“Um yeah, probably. How big?”
I kissed the kitten’s head and came out of the encounter no worse for wear. “About litter box size. I’m thinking I can tear up some newspapers or paper towels. It won’t be perfect, but it might do the job. He’s probably hungry again. Might as well feed him. Maybe see if he can eat out of a bowl this time.”
He scowled at the little cat, but I didn’t think the expression was serious because there was a little quirk at his mouth. “Milk, juice, whatever you want is in the fridge. Bowls and glasses in that cabinet. I’ll find a box then get you back to bed.”
I glanced at the stove. It was only three o’clock. No wonder it was so dark outside.
After he went into a room I hadn’t seen yet, I got to work. Taking a sip of juice, I laughed as the kitten stepped into the bowl, knocked it over, but kept lapping up the spilled milk. Before long, Gray was back with a perfect size box that he then made more perfect by cutting the sides down. I ripped up some paper towels then golf-clapped when the kitten used it.
“What are you going to name him?” I asked and took another sip of my juice. It was wonderfully cold and grapey and soothed a throat I hadn’t realized was sore.
“I’m not.”
I gaped at him. “Why?”
“Because I’m not keeping him.”
I repeated myself. “Why?”
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and lifted a shoulder, like that explained everything.
I tried one more time. “Why?”
“Because I’m not a cat person. Because I like things the way they are with just Maggie and me.”
At her name, the dog thumped her tail on the floor and the kitten immediately attacked it. I was glad for the distraction because what I heard in his words were… you don’t belong here either.
He was right. I didn’t belong here, and it was ridiculous to feel a pang of hurt at the comment. So, just like I did everything else, I suppressed it to the place where my ulcers lived.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I asked, “How long have you lived here?”
“Two years.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York.”
I leaned against the counter, wondering if I should try for a change of subject or just go back to bed. I went for option one. “New York is one of my goals.”
His eyes slid down my body. “You’d hate it there.”
I was immediately affronted. “Why do you think that?”
He set his glass on the marble counter a little too hard, causing the juice to almost jump out. “Because anyone with half a brain would detest living in that crime-ridden, concrete jail.”
Oh. There was a story there, I could feel it, but he didn’t look like he was in a chatting mood at the moment.
“Well, for your information, I wasn’t talking about living there. I was talking about their best sellers list.”
He frowned. “Best sellers for what?”
I waved at his shelves of books. “I’m an author. Well…” I immediately backtracked, “I’m trying to be one. It’s my dream, anyway.”
He snorted.
My hackles rose. “What?”
His eyes narrowed as they searched my face. “What genre?”
I lifted my chin. “Historical romance.”
His head fell back on his shoulders, and he moaned, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
If I didn’t think it would cause my head to shatter, I’d stomp my foot. Instead, I crossed my arms under my breasts, holding onto myself tight. “I’m not kidding at all. I happen to love it.”
He was still staring at the ceiling as if searching for some answer up there. “I wasn’t criticizing. It’s just that… someone I cared about loved historical romance. She read it all the time. What’s your last name?”
The question startled me, making me wish I’d gone ahead and had my name changed. Instead of answering, I hedged. “I write under a pen name.”
His brow lifted, and he stroked his hand down his beard, causing me to remember just how soft it was. “Why?”
Because I catch enough flak being the spawn of a porn star.
“It’s safer that way. I can write whatever I want and not have to worry about people’s judgments and opinions of me.”
“Do their opinions matter?”
Yes. Desperately.
“That’s not the point. I prefer my privacy, so this system works for me.”
I blew out a breath when he nodded, his face morphing into one of understanding. “Yeah. I get that.”
I leapt at the change of subject. “Is that why you live on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere? For privacy?”
He grinned, the gap between his two front teeth flashing at me. “No, actually I’m a serial killer and living in New York just wasn’t secluded enough for me to torture my victims properly.”
My jaw sagged, and the grin transformed into a full-on laugh.
“That’s not funny.”
“Oh, but it is.”
I stomped my foot, and my head reprimanded me immediately. To add insult to injury, the kitten pounced on my toe, causing me to jump. “It’s not even in the same universe as funny.” I bent down to pick up the little guy, and a wave of dizziness swept over me.
“Whoa now.” While the world lurched and swam around me, Gray’s hands came down on my shoulders, and I found myself held tightly against his chest. “You okay?”
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, my arms went around his waist, my fingers pressing into the tight muscles of his back. The lurching began to settle, but I found I didn’t want to let him go, even after the jokes.
“So, if you really were a serial killer,” I whispered into his chest, “how would you torture your victims?”
The rumble of his laugh against my cheek was sexy. Very slowly, his fingers walked up my spine before sinking into my hair. Very gently, he pulled my head back until I was looking up at him. Time stilled as those beautiful blue eyes explored my face.
“Feathers.”
Something deep inside me shifted as I gazed up at him. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be wanton. I wanted to live on the edge of danger. I wanted to know what his skin tasted like. I wanted to press my lips against his, know his tongue intimately.
Before I truly understood my mother’s profession, Henry McCall kissed me at the fifth-grade dance. It was three years before I experienced a kiss again, but this time I knew what kissing led to, and when Derrick Simmons tried to grope my breasts and stick his tongue down my throat, I was having none of it. Especially after hearing him tell the other boys how easy I was. Just like her mom.
That was when I pledged to not let another boy touch me, not that it stopped the rumors of what an easy lay I was. I was sneered at by the girls, leered at by the boys. And as my breasts got bigger, it only got worse.