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“Gotcha. Okay, thanks,” Penelope said, cursing her now puckering nipples.
He gestured at the hallway with a flick of his chin. “The bathroom is the second door on the right. Take a shower, a bath, whatever you want. I’ll make us breakfast.”
Penelope nodded, staring into the warmth of his eyes. Most men Penelope could read easily. They were always looking for one thing—which, usually, she was too—but this guy didn’t seem like someone who would stop once his own itch was scratched. Darryl seemed like the type who took his time with a woman because he cared that she left his bed satisfied.
Not why you’re here!
He slowly arched an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“Nope, not a single one,” she said, and strode past him.
One night. Then she’d be outta there. Easy-peasy.
The upstairs water running through the pipes turned off, and Darryl placed another log into the wood-burning fireplace in his small living room of his 18th century home. His mother, as a single parent, had purchased the property back when Darryl was five years old, and he’d lived in the house ever since. Minus the time he’d spent in Denver for college then police academy, but with all its little quirks like creaky floorboards and loud pipes, this was home. The three-bedroom house wasn’t impressive by any means, but it had good bones and old-fashioned charm with thick baseboards, a large stone fireplace mantel, and even gingerbread trim along the wrap-around front porch.
The firewood crackled and popped when a sudden creak came behind him. Damn, his sister and her tight clothes. The T-shirt hugged Penelope’s body, accentuating every luscious curve, drawing his full attention. Her hair was damp around her makeup-free face. She momentarily stunned him. He’d thought she’d grown into a beautiful woman before, but all natural seemed ever better. Fresher. Realer, somehow. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked, moving toward the kitchen off to the right of the living room.
“Cream only,” she answered behind him.
He stepped into the small eat-in kitchen with the round oak table that hadn’t changed since Darryl was a kid. After taking a mug off the bamboo countertop, he hurried to make her coffee how she liked it. On his way into the living room again, he grabbed the plate with a blueberry muffin and cut-up fruit. He found her on the brown leather couch in front of the fire, with the fuzzy blanket his sister bought him one year for Christmas settled over her lap. Her gaze, disappointingly, was not on him; it was on Ebenezer, who death-stared at her from the chair across from her.
“He’ll only bite if you sit on his chair,” Darryl said, handing her the mug and plate.
She lifted a single eyebrow at him. “He can have that chair, and the rest of the house for that matter. Is he always so mean?”
“Yup, he was that way when we found him.”
She watched Ebenezer while she sipped her coffee then lifted her mug at Darryl after her sip. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”
Darryl smiled. “Quite welcome.”
She placed her coffee mug down on the table then unwrapped the muffin. “Not to be rude or anything, but can I ask why you got a cat like him?” She gave Ebenezer a quick look then lowered her voice like the cat could understand her. “I mean, he’s cute in a feral cat kinda way, but seriously, what’s got him so pissed off?”
Darryl grabbed his mug and his plate from the coffee table he’d set down earlier, then dropped beside her. “I had no part in bringing Ebenezer into this family. That was all Tyson.”
“Who’s Tyson?” She bit into the muffin.
“Penelope, meet Tyson.” He gestured to the big lazy bloodhound lying in front of the fireplace, sprawled out like he was sun tanning. “He’s the station’s search-and-rescue dog, but don’t be fooled, he owns me.”
She smiled and then chewed a bit before asking, “Okay, so how did Tyson find Ebenezer?”
Darryl finished his sip of coffee, returning his mug to the table. “Ty sniffed him out behind a dumpster.” The day after Natalie left their marriage to go home to Wisconsin to be with her family. “He was in bad shape, so I brought him back here, and Ty and I nursed him back to health.”
“Okay, seriously nice of you, but”—Penelope frowned at the cat—“I actually think he wants to kill me.”
“It’s not just you,” Darryl reassured her. “It’s everyone.”
“Even you?” she asked with wide eyes.
To prove his point, Darryl rose, still holding onto his plate, and got close to the cat. Ebenezer’s hair stood straight up, and he hissed like a rabid animal. “He hates me as much as he hates anyone. The only one he tolerates is Ty. Sometimes I see them sleeping together when they think I’m not looking.” Darryl returned to his seat next to her. “But to be honest, I think he’s just cold and uses Ty for warmth.”
Penelope studied the cat who began licking his paw, with his glare still set on her. “Not to sound insensitive or anything, but why do you keep a cat who hates you?”
Darryl barked a laugh, leaning back against the couch. “You say that like I have some authority over him. He is the owner of this house. Don’t let yourself believe anything different.”
She smiled softly then frowned at the cat. “Is he scowling at me?”
“Yup,” Darryl confirmed, taking a bite of his muffin.
