Not that it was a story, but she needed some excuse better than “I look at you and want babies,” which sounded crazy no matter how she spun it. Because one, Cass didnotwant babies, not now, and two, she didn’t want them with a man she’d just started to get to know. No matter how handsome, great in bed, kind, or organized he might be.
She knocked on his door, heard his “Come in but be careful of the kittens,” and bit the bullet.
Cass entered, conscious she wore only a pair of grungy jeans and her favorite sweatshirt that readJust Do Itand had a small hole in the bottom. She had showered earlier that morning but hadn’t left the house in makeup or made a concerted effort with her hair, which she’d left down and finger-combed.
Staring at Mack, who looked completely put together in a long-sleeved tee and jeans, his hair perfectly styled and his face cleanly shaven, had her rethinking her effort to not impress. God, he was so handsome. And mad. Oh boy.
Mack glared at her. “Shocker seeing you again.”
Yep. The snark was out in full effect.
“Uh, hi.” She slowly toed off her snowy boots and set them by the door.
“That’s it? Just ‘hi’?” He held one of the kittens, stroking the little bugger who tried to cling to his shirt. “No, Copo. You need to stop climbing me. You keep getting nowhere.” He chuckled as the other kitten meowed and pawed at him from the ground. “See? Impala knows.” Then he gently set both kittens inside a toddler-sized pen near the dining area.
The little things mewed and darted around, playing with a fuzzy ball and stuffed mouse and climbing past the mound of blanket that served as a bed.
“Are you keeping them?” She swallowed, wishing she didn’t feel so damn much around him.
“I’m just getting them ready for adoption. The vet said they were perfectly healthy, so I’m only helping to feed them.”
Huh. He sounded defensive. “Really? Because they seem to have names.” And a bunch of cat toys in a cat pen.
Seeing his flush made her feel better. It was nice to see the man looking off his game for once. Hell, she’d been off since she’d first met the guy.
She cocked a brow. “Copo and Impala? I know an Impala’s a car, but a copo?”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “COPO stands for Central Office Production Order. In 1969, Chevrolet rolled out the Chevy Chevelle COPO 9562. It had little in the way of extras, but its performance options were incredible. Heavy-duty suspension and radiator, 12-bolt rear limited slip differential, and an L72 engine.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Then you have the 1968 Chevy Impala SS427 L72, which was also a queen. Not the 1967 version, I’m talking 1968.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, amused. “Oh, sure. Everyone knows that.”
“The ’68 version is cherry. Chevrolet dropped a 425-hp, solid-lifter, iron-block L72 427 in the car, the same engine that powered the ’66 Corvette and the COPO Camaro in ’69. You could get the Impala with the Turbo-Hydramatic 400 three-speed automatic or Muncie four-speed. And don’t get me started on the 1968 hardtop.” He patted his heart. “Hubba-hubba.”
“You have issues.”
“Yes, I do.” His good humor left as he glared at her. “The biggest of which is why you won’t take my calls or answer my texts. Look, Cass, if you don’t want to go out again, fine. But have the balls to tell me so.”
“We’re not exactly going out.” She hated that he was right. Or that she was blushing. Or that she found his righteous anger and confidence to confront her such a turn-on.
“That’s a bullshit answer, and you know it. Just be honest with me.”
She felt like crap because he did deserve better. They both knew it.
Cass shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the floor. Then she pushed up her sleeves and approached him. She must have looked as aggressive as she felt because he backed up until he met the wall, his expression leery.
“Now hold on. You hit me, I’ll defend myself.” He paused. “I mean, well, I won’t hit you back, but I’ll take you down, Cass. I’m not kidding.”
“I know.” She stopped before him, leaving maybe two inches between them.
Then she kissed him.
He tasted delicious. A full-on combination of man, sex, and chocolate. The trinity of all that was good and addictive.
He got over his surprise fast, his participation in the kiss there then gone. He grabbed her wrists in his large hands and pushed her back a step. “Wh-what the hell?” He swallowed hard, and she didn’t have to look down to feel his arousal. “You ghost me for a week, and now you want to use me like a dime-store rent boy?”
