My fists tighten around the edge of the counter. “Don’t flatter yourself. That’s just my body figuring out whether to fight or flight.”
His warm breath coasts over my ear. “Pretty sure you’ve tried both in the past. How did that work out for you?”
“I had years of peace until you showed back up.”
He chuckles, and I swear to everything holy, my body locks up. My breaths come out as shallow pants, and something hot and sticky coats the inside of my panties. God, why do I become such a fumbling, lovesick ho around this man? It’s like my brain is telling my body to get a grip, but it’s literally doing the opposite.
His hand curves around the back of my neck, thumb tilting up my jaw. “Years of survival, sweetheart, not peace. You asked me for space; I gave you space. Don’t confuse that with us being done, Little Borealis. We’ll never be done.”
My breath hitches, and my nipples harden to stiff peaks behind my thin shirt. Nipples, I know he can feel against his chest. Breathing he knows has become ragged.
His thumb slides over my bottom lip, and for a second, all I can see are those tiny freckles dusting the bridge of his nose that I used to trace with my fingers. “I’m not here for a haircut.”
I swallow, my voice coming out as a ragged whisper. “Then, why . . .?”
His eyes drop to my lips, his pupils dark and dilated. I’m not sure who moves first, but we’re a hair’s breadth away from a kiss I know will ruin me when Patton’s eyes snap to the mirror behind me and his entire body goes rigid.
“Nisha, why is there a skinned chicken hanging in the corner behind me?”
My brows furrow, and I twist around Patton to get a better look.
There, upside-down and frozen, with his entire body aligned to the floor-to-ceiling climbing rope, is my hairless cat, Beaver. His stark white body is a mix of wrinkles and lean muscles as he grips the rope with all four paws, his piercing blue eyes trained on Patton with the intensity of a sniper.
He must have slipped inside while we were . . . distracted. His quiet stealth and his ability to turn doorknobs and open doors no longer surprises me. I’ve found him watching from inside cabinets he’s pried open or perched in impossible spots, peering down at people like a porcelain gargoyle. His ninja-like grace can unnerve unsuspecting clients who aren’t expecting a hairless, blue-eyed phantom to materialize out of nowhere.
Sarina, Piper, and I rescued Beaver and his sisters, Vajayjay and Snatch, from a bad situation a few years ago. At the time, they were three traumatized cats who had been abused so badly, they were scared of their own shadows. But once they started to trust us, something just clicked.
Interestingly, each cat chose one of us. Vajayjay chose Piper—though, she’s probably more Dev’s cat these days. Snatch immediately loved Sarina, and might be responsible for Troy’suntimely demise at some point. And Beaver decided he was going to be my little protector.
Over the years, Beaver and I have developed an understanding based on love and shared quirks. For example, we’re both quiet observers by nature, preferring to be in the shadows rather than taking center stage. We’re also both strong and agile, sometimes using our bodies in ways that feel like we defy physics. And we both have a death glare that makes grown men cower.
“That’s not a skinned chicken. That’s my cat, Beaver.”
“Your . . . cat,” Patton says slowly, like he’s testing out new vocabulary. “Thatthingis a cat?”
“Hey! Beaver is a highly sensitive and extremely intelligent Sphynx cat.”
“He looks like the spawn of Yoda and a mole rat.”
“He does not. And even so, he’s still more sophisticated than the massive beast you brought over to ruin my rare plants.”
“I’ll have you know that Bob is also very sensitive. He always cries at the end ofFinding Nemo. Besides, at least he hasfur.”
“Ah, yes. Because his fur makes up for his lack of bladder control.” I place a hand on Patton’s chest—mostly to stop myself from dragging him back into our almost-kiss—before moving past him toward my cat. “Beaver’s always had a sixth sense for when I’m in trouble and in need of rescuing. And as always, he’s right on time.”
“And how do you think he’ll rescue you? He looks frozen. Are you sure he’s real? He hasn’t blinked.”
As if to prove how real he is, Beaver slides down the rope, landing on the floor like a ghost. His movements are so graceful, the rope barely sways. And like a predator having spotted his next victim, he prowls toward Patton with calculated steps.
The scene is all veryAnimal Planet.
Patton takes a hesitant step back. “Bro is giving axe-murderer in a horror film. You know I can’t sleep for days after watching those. Should I lie down or run? I’m starting to see my life flash before my eyes.”
I try not to laugh, watching my six-foot-one ex-husband, who’s ridden on the hood of a car during a high-speed chase scene, squirm under the scrutiny of a twelve-pound cat.
“He’s figuring out how fast he can get to your carotid artery. You should probably start making peace with God.”
“Nisha—”
