His closet to be specific. On all fours, if one was getting technical, with her butt covered in stretchy nylon shorts that hiked up over the curve of her cheeks, wiggling as she backed out. Liam shook his head and raised his eyes heavenward. Seriously? He was a good person. Nice to little old ladies and small children. Helped princesses-in-distress. Walked the occasional purse-candy dog. Why was he subjected to this torture? What in God’s name was she doing in his bedroom in his closet? Honestly, he’d put up with the dust if it meant getting her out of here. “Come on, Titania! You can’t stay in here. God only knows what you could get into in here.” Cassidy was inching backward on her knees, dragging the little moptop from its hips while the thing held on to . . . one of his boots. So that’s where it’d gotten to. The dog was trying to pull her legs free while stretching her pink claws down toward the carpet, apparently trying to get a toehold so she wouldn’t have to give up her prize, little muzzled growls accompanying every shake of her head as the boot jerked after it.
