What amused him the most was the way she held the fluffy, long-haired calico cat to her chest like it was both shield and weapon. The look in the cat’s eyes promised it was fearsome enough to be both.
She looked like a street sprite who’d wandered out of a forgotten dream and was determined to curse him.
And God help me, a curse might be worth it if she touched me!
The thought made him want to laugh, but an unfamiliar weight in his chest stifled the sound.
He acted on instinct when she started to close the door, reaching out and bracing his palm flat against the doorframe above her head. The movement was firm but not aggressive. Still, she flinched and retreated several feet, her eyes sharpening with wariness as she clutched her cat—who was hissing at him in warning.
His brow furrowed in concern and a surprisingly intense surge of protectiveness. Holding still, he moved his gaze away from hers and hoped the gesture would make him seem less threatening. The room behind her was cozy, cluttered, and undeniably hers. It held a riot of colors in mismatched rugs and throw pillows, a floral-print couch that looked like it belonged to a grandmother, and bookshelves spilling over with battered paperbacks and dried herbs. It was the opposite of his sterile, masculine penthouse—warm, chaotic, and alive.
His gaze dropped back to her, and a jolt ran through him.
What the hell is happening to me?
He tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, like he was drowning in it. Her presence stirred something primal in him—heat, hunger, and a sharp edge of confusion.
She wasn’t the type he usually went for. She wasn’t polished or flirtatious. She didn’t play games. She didn’t act like the women he knew who were just trying to catch a richhusband.
She hadn’t even smiled at him, for Christ’s sake!
And still… he was unraveling.
When their eyes locked again, he felt it hit like a gut punch—an awareness so visceral, it almost scared him.
She was shaking her head and eyeing him with a wary expression.
He swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against the doorframe as he struggled to regain control over a sudden, primal need to step fully inside and close the distance between them.
What the hell?
He didn’t do spontaneous. He didn’t do emotional. But his body wasn’t listening.
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Soft. Bare. Unpainted.
He wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted a hell of a lot more than that. He wanted to taste her. Tangle his hands in her hair. Press her back against the wall and?—
Her quiet voice cut through the haze.
“No.”
The word was barely above a whisper, but it pulled him from the precipice.
“No… what?” he asked, his voice rough.
Her arms tightened around the cat. “No… to whatever you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t—” He caught himself.
Liar.
He was puzzled by the conflicting emotions coursing through him. He was used to leggy brunettes and elegant blondes. Women who laughedat his jokes and leaned in close with seductive perfume and sensual promises guaranteed to ignite his lust.
He wasn’t used to whatever the hell this was—a defiant wisp of a woman who treated him like he was an inconvenience instead of one of the wealthiest bachelors on the planet, a prize for any woman who could catch him—which he had been very careful to avoid.
Until now.
