I close them as far as I’m comfortable with, keeping a slit open that I can see the main entrance into Sullivan’s apartment through.
Molly walks around Sinclair, Monty, and I, her little round cheeks glowing. She’s so much like Dixie was at age two and a half. My heart pangs as I picture her. She’s getting so big and I haven’t seen her properly in weeks.
“Cats!” Molly shrieks, clapping her hands over her mouth as Monty flies from his playing dead position to his feet, barking wildly.
Sinclair breaks into laughter beside me. “Good one, Molly. You got him.” She climbs up to standing. “My turn now. Lie down.”
Molly drops to the floor, covering her eyes with her hands as Sinclair tiptoes around us.
“Hmm, look at these lazy lions I’ve found,” she muses, pretending to be the hunter. “There’s a cute little cub.” Molly’s face breaks into a grin, but she keeps her hands glued over her eyes. “And there’s this big old grumpy looking one.”
Sinclair stops next to me, then crouches. I keep still, but each breath I take is filled with her scent. It’s light and sweet. Delicate.
Her breath tickles my ear as she leans in close. “Wakey, wakey, big lion,” she purrs.
I stiffen.
She blows lightly against my ear, and I unintentionally let out a faint grumble of warning.
Her breath dusts my neck as she giggles. “This big lion snores, does he? Let’s see… How about you wake up and I’ll give you something sweet to eat?”
I don’t move.
“I think you’ll like it,” she hums. “When was the last time you had something delicious melting on your tongue? Filling your mouth with its flavor?”
I fight the urge to move and pin her beneath me for her teasing tone.
She moves again until her face is in front of mine. “I’ll even feed it to you myself,” she whispers.
I peel one eye open. Her pupils dilate as she looks at me. I open both eyes fully, staring into her green eyes. She bites her lower lip, her gaze dropping to my mouth and she shuffles close enough that our lips almost touch.
Then she smiles. “Gotcha.”
She laughs and moves to Molly, tickling her until she giggles and curls up into a fetal position.
“Denver was cheating,” she declares, pointing at me. “He had his eyes open a little.”
“Bad,” Molly says through her giggles as I sit up.
“Yes. Bad boy, Denver.” Sinclair smirks, looking over at me.
She stops her assault on Molly and pulls her into her lap, hugging her tight.
“The cookies look good, though. Did Arabella make them?”
Arabella is Sullivan’s PA, formerly Sterling’s. She’s worked for the family for longer than I have. She’s one of the few people he trusts to watch Molly on occasion, but she’s been away visiting her sick mom recently.
Sinclair reaches over to a plate of iced cookies shaped like cats wearing colored sweaters and takes one, handing it to Molly.
“Tate,” she says, taking a bite.
“Tate?” Sinclair’s eyes shoot to Sullivan who’s striding back into the room looking pissed. “Who’s Tate?”
“She’s no-one,” Sullivan snaps.
“Who’s Tate?” Sinclair asks Molly.
“Daddy’s friend,” Molly replies with a mouthful of crumbs.
