Kit flashed him a brilliant smile. “Why, Daddy, I’m a pussycat.”
“A tiger maybe, but no way are you a pussycat.” Red picked up one of Kit’s hands. “Those claws are way too long.”
Kit understood he meant metaphorical claws. His nails were trimmed short and manicured; no way did he like the long talons that some women he knew sported. “I could be a pussycat for the right Daddy.”
Red pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Let’s talk about that later.”
He would rather get nailed through the mattress, but Kit was starting to realize Red wasn’t the wham, bam, thank you sir, guy that he was used to. He went at his own pace. Was he always so gentle and slow? Kit couldn’t remember that.
Then Red handed him a knife. “Get chopping.”
Kit sighed and stared at the lettuce. “You’re no fun.”
Red stared at him with a deadpan expression. “I’m plenty fun…with the right boy.”
There was so much Kit could say to that, but he had a feeling he’d end up with his nose pressed to the corner of a room and no food in his belly.
It was kind of fun.Red found the sound system and hunted for a radio station that they’d both agree with. It turned out they both liked technorock. When Kit questioned Red’s music choice, theman huffed and pointed out he hadn’t been old forever, and he’d been part of the local club scene before he became a bodyguard. Kit wasn’t going to argue.
That was how Mo found them an hour later, dancing the hell out of a song that had been one of Red’s favorites.
“What. The. Fuck?”
Red spun around, his eyes wide and horrified.
Kit turned to find Mo staring at them, arms across his chest, and Ronan grinning like a loon. He shimmed his hips and waved them over. “Join us.”
“I’d rather pluck out my ears,” Mo snapped, and stomped over to switch off the music.
“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to forget you ever saw that,” Red said to Ronan.
“Forget you shaking your booty? What’s it worth?” the bodyguard asked.
Red opened his mouth, but Mo got there first. “Ask him for his red velvet cake.”
Ronan’s eyes lit up. “Done.”
Kit raised an eyebrow. “You like baking?”
“I do.”
“And he’s really good at it,” Mo said. “It’s been a long time since I had one of Red’s cakes.”
“Jace’s wife makes us soups, but no one bakes for us now,” Ronan said.
“I’ll bring the ingredients.”
Mo’s boy could buy him a chain of bakeries, yet he was excited about a homemade cake.
Red sighed as he leaned against the cabinets. “I guess I know what you and me will be doing tomorrow,” he said to Kit.
Kit looked at him in horror. “I don’t bake.”
“Now’s the time to learn.”
Kit swung around to Mo and Ronan. “Get me out of here,” he begged.
Mo shrugged. “You may as well do something useful.”
