to watch the rain.
Also, closing the curtains would mean he’d have to get back up, and shifting away from his husband’s heat was the last thing Forest wanted.
It was bad enough he was going to have to lean forward to pick at the salumi, breads, and cheeses Connor brought out from the kitchen for them to snack on. And while his stomach was grumbling a bit, he told it to wait. He’d been hungry before, to the point of pain and desperation; it could wait a little while longer while he fed his soul.
The lightning crackled across the sky for a few minutes; then Connor cleared his throat, heralding the beginning of a cajoling. There were always signs when the brawny Irishman wanted something, mostly from the expressions on his face as he worked through what he was going to say. If Con’s SWAT team could see him mentally doing gymnastics before finding a good way to get his point across, they’d have laughed, not recognizing the hard-core, gruff cop who led them through the doors of Hell every day.
But Forest intimately knew that man, the tenderness hidden beneath the steel and badge. Taking pity on his husband, he finally said, “Spit it out, Con. Just like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
Connor frowned, clearly still uncomfortable with what he’d come up with but caught between a rock and a hard place. Clearing his throat again, he mumbled, “I think we should consider what Mum said. What’s another one when there are so many out there who are in need?”
“Because our lives have gotten a hell of a lot more complicated now that Brigid’s working at that shelter,” Forest pointed out. “We can’t take in every one who catches her heart, Con. We’re the only ones she does this to—”
“Love, can you see Miki and Kane with a little one?” Con interjected. “They can barely keep the dog alive.”
“I think you’ve got it backwards. Dude kept Miki alive,” he teased. “Pretty sure he’d forget to eat if he didn’t have to feed the dog every day. Kane’s just as bad.”
“It’s just one more. It’s not like we don’t have the whole family to lean on when things get too much. Even Mick came by to help with the feedings, and that’s not a day I thought I’d ever see come up over the horizon,” Connor argued gently. “It’s just one more, and then, after this, we’re done.”
Forest could feel himself cave in, the cracks forming in the hard wall he’d laid out. Sighing, he swore, using a bit of the Cantonese profanities Miki taught him while they’d been on tour, then shook his head, surrendering. “Fine. Fuck it. What’s one more? But this is it. Just one. She’s shit out of luck with us after this. She’s got eight kids. It’s about time the other seven adult up and do this.”
“Ah, I knew you’d say yes.” Connor’s smile was as blinding as the lightning spearing the sky. “Told Mum you would. She bet me you’d make me wait until we got home before agreeing.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t know the power of a cup of tea. But I’m serious, this is the last kitten.” Forest leaned his head back when Connor bent over, his mouth warmed further by Con’s hot kiss. Tempted to put the cup down, Forest knew he’d have to get some food into his belly before he dragged his husband’s clothes off and made love to him while the Irish storm raged outside. Reluctantly letting the kiss fade, he took another sip of the cooling brew and sighed, “And remember, we’re probably going to have a kid coming along the way in a bit. Last thing I want to do is raise more kittens while we’re trying to figure out what end of the kid the diaper goes on.”
A Day at the Fair
KANE MORGAN’S life changed the moment a surly, flashing-eyed musician opened the front door to his furious knock, then spat back a hot curl of deep-velvet ire at the accusations Kane flung his way. No, the dog wasn’t his, the too-damned-pretty man snarled, it was a mutt who’d moved in and never left, so Kane could just go fuck off with himself.
The dog, of course, sat behind the man, long pink tongue pouring out of his open mouth, bronzed beige muzzle twisted up into a terrier smile. Kane could have sworn the fucking dog winked at him just as the heavy front door was slammed shut, the hard wood