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My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"And why would you think that?"
She shrugs and looks down at her feet. A sudden gust of wind blows in as Trace's two friends disappear into the night. Surprisingly, Trace is still there, diligently mopping the floor. I must have put the fear of God into him. Not that it will do him any harm. Let's hope he learns his lesson and thinks twice before attempting to assault some poor, defenseless woman.
This is one of those times when I wish I was a mind reader. Cara is a mystery to me. Her emotions flutter across her face like fragments of paper blowing in the wind, but I can't read any of them. She chews her lip again and I fight the urge to kiss her, but instead, I turn to face Trace, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. It's been a long ass day, the Russians notwithstanding.
"Get the fuck out of here," I tell him. He drops the mop and it clatters on the tiled floor. By rights, I should have himcleaning out the fucking toilets too but it's late and I can tell Cara is exhausted. "If I so much as hear a faint rumor you've even looked at a woman or girl the wrong way, I'll cut your dick off and force it down your fucking throat until you choke to death." He blanches but has the sense to nod in affirmation. I gesture at the door, and he's gone in a flash. He'll likely have a long walk home, seeing as how no cab driver will take him stinking of piss.
Serves the fucker right.
I pick up the mop and take it back into the kitchen area, where Cara is wiping everything down.
"Let's get you home," I tell her.
"But I have to clean up!"
"No. Your boss can do it in the morning." She needs sleep.
She huffs. "That lazy fuc... Martin... doesn't clean. He'll expect Darlene to do it all and then she'll be pissed at me because I said I'd close and--"
"Cara," I growl. "I'm taking you home. No arguments."
The fight drains from her, her shoulders droop, and she drops her cloth in the sink. We turn everything off, lock up, and leave.
Chapter 10
Cara
Hamish is sprawled out on the sofa when I walk in. He raises his head and blinks at the sight of Christiano looming over me. I'm expecting a lot of hissing and growling but to my surprise, Hamish yawns once and then closes his gold eyes.
"That's a big cat," Christiano comments. "Was his daddy a mountain lion?"
"Ha, no, he's a Maine Coon. He usually hates men." Christiano's eyebrows shoot up as we walk past Hamish and into the tiny kitchen. I'm still not sure why he's followed me in but I'm too tired to protest. The simmering sexual attractionbetween us hasn't gone away. Each time he brushes against me, I feel sparks. Drunk Cara would be jumping his bones right now, but sober Cara is a little more reserved. Not much, but enough to decide Christiano is a bad decision that will inevitably come back to bite me.
Besides, I have a date tomorrow night with some guy called Rick. We set it up a couple of weeks ago via Tinder and it's a bit late to cancel. I'd feel awful going on a date with a perfectly nice accountant called Rick after fucking Christiano. Why? Because my gut tells me I won't want perfectly nice, safe Rick after letting Christiano into my bed. Christiano has trouble written all over him, which is exactly the kind of guy I go nuts for.
"Why does your cat hate men?" he asks me as I mindlessly switch the kettle on and pop a chamomile tea bag in a mug. It occurs to me I haven't offered him a drink, but it seems pointless because he'll be leaving imminently. Or so I tell myself. Yeah, I'm fucking delusional. He notices the solo mug and frowns but doesn't pass comment.
"He has good taste?"
The kettle finishes boiling. I pour water into my mug but before I can move an inch, Christiano blocks me in, placing his muscular arms on either side of my body.
"It's OK to be scared, Cara. What those boys were planning to do is disgusting."
He leans in and the scent of cedar and bergamot envelops me. It's distracting, to say the least. He's distracting. Every rational thought in my brain is obliterated, and for a moment, I don't have a response. Then I remember how it felt when I realized my pepper spray had jammed and I burst into tears. The terror of what could have happened if Christiano hadn't shown up when he did overwhelms me. All the emotions I've bottled up since he walked into the coffee shop hit me like a tidal wave.
Christiano pulls me against his chest and holds me tight. I cry silently, my tears soaking his shirt as he strokes my hair. He says nothing, just waits patiently for me to let it all out until there is nothing left and I'm empty inside. By now my tea has cooled, but I drink it anyway.
Hamish wanders into the kitchen and meows at me while I'm nestled in Christiano's strong embrace. My cat sits on his haunches and looks up, his golden eyes flicking between me and Christiano. I tense because this is typically when he does his little party trick but to my surprise, his claws stay sheathed, and he doesn't try using Christiano's leg as a scratching post.
The last time that happened, the guy threatened to sue me. What an asshole he turned out to be. And he was shit in bed.
"I feel like I should be afraid of that cat," Christiano remarks with amusement.
"Yeah, you should, but for some reason, he seems to like you." I sniff and wipe my eyes. God, I must look a mess rightnow. I'm an ugly crier, no joke. Good job the light is poor in here, thanks to my landlord's penny-pinching ways.
"I'm honored." Christiano chuckles. "But I'm more interested in whether his owner likes me."
