“I see that,” I mutter, taking a step back, hoping that the thing will get the hint. Of course, he doesn’t and simply follows, choosing my feet to plop down onto now.
“Let me guess… you hate animals? And babies? Anything happy at all,” Maisie says, and my eyes sweep up to meet hers before dropping to the smirk on her lips.
That smart little mouth of hers.
Now being yet another time where I can’t decide if I want to kiss it or fuck it.
“Not a cat person,” I finally say.
“I’d be more surprised if youwere,” she tosses back over her shoulder as she walks into the kitchen, the floor plan of her apartment a spacious, open one, and refills the cat’s food and water bowls. That has him running toward her.
She murmurs gently to him, her voice soft and low, praising him for being a good boy and giving him an affectionate pet on his head.
I’ve never seen her be anything but kind to anyone she meets. Her peers, her friends, kids… now animals.
She’s patient and gentle.
All the things I’m not, it seems.
“I’m going to go take a quick shower, and then we can have this… talk you want to have.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, her chin lifted in what feels like defiance. “Make yourself at home. Don’t be mean to Sebastian, or I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not going to bemeanto the cat.”
She narrows her eyes, as if I’m going to torture the damn cat the moment she walks away. Christ.
Her brow lifts. “Good, then I guess you don’t want to die.”
With that, she leaves, sauntering off down the hallway and out of view.
Some minutes later, I’m having an intense stare-off with the cat when I hear the sound of bare feet on hardwood, and when I glance over at the door Maisie disappeared through for her shower, I now find her filling it.
Her eyes on me.
Wearingmyhoodie.
The one she stormed out of my office in.
Legs bare save for a dainty little flower anklet around her ankle.
Light honey-colored hair, still wet from her shower, falls in loose waves around her. The scent of her bodywash or shampoo, fuck, I don’t even know, like fresh flowers and rain, surrounds me.
Fucking hell.
“Would you like your hoodie back?” she whispers.
My jaw tenses, hands flexing into a fist at my sides. She knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing.
Just as her fingers curl around the hem of it, I’m moving off the couch, my strides eating the distance between us.
“Don’t.” I grab her hand, nostrils flaring.
Satisfaction burns in her eyes when she gets the reaction she wanted.
Always taunting.
Testing.
Poking at pressure points to see when I’ll fold.
