“Better?”
“Yeah, thank you.” I shift on my feet, begging my dick to behave. Spending all day this close to her has been testing every ounce of my restraint. He’s interested, and he doesn’t care that dating her would be a terrible idea. We’re working together on this project for the rest of the year. We can’t sleep together and expect there to be no fallout. And if we tried for something more, only for it to go bad? That could have consequences for both of our teams, and for the future Lakeview teams.
I take a step back, needing to put some distance between us, and rub at my chest to relieve the growing pressure. That unwelcome but increasingly familiar feeling of struggling to squeeze enough air out of nonfunctioning lungs is back.
She bends to scoop up the little one, putting him carefully away.
“Time to hit the ice?” she asks.
“Yup, let’s get going.” Finish this day before it finishes me.
The photographer is setting up his shots when Damien walks in with a cat under each arm. Or rather, his assistant is setting up his shots while he issues commands. She deserves a medal for dealing with that asshole.
“Come on.” Luna tosses her head in Damien’s direction. He’s standing at the gap, one eyebrow arched to the ceiling.
“He’s not going to bring them out here for us?”
“Have you seen his shoes?” Of course I have. He’s wearing polished Oxford shoes in a cognac color. Completely inappropriate for walking on the sheet of ice. But here I am wearing my street shoes. Why should we be the only ones to suffer?
She grabs my arm, dragging me along to fetch the cats, and I find my feet slipping and sliding. It would be beyond embarrassing to lose my footing and hit the ice. My thighs ache from straining so hard to keep my balance, but at least it’s a distraction from the rising anxiety.
The rescue owner is enjoying himself a little too much, eyes locked on me with a smug smile in place as I skid to a shaky halt. I reach out for the sleek black cat he’s holding out, but he twists toward Luna. She brings the cat right up to her face, rubbing a cheek against the cat.
“Well, hello Koop. How are you today?” That singsong tone she uses for the animals is in full force, and it’s endearing.
The limp bundle Damien holds out is less so. Is there a cat under all that fluff, or is he playing a prank on me? It looks like a feline got it on with a pristine white feather duster.
I shake my head.
“Do you have a problem with Princess Peach? After the struggle you had with the kittens, I thought you’d be better off with her. She’s the most docile cat I brought.”
“I didn’t struggle. And what about Wilder? She got a kitten tangled in her hair.” She buries her face in the soft black bundlein her arms, but not quick enough to hide the ghost of a smirk twisting her lips.
“I’m not worried about her. Koop loves her. He’s not as fond of men.”
“Fine. Give me the cat. If you can even call it that.”
He hands her over, and I gingerly bring her in closer, worried she’ll start fighting, but there’s not a hint of protest from her. Her little body is silky and warm, and relief seeps through me. The vice grip on my chest melts away, and I can breathe again.
I can breathe, but now that I think about it, the cat is as limp as a sack of wet laundry. I lean in closer to make sure she’s still breathing. I do not want to be held responsible for the demise of one of these cats. Damien looks harmless, but I’m sure he’d defend any one of these creatures with his life. And he seems like the type who fights dirty.
Her long hair tickles my nose. The sneeze explodes out before I can stop it. Princess Peach barely startles, but she tilts her little smushed-in face up to look at me with all the disdain of a wronged queen.
“Sorry, Princess.”
She pins me in the snare of her big blue eyes for a few moments more before flicking her tail back and forth, then settling her head back down. Her fur is so inviting. I can’t help running a hand down the soft white coat.
Wilder is staring at me when I look up, eyes narrowed as she studies me. The soft curiosity vanishes when I catch her at it, and she glances over my shoulder instead. “I think she likes you.”
“At least I’ve got one admirer here.”
“Oh, I know. Poor Beauregard. Hot, rich captain of the hockey team. It must be so hard for you to find anyone to fawn over you.”
Her sharp tone shreds the temporary truce between us. Princess Peach lets out an offended squeak at my too-tight squeeze. I ease up and pat her head in apology.
I keep my eyes fixed on the cat, trying to sound neutral. But my tone comes out sharper than I’d like. “Just because people are fawning all over me, doesn’t mean they’re my friends. Maybe that’s why I’ve enjoyed your company so much. At least I know where I really stand. You don’t even attempt to hide your hatred.”
Her gasp pulls my attention back, and her eyes are wide, mouth open. I can sense an apology coming, but the photographer has impeccable timing.
