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That damn cat. He must’ve sensed that I’m about to leave him and his siblings alone for the second evening in a row, so he shredded the entire roll of toilet paper while I was in the shower.
Swearing, I hop around on one foot, trying to get sticky pieces of damp toilet paper off my other foot with a towel. It takes forever to do that, not to mention clean up the bathroom, and the doorbell rings as I’m frantically applying my mascara.
Crap. I’m still in my underwear.
“One sec!” I yell as I rush across the room to grab my clothes from the closet. Mr. Puffs hisses at me from the top shelf, and Cottonball lets out a plaintive meow, batting my leg with his paw so I’ll cuddle him in front of the TV, as is our custom on Friday nights.
“Sorry, not tonight, buddy. I have a date.” I bend down to scratch his head apologetically when Mr. Puffs jumps down from the top shelf—right onto my shoulders.
“Ahh!” I pitch forward with a startled cry, pushed off balance by fifteen pounds of feline slamming into me from an almost-six-foot height. Queen Elizabeth jumps off the bed and runs over, meowing in obvious concern as I land on all fours, and at the same time, the doorbell rings again, followed by a deep voice calling my name.
It’s Marcus, and he sounds worried.
Mr. Puffs is still on my shoulders, somehow balancing without sinking his claws into my skin, and I throw him off as I get up, yelling, “Coming!”
Except I trip over Cottonball and go flying with a panicked cry.
I land on my stomach, the impact knocking all breath out of my lungs. Wheezing, I flop over onto my back and hear Marcus’s deep voice shouting, “Emma, are you all right?” right before something slams into my door, causing it to rattle on its hinges.
Holy cow. Did he just try to break it down?
Another hard slam, and the door hinges creak, nearly giving way.
I want to yell that I’m all right, but I can’t gather enough air. All I can manage is a pathetic wheeze that I’m okay, and with all three cats meowing loudly around me, even I can’t hear what I’m saying.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I push up to all fours, so I can crawl over and stop him, when the next kick or body slam or whatever knocks the door completely off its hinges.
It flies in, like during a SWAT raid in an action movie, and behind it stands Marcus, dressed in a suit and another pricy-looking unbuttoned coat. His blue eyes narrow in on me with unmistakable concern, and he rushes over, crouching next to me as Queen Elizabeth and Cottonball zoom under the bed. Only Mr. Puffs remains by my side, arching his back and hissing at the intruder before also dashing away to hide under the bed.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Marcus demands, gripping my arms to steady me as I attempt to rise to my feet. With his help, I succeed, though my left knee complains loudly—I must’ve banged it on the floor.
“I’m okay. I’m fine,” I croak as he begins to pat me down, looking for injuries. His big hands are hot on my bare skin, and with a wave of mortification, I realize that I never got a chance to put on clothes.
I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my blue lacy bra and panties—which, granted, is my nicest set, but still.
“What happened?” he demands again as I back away, cheeks flaming as I wrap my arms around my stomach—which is quite a bit softer than I’d like. He’s undoubtedly used to fitness bunnies with rock-hard abs and—
Wait a minute. Why am I thinking about my lack of abs when he broke down my door?
“I tripped, okay? I tripped.” I still sound winded, but I’m not sure how much of that is from the fall versus the way he’s staring at me—with a worry that’s gradually transforming into something else.
Something hotter and infinitely more dangerous.
“So you’re not hurt?” he clarifies in a huskier tone, and I shake my head, my face burning as the heat in his eyes intensifies. And it’s not just my face—my whole body feels like it’s on fire as he takes a step toward me, his powerful hands flexing at his sides.
It doesn’t seem like my lack of abs is a turn-off for him—at least judging by the dark hunger in that stare.
“The door…” My voice comes out thin and high. “You… um, broke down the door.”
“The door?” He doesn’t seem to know what I’m talking about as he takes another step toward me, his gaze falling to my bra—which is pushing up my heaving breasts, as if offering them up like a sacrifice.
I swallow as he reaches for me, one big hand curving tenderly around my jaw while the other lands on my naked shoulder, squeezing lightly. His touch burns through me, spiking my pulse and sending a heated shiver down my spine. Looming over me, he’s so tall I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze, and it dawns on me that I’ve never felt so small and vulnerable before… or so wanted.
