The Purrfect Man

By Mary Winter

For Dante, his nine lives were running out.

Cursed into the form of a tom cat by a scorned lover, Dante has nine lives to get a woman to love him in order to break free of his spell. When he sees Althea, he knows she’s the one. There’s just one problem – she’s allergic to cats!

Althea starts dreaming of a handsome man who caters to her every fantasy. Their dreamtime interludes become increasingly hotter. And she wishes that she could meet him in the flesh. Wishes he were weaving his way into her heart, instead of the stray feline who has taken up residence in her yard.

But when the cat is taken to the pound, Althea knows she has to act. Allergic or not, she won’t let him be harmed. One act of compassion can make Althea’s dreams a reality and show her that no matter what form he wears, Dante is her perfect man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Winter
• Release date: Jul 9, 2016

Book preview

The Purrfect Man

Chapter One

One month later…

The earthy aromas of decaying leaves and fresh dirt filled Althea’s nose as her gloved hands dug into the mulch covering her herb garden. Once again, her secret admirer had left flowers. Only one or two blooms, as always.

She was certain she saw the culprit’s work on her walks around the neighborhood. She’d find tulips on her step, only to find two or three stems taken from the flowerbed on the corner. Marigolds this time. Just the other day, her neighbor complained of something snipping off the blooms. She’d be flattered, except she didn’t think the wildlife probably intended the flowers for her. Most likely, they were just left on her porch in the creature’s haste to get away.

Except it had been happening with startling regularity. She knew animals followed well-marked paths. She just didn’t think any of them went over her deck. Once or twice, she’d seen muddy footprints, almost cat-like on her railing. She attributed them to the raccoons she saw scuttling around after dusk. After all, any cat would be foolish to come onto her deck looking for handouts. As much as she may like them, her allergies made it painful to be around them for any length of time. They wouldn’t be getting any freebies here.

The whole secret admirer escapade might be funny if she weren’t afraid for her own flowers. She’d spent an hour yesterday filling planters in front of her house with petunias and geraniums. Then, she’d spent another half an hour sneezing.

A wry grin twisted her lips. She loved Mother Nature, along with a host of other things like strawberries, cats, and perfume, that all happened to hate her in return.

The late April sun beat warm against her back. Tendrils of wavy hair escaped a confining elastic band, and she tucked the errant brown strands behind her ears. Mud stained the knees of her jeans, but Althea didn’t care. She carefully tidied the raised bed, noticing that her lady’s mantle and foxglove had reappeared after their winter nap. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree high overhead. Her perimeter screen of bushes swayed with the