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CHAPTER8
Clara read the words over and over again. The cook wasn’t giving her book back. Not without a fight. But she didn’t want to fight him. She stared at the food he’d left for her.Again. What did it mean, him feeding her like this? Once was charity, which she both appreciated and loathed. But twice? Twice was something else.
Maybe he was worried she knew he turned into a cat. Did she still believe what she saw in the woods?
Clara crumpled the note into a ball and went to toss it away, but stopped. Instead, she smoothed it back out and stuffed it in her pocket to keep.
Glancing around the empty kitchen, she contemplated her next move. She really didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t see another way.
Her shoulders sank with defeat. She was going to fight. Fight the kind man who would feed her instead of turn her over to the police.
Yeah. This was the only way to get back what was hers.
“Be strong, Clara,” she whispered. “Be tough. Be the badass you’ve always wanted to be. You can do this.”
With a deep breath, she rushed over to his desk. She had to find something of his. Something important. Some that proved he was supernatural. Mythical even. Something to hold for ransom.
She’d start here, and if she didn’t find anything, she’d locate his room. Tear it apart until she had him by the balls. He’d give her book back then. He’d have to unless he wanted it to be front page news that cat-men existed in the Ouachitas.
She rummaged through the drawers, not bothering to keep quiet. There was no one around. If he’d meant to catch her, he would’ve done it already. With her hip, she shoved the drawer closed to move on to the next one. She might be thinner than before, but her hips were still broad, and they sent the drawer soaring home with a loud slam.
Shit.
She hesitated for only a second before she began shuffling through the next drawer. There were papers galore, pens and markers, rubber bands, but nothing personal. Nothing that she could use against him.
Clara yelped as a heavy hand wrapped around her mouth from behind.
“Shhh,” a voice hissed at her ear. “You have to trust me right now, okay?”
He didn’t wait for her to respond. With his other hand, he reached forward, sweeping his arm along the surface of the desk and knocking everything to the floor. In a swift move, he twisted her until she was facing him, and lifted her to sit on the desk like she weighed no more than a feather.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he urged.
Clara barely found his face for the way her head was spinning. It was her cook. His dark brows furrowed over slate gray eyes. His expression was urgent, demanding. What was happening? She was caught, she knew that much. But what the hell?
“Do it.” He shot a look over his shoulder to the door. “He’s coming. Follow my lead.”
Grabbing her legs behind the knees, he pulled them up around his hips, and for some reason, she did exactly what he’d told her, locking her heels in place. Like this, they were too close. Too intimate. The hard planes of his abs pressed against her stomach, stealing her breath. His steely arms banded around her waist, pulling her in even closer until there was only a breath separating them.
Touching. They were touching. She was touching another human being. Something she hadn’t done in ages.
Her breath came stiffly. Too much. Too little. Too much…
He touched her face. So carefully, even though the rest of his actions were urgent and rushed. His thumb was a gentle graze against her skin, lulling her into a calmness she’d never felt with another.
“Shit,” he said under his breath, his eyes closing for a moment. When they opened, he looked resigned. “I’m sorry.”
Clara tried to find her voice. “For wha—”
His lips crashed down on hers, cutting off her rasped question. They were firm and demanding, and hers gave way to his easily. His hot tongue swept inside her mouth like he was trying to taste her, and the sensation was so decadent, she didn’t even try to fight. Hand under her jaw, he angled her head so he could push in farther, bending her backward over the desk.
She’d never been kissed like this. Not ever. Sure there had been lovers before she’d taken to the woods. Several. But none of them had ever kissed her like they needed to consume her to survive. Like she was simply…everything.
An all-consuming fire licked from their point of connection to her middle, causing her toes to curl. She was melting, melting…
The door to the kitchen swung open with a bang and Clara tried to pull away, but her cook held her steady against his working lips.
An agitated throat cleared, and he lazily broke their kiss, sucking at her lower lip on his way back. His gaze burned into her, eyes swirling with emotion she couldn’t read. He seemed to promise her something with just that look.
