Page 68 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

He flashes me a brilliant smile, his single dimple of seduction present and accounted for.He raises two fingers toward the ceiling and recites, “On my ejected-from-scouts honor, I swear I’ll keep you safe and no one will see us.”

I sigh.“Fine.But we’re taking the cat.I can’t leave her alone to be eaten by wolves.”

“We don’t have a wolf population on Yosemite Ranch.”

“Then what was in the woods last night?”

“You sure you want to know?”

I’m not at all sure, actually...

“Feral hog.”

I freeze, horrified.“I’ll get the backpack.”

About thirty minutes later, I’m following Special K as he hikes slightly ahead of me on the narrow trail, the straps of Pussy’s backpack straining to their maximum over his broad shoulders.Honestly, at this point, I’d probably follow him anywhere.

Because I trust him.I can’t believe I just said that to myself, but it’s true.

I trust him.

Pussy’s little head pops out from the top opening of the canvas pack, and she shoots me some side-eye.I swear she’s smirking.

The strangest thought occurs to me...did my cat bolt into the night just so Special K could save her and prove his worthiness to me?But that’s… that’s ridiculous, right?Kitties aren’t matchmakers and they sure can’t plot several moves ahead.

Right?

I narrow my eyes at her.“You damn cat,” I whisper.

Special K glances over his shoulder at me, one eyebrow arched, and the solo dimple locked and loaded.I wish I had a camera to take a photo of these two at this moment.They’re so cute together.

A man and his Pussy.

He’s so gorgeous I can hardly process it.And he’s a spectacular lover, the best I’ve ever had.Every moment we spent with each other was magical.He was precisely tuned into me.He knew what I needed before I did.And when he wasn’t fucking my brains out, he was either making me laugh or caressing and kissing me with so much tenderness that it choked me up.

How’s a girl supposed to walk away from that?Like,ever?

“You good, Boots?”

“Better than good,” I say, reaching up to stroke the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Not much farther,” he says.“Maybe two klicks.”

“What’s a klick?”

“Oh.A klick is a kilometer.”

He reaches out to grab my hand and cradles it in one of his own.I’m accustomed to the size of his hands now.I was right—he can grab my entire ass in one of his palms.Not that I’m complaining.

I don’t think he is, either.

“That’s about one and a third mile from here,” he says.

“Still not telling me where we’re headed?”

“Don’t want to ruin it.”

“Well, it must be somewhere pretty special, since I saw what you stuffed into the storage compartment of the cat carrier—water, peanut butter crackers, granola, fruit, and shower gel.”