrary, every muscle and nerve in his body felt on fire. Alive. Anticipating. What scared him was the possibility. If he wasn't careful, Nick was afraid he might just end up having the most amazing night of his life. And if that happened, he knew he'd regret it forever. "Look," he began, holding up a hand, "you're probably a nice young lady, and this is all very flattering, but this is L.A., and that does mean that nut-cases make up the majority of the living, breathing population." She crouched at the edge of the sofa, balancing on her toes, her slim, muscled thighs ready to pounce. With only the slightest hesitation, she extended her finger and batted at his knee, her fingertips tapping at his flesh before bouncing away, leaving Nick gasping at the current of pure desire that coursed up his thigh. The contact was infinitesimal. That was just as well. Any more and Nick was sure he'd die from agonizing pleasure. Standing wasn't a possibility. Instead, he slid further down the couch. "I'd feel a lot better about this if I just knew your name. If I wasn't the only one talking. You might find this hard to believe, but strange naked women rarely jump me in my own house." Babbling. She'd reduced him to a babbling fool. But maybe it worked. She dropped forward onto all fours and started to crawl toward him. Her mouth was open and he could almost hear a whisper. "I can't hear you." When she said it again, he still couldn't hear, but there was no mistaking the words that formed on her mouth. My Nicholas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Buy the Book Amazon Barnes & Noble Booksense