Page 30 of Herding Cat

It didn’t take a genius to know she had all those characteristics. But surely he wasn’t talking about her. That would be ridiculous.

“What are you looking for in a man?” he asked in a teasing voice, but she thought she caught the tension beneath it.

“What makes you think I’m looking for a man?”

He chuckled. As though they were joking. “If you were. What kind of man would you want?”

She dropped back on the pillow and pretended to think. She didn’t need to consider the question. She already knew. If she were looking for a man—and she definitely was not, because she’d been there, done that, bought the t-shirt—he would be exactly like Garrett. Tall, dark, handsome, strong and sexy as hell. “I think he would have an obsession for bringing me breakfast in bed.”

“Hmm. Sounds good. I think I’ll add that to my list. I’d love to have my woman serve me breakfast in bed.”

“Your woman?” She smacked him. “And no stealing.”

“Borrowing?”

She ignored him. “My man would be intelligent, and clever and gentle. Be an excellent cook and like giving foot rubs.”

His nose wrinkled. “Foot rubs? Really?”

“Definitely. And he would absolutely love housework.”

“Are you sure it’s a man you’re looking for?”

She smacked him again. “Ha ha.”

“Because you could hire a maid for almost all of that. Except the foot rubs. I think that would cost you extra.”

“Be serious.”

“I’m being very serious. I’m pretty sure it would cost you extra.” He leaned up on his elbow. “Do you really like foot rubs?”

The question, the tone, his expression made a shard of heat skitter up her spine. She hid her face in his neck and made some noncommittal sound. “What else would you do for a living if you didn’t do this?” she asked to the underside of his chin. Certainly not because she felt a burning need to change the subject.

He was silent for a long while, but his fingers were not still. They caressed her in slow, languorous circles. “I like painting.”

His comment was so unexpected and so far from what she’d imagined, she was struck dumb. “Painting?” All she could manage. This enormous, powerful body housing the soul of an artist?

“Mmm hmm.”

“With canvases?”

“What other kind of painting is there?”

She shrugged. “Houses?”

His chest shook with his laughter. “Yeah. That too. Very satisfying.”

“Do you paint a lot?”

“Not when I’m traveling, but when I have jobs close to home, I do on the weekends.”

She levered up. “I’d love to see your work.”

“I’d love to paint you.”

“Well, that could be arranged.” She flopped onto her back and struck a pose. He was not one to ignore such an invitation, and feathered his fingers over her as softly as a paintbrush. He followed the caresses with kisses and she reveled in it...until he stopped at her belly, paying far too much attention to her scar.

“So what was it?” he asked, tracing it.