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The little shit clearly doesn’t take the hint, because he has the balls to ask, “How do you know Nick?”
“We’re—” she pauses, like she doesn’t know what to say. From where I’m leaning on the wall by the door, my arms crossed over my chest, one ankle hooked around the other, I can see them both clearly. And I see when Sadie pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth biting down in thought. I also see the way Robert responds when she does that—like she’s a Christmas treat, and he wants to eat her up.
I’ve already had a taste, and I’m not giving her up. It’s time I’ve made myself clear to this asshole. So, I push from the wall to crowd Sadie’s back, my hands moving possessively to her hips. Again, I say, “She’s staying with me.”
There’s not a man alive who can miss what I’m saying here, and Robert most definitely gets what I’m putting out there as his eyes fall to my hands at her hips. They linger too long on my left, on the scars—the ugly that dare to mar her beauty with a touch, but I don’t pull away. And I think Sadie sees the look too, because she lifts one hand from the cat to cover my scarred hand on her hip, curling her fingers between mine to give me a squeeze before she tips her head to the side and back, looking up at me.
When I drop my eyes to her face, I’m shaken by the look I see in her gaze. It’s soft and filled with surrender. It screams loudly that if I want her, she’s free for the taking—however I want to take her.
The blood in my veins heats and Robert clears his throat. “There’s a tattoo. I’ll just step out and see if I can locate the owners for you.”
I don’t move from behind Sadie as he does just that, and when the door closes, I lift my scarred hand from her hip, up her throat as her breath hitches, catching her chin. I turn her head to the side again until I catch her eyes with my own. Searching them, I rumble, “I want it, Sadie.”
“What?” she breathes, her chest rising and falling heavily.
“Everything. All of you.” Her lips part, and I drop my mouth to hers, kissing her with a brutal possession that shocks me and leaves her mouth swollen and red. “Mine.”
ChapterEighteen
Sadie
It turns out the little guy was registered to a phone number that is no longer in service. The vet clinic he’d gotten the tattoo at is no longer in business. Therefore, all records for the poor kitty, including his name and medical history, are gone.
His owners also cannot be found. Most likely, the reality is that they don't want to be found. Which is sad, because that means they weren't very nice people. So, the little guy is homeless.
It took one look from me to have Nick cursing his mother's name under his breath, making my heart flutter and my lips curl into a smile before he said, in a rough and grumbly tone, “I hope you know what you're doing, and what this cat needs. Because I don't.”
“I've had cats,” I told him in answer. Then we paid for the little guy’s appointment and returned to the truck.
Because we couldn't possibly leave the little guy alone in the truck while we purchased everything that he needed, I'd handed him to Nick and told him to pet him, love him, and talk nicely to him. I accentuated the wordnicely,to which Nick gave me a glare. Then I slid down from the truck and pranced into the pet store.
I bought everything a cat could possibly need. Because he's over 10 years old, I bought senior kitty food, a travel kennel, water bowls in rustic plaid print that totally matched Nick’s rustic mountain house, kitty toys, and a litter box, litter, and scoop. I also bought catnip and treats because, um—fun—as well as a plush kitty bed also in plaid, and a scratching post with the most adorable little kitty hammock. It cost me a whack, and I totally couldn’t afford it, but with no one I needed to purchase gifts for this year, I’d decided to splurge on the kitty.
One of the teen boys working in the store followed me out to the truck where Nick and our new kitty friend waited, because the load was too much for me to lug alone, what with the cat tree and awkward litter box. At seeing the boy, Nick’s eyes widened, and he’d muttered, “Think he needs all that?”
To which I’d replied with utter confidence, “Absolutely.”
The teen laughed, received a glare from Nick that would have frightened even the Devil, and hightailed it back into the safety of the store.
Now we’re home, and the little guy is terrified. He’s been hiding behind the chair that sits closest to the wood burning stove, and although I’ve gone to him twice in the last hour we’ve been home trying gently to coax him out, he’s stayed put, trembling in fear. I don’t blame him, his entire life sounds like it’s been shaken up and quite literally tossed away.
I finish setting up kitties’ station of food and water, laying a few treats on the floor next to the ball of catnip, before I look over to where Nick rises from where he’d been planted on the floor, building the cat tree. The litter is through the hall off the side of the house in the room I’ve discovered is the laundry, mudroom, and laundry room all rolled into one. There is a door that connects the house to a triple car garage, so it’s a perfect, out of the way place for the cat box.
I follow Nick into the kitchen, leaning into the island counter as I watch him beeline for the fridge, pulling out a beer. He cracks the top, and with his eyes on me, brings the bottle to his lips, tips his head back, and swigs hard.
Okay, so I’m thinking the man is overwhelmed.
“He needs a name,” I inform casually.
He nods and takes another swig. The entire time, his eyes are on me.
I press on as though I’m unfazed by the dark eyes pinning me to the spot. “Any suggestions?”
“He’s your cat.”
“Our cat,” I correct.
He raises a brow, but mutters, “Name him whatever you want.”
