A Very Special Man Read online

  Desdemona 'Dezzy' Vashon confides to her cat, Simon, that all she wants for Christmas is a special man to love her. Simon wants that, too. In fact, he wants Dezzy to have the most special man of all. Only, can Simon teach Dezzy to believe in magic that will see both their wishes fulfilled? When Dezzy wakes up to a naked man in her bed, the fur flies, and surrender is inevitable.

  A Very Special Man

  Deborah MacGillivray

  Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords

  A Very Special Man Copyright ©2007 Deborah MacGillivray

  Cover Copyright ©2013 Deborah MacGillivray

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9800356-2-9 (Love Under the Mistletoe)

  Published by Highland Press Publishing

  A Wee Dram Book

  Simon leaned close to the woman―his woman―his nose pressing to her softly fragrant skin, drowning, almost drunk on her female essence. His mind hummed with possession. She belonged to him. Only him. He could lie here for hours, his brain absorbing her womanly scent, the heady pheromones weaving into the magic that formed her ‘signature’. Blindfold him and put her in a room with a thousand other women and he’d go straight to her unerringly. His skin burned, on fire with the drive to claim her, brand her as his in the most primitive, elemental way, bond with her until she admitted his possession, his ownership. Welcomed it. There was only one woman in the whole world that could spin this primeval enchantment, hold him spellbound. Enthralled.

  Desdemona.

  Desdemona Vashon was the light in his universe. His sole purpose for drawing each and every breath. His life. No matter how depressed he became at his current situation, she’d run those magic fingers over his back, sending a shiver through his muscles; suddenly, he cared for nothing but those gentle strokes, of lying with her at night, his head pillowed against her breast. Then, and only then, all his problems seemed to vanish.

  There was only Desdemona.

  She was pure magic, and he loved her with every fiber of his being. He would die for her, his Desdemona.

  Of course, he didn’t call her that. For nearly a year they had lived together, and during all that time, to him she was Dezzy. That suited her better. She was absentminded, loving and loyal. He had a feeling, silly female, she would die for him, too. Dezzy was special in ways he couldn’t begin to speak...for more reasons than one.

  Simon yawned and stretched. Nothing like a lazy nap on a snowy night in Dezzy’s bed. He rolled over to be closer to her, absorb her radiant warmth. Very carefully, so not to awaken her, he reached out and hooked the soft silk of her ice blue chemise, then slowly dragged it down the slope of her breast, the pink nipple pebbling in reaction to the drag of the material. Finally, he exposed that soft crest. By damn, Dezzy had the most beautiful breasts! His reaction to her near naked perfection hit him dead center in his chest―and lower―to where he found it hard to draw air. He wanted her so much, worshipped her as a man would worship the woman who was above all others.

  Loved her so much it hurt.

  With a slight murmur, she shifted in her sleep. Just a small adjustment. He grinned when her pale breast was exposed further. The fire in the fireplace had died down, letting the cool night air caress her skin with a chill, and in response her areola tightened, puckered, causing that berry of a nipple to jut out even more. Oh, he wanted to close his mouth around it, suckle it slowly while she slept, allow the sensations to filter into her dreams. Then gradually, he’d bring her awake with a burning hunger. As her eyes would flutter open, he’d draw hard, causing her to come. She was so responsive he knew that would be all it’d take.

  Breathing shallow, his heart pounding, he watched her beautiful face, judging how deeply she was napping after the small stirrings. As sleep’s serenity smoothed her countenance, he smiled. Lifting his head, he leaned close and gently rasped his tongue against the nubbin of flesh. He wanted to close his mouth around that soft breast, however, that would disturb his Sleeping Beauty.

  For now, he needed her to slumber, to dream. Dream of me wanting you, Dezzy. Me tasting you . . . taking you, Dezzy. See the real me as I make you come, deep and hard.

  Love me. Only me.

  A small shudder of awareness rippled through her body, finally reaching her lips in one of those half-sexy, half-agony expressions as desire rose within her. Simon smiled, satisfied. He knew when she slept her mind was open to him, heard him just as clearly as if he spoke. It told him so much about the rightness of their bond. Everything would be perfect for them; he’d make her so happy…just as soon as they handled a certain problem or two resulting from it.

  It couldn’t be soon enough for him. If only he could figure out the key. The riddle’s answer just remained out of reach.

  With a wicked grin, he lowered his head and closed his hot mouth around her cool breast, sucked on it in a slow fashion to feed her dreams about him, yet not enough to awaken her. He savored watching her when she dreamed of him, of their being together, of him taking her in a hundred different ways. In her dreams, he touched her mind as well as her body, causing him to relish this telepathic connection they shared. Drawing on her nipple, he watched as her breathing grew faster, shallow, as she started to ride the crest of passion, of needing him.

  Craving only him.

  ***

  Desdemona didn’t want to waken. The dream was too delicious. Utterly delicious. Her body tensed, driving to a hot pinnacle, the pulsating blindness thrumming from the need, such intense responses to her dream lover. His coming to her in dreams was more frequent of late. He was beautiful, long of body, lean, but with those recoiled muscles you would find in a big cat, a tiger or a panther. Yeah, a panther―that’s what he reminded her of. His hair was blue-black and wavy, so sleek to the touch. She wanted to fist her fingers in the thick mass, as she wrapped her legs around his narrow waist―

  “Oh, Simon,” she sighed breathlessly.

  Simon? That shattered the realness of her dream! What the hell? Why was she calling his name?

  An annoying buzz shattered her wonderful vision. She squinted at the clock―couldn’t see it since she’d removed her contacts last night. Reaching out blindly, she swatted in the general direction and finally tagged the snooze button on the third try. She shivered. With an unladylike grump, she felt around for the duvet to pull over her head, cuddle for those fifteen more minutes, only there was no quilt to snuggle under.

  “Well, bugger.” She sat up and searched for the blasted thing. On the floor. Again. For some reason, despite usually hugging her 15-tog duvet the way Linus did his blanket, she’d kicked it off every night this week. So unlike her.

  Nothing was on the bed, but the large―very large―black cat with pale amber eyes. Staring at her. The beast lay on the bed, smiling. Sometimes, her cat wore eerily human expressions. She noticed her gown had slipped down so she pulled it up. As she did, the cat leered at her. His eyes flashed with…well, it was…a leer! When she blushed and finished tugging the gown back into place, the silly feline smiled.

  “Simon, you’re spooky.”

  She glanced over at the calendar hanging on the wall seeing it was the 23rd of December. Today she planned to decorate her Christmas tree. To reinforce that dour determination, she announced, “I shall absolutely positively trim the tree tonight.” Simon murred in his throat, so she patted his head. “Very well, we shall trim the tree.”

  She eyed the sprig of mistletoe sealed in plastic, sitting o
n her dresser. On impulse she’d bought it when she was going through the checkout line at the drugstore. A waste of money, she sighed. For the past week, she kept saying, today is the day. She’d even gotten as far as getting the trunk with the decorations down from the attic and putting up the Christmas tree last night― lovely though artificial. Even so, she couldn’t find the heart to trim it. It sat in the corner by the fireplace, undecorated and―

  “Unloved. Just like me,” she said glumly.

  Purring loudly, Simon pushed to his feet and came to bump his head against her chest. He did that a lot. The silly cat was bizarre. He had the strangest habit of sticking his nose in her cleavage―or worse, her crotch! Odd times, he even stole her panties and lay on them. Still, Simon loved her. That she didn’t doubt. Sadly, she couldn’t think of anyone else who did, thus she tended to ignore the eccentricities of her feline.

  She scratched his ear and then lifted his huge head, putting a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Yeah, big boy. I know you love me.” The rumble of his purr deepened as he crawled into her lap and wanted to cuddle. Forty pounds of cat was a lot to cuddle, but when Simon wanted to cuddle you cuddled!

  “I’m not a fortunate person, Simon. However, Lady Luck smiled the day I opened the door and found you sitting in the rain on the welcome mat.” She hugged his warm, vibrating body, glad of his companionship. “Okay, today we decorate, pal. I keep putting it off since it seems rather impractical to go through all the trouble just for you and me. But, hey, we’re special, eh? I’m blessed to have my gran’s house, my health and you. Maybe soon I’ll sell a book―get that call, as they say. In any case, the to-do list for today: breakfast, then trim the tree, maybe we’ll even tie big plaid bows around the lamp-posts at the end of the drive. And after lunch I shall start a new book. How about a paranormal...a woman visited by a ghostly lover, and I’ll name the hero after you. Would you like that?”

  “Meeeeeeeeee-ow!” He stuck his chest out proudly.

  The doorbell buzzed, disturbing their scratch session. Simon went into instant attack mode. The blasted beast was as big as a medium-size dog. In fact,

  Mavis Beaumont’s pit bull―the terror of the neighborhood―actually ran when the stupid dog spotted Simon.

  “Aw crud. I forgot the DirecTV guy was coming this morning.” She snatched up her jeans and shimmied into them. Yanking off her teddy, she tugged on a red pullover sweater.

  The bell sounded again as she hurried to the front door. “Coming!” she called loudly, hoping he wouldn’t give up and go away. A movie addict, she was looking forward to getting the satellite dish―her Christmas present to herself.

  Desdemona opened the door and was surprised to find an attractive man, with a jacket that said Kelvin Electronics on a patch on the left side of his chest, and the name Jordon embroidered above the company’s logo. Around her age, he was a few inches taller than she, and he had a pleasant smile.

  “Thought you’d forgotten I was coming. My name is Jordon Gleason; I’m the DirecTV rep for this area. I came to install your dish.” He glanced at the work order on his clipboard. “You wanted receivers in the bedroom and living room, and a Tivo?”

  She swung the door open. “Yes, that’s right. Thanks for coming.”

  Simon jumped upon the back of the couch to glare and growl at the repairman. Desdemona sighed. She feared this would happen when she’d made the appointment. Anytime there was a man between twenty-five and forty-five in the house, the silly beast went into attack mode.

  “Geez, Louise. What are you doing with a panther in the house, lady?” The man stopped just inside the door, watching the cat with a cautious air.

  Desdemona shook her head at Simon doing his usual once over of any male that dared put a foot over the threshold of the front door. “Ignore him. That’s Simon. He’s just a house cat―well, a very large house cat. He tends to vet any male that comes into the house.”

  “Looks more like a small panther to me. Are you sure it’s safe to keep him? Isn’t it illegal to keep exotic animals or something?”

  “Seriously, he’s just a housecat. Nothing more,” she assured him, moving to intercept Simon as he closed in for an inspection of Gleason. She was used to Simon’s protective mode, but realized to someone unfamiliar with him, the cat would appear formidable. She took hold of his fancy collar and gave it a small shake to redirect his attention. “Feed...the...kitty?”

  “I don’t mean to argue with you, lady, but that cat is more. A whole lot more. You’re smart to keep him fed. I don’t cotton to a panther taking a chomp out of my rear.” The poor man looked uncomfortably at Simon, still she gave him credit as he reached out and gingerly petted the cat’s forehead. “Nice, kitty, kitty.”

  Simon’s eyelids lowered and he gave the man a grin. Of course, with Simon a grin was closer to a smirk, like he’d sized up his next meal. He loved doing that to people. It was uncannily human how he interacted with people, as if he fully understood everything they thought and said. Sometimes, it proved damn unnerving. Simon refused to budge until he’d given the man a thorough once-over.

  “Simon the mighty watch-cat,” she chuckled under her breath, tugging him back.

  Satisfied the workman was no imminent threat, Simon hopped down and followed her into the kitchen while the man went outside to collect the boxes that contained her satellite dish, receivers and Tivo from his van. Still keeping an eye on the living room, Simon ambled to the kitchen chair at the table and sat, patiently waiting while she fixed him some fresh prawns and halibut. Simon refused to eat if she put food in a bowl on the floor; his plate had to be in a chair. Oddly, she wasted money if she tried to offer him canned cat food. He loved good ground chuck, raw or cooked, enjoyed seafood, but none of the cheap stuff. How the cat survived before finding his way to her door she couldn’t begin to guess.

  She placed the sliced seafood before Simon, then went to pour a glass of milk for her and some in a bowl for him. When she glanced over at the feline, he grinned at her. “Silly cat.” She chuckled.

  Life had been pretty crappy the last three years, but now Simon was here. She was never alone as long as he was with her. As if he read her thoughts, he arched up on his huge paws, so he could lean against her as she sat his milk down. Desdemona reached out and stroked his midnight fur. Simon had this unusual patch of hair between his ears. The rest of his body was sleek, so glossy it had a sheen. But on top of his head, between his ears, it was thicker, wavier.

  She smiled, then petted him. “My life changed for the better when you came to my door that snowy night.”

  Simon bumped against her thigh and then rubbed, going, “Meeeeee...um.”

  Almost sounded like me, too.

  “My wishful imagination.”

  ***

  Same old, same old. Every night the identical routine, Simon sighed: feed the kitty, nuke― her word, for he had no idea what it meant―a Stouffers’ dinner for herself, then Dezzy goes to the box on her desk and works her fingers on that things she calls a keyboard and fiddles to no point he could see with that bloody thing she said was a mouse, which really wasn’t a mouse. Poor delusional woman. While he refused to eat any mouse―for various reasons―he, at least, did know they were different from that hard-shell turtle she scooted around on the tabletop.

  Simon’s tail twitched.

  Well, he liked the feed the kitty part. He soon had trained Dezzy that he wouldn’t eat just any old thing, though she still insisted on giving him catnip toys.

  He’d merely eyed her with disdain. He’d been in this condition for so long, the why he was the way he was, and how he got in this state in the first place, was beyond him. As time had gone on, he lost more of himself―the man―and adapted into his role of the cat. Peculiar, after so many years he’d seemed to have given up and just accepted his condition.

  It wasn’t until he’d come to Dezzy’s door that he recalled he was actually something other than a cat. What that other was still remained elusive for the moment. Bu
t the more he was with Dezzy, the more he wanted her, the stronger the male in him became, and the less he liked living―for the want of a better term―in a cat suit.

  I am not a cat. I am not a cat. The more he repeated that sentence like a mantra, the closer he came to grasping the mystery of this bizarre situation. Once he did, he was sure Dezzy and he could unravel... whatever it was he needed to unravel.

  While The Man had been here, Simon had stretched out on the back of the sofa to keep an eye on the stranger, not trusting the interloper. He’d looked Dezzy over and licked his chops. Oh, he’d been sly about it. Only another male would recognize the telltale signs. Why Dezzy needed him―Simon Attack Cat Extraordinaire. His size and feral nature tended to see men back off instead of coming on to her. That was worth a chuckle, but every time he attempted to laugh poor Dezzy thought he was trying to cough up a hairball and got in a dither.

  Dezzy split the tray of Chicken Alfredo between her plate and his. He grinned. He loved Chicken Alfredo. The Stouffers’ person always put big chunks of chicken in the cheese and noodles. He wasn’t sure who that guy Alfredo was―maybe one of the Stouffers’ cooks?―but he liked it when Dezzy fixed this for him. Since he’d come to live with her, she had begun to eat better. When he’d first arrived, she often skipped meals, or forgot them entirely, busy clicking keyboard keys and scooting that fake mouse around. He soon fixed that. Once she saw he refused to eat something called 9-Lives―shudder―and wanted what she’d termed as ‘people food’, she’d shopped for stuff they both could enjoy. She said it was fun to have someone else to cook for. If only he could get her to give him some wine instead of that Nestles’ water in a bottle. He was not sure why people this day and time felt the need to stick water in a bottle.