No Law Against Love

by Deborah MacGillivray

  No Law Against Love

  Laws matter little - when love finds a way.

  Highland Press Publishing

  A Wee Dram Imprint

  No Law Against Love

  An Original Publication of Highland Press Publishing - 2006

  Cover copyright © 2006 Deborah MacGillivray

  Stories copyrighted to the individual authors:

  Deborah MacGillivray ~ Leanne Burroughs ~ Cheryl Alldredge

  Rekha Ambardar ~Susan Barclay ~Patty Howell

  Victoria Oliveri ~ Michelle Scaplen ~Jeanne VanArsdall

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Highland Press Publishing

  http://highlandpress.org

  A Wee Dram Book

  This book is dedicated to all the brave women who have undergone treatment for breast cancer—and to the family and friends who have lost loved ones from this heinous disease. The authors in this book – all in various stages of their writing careers – have donated their time, talent and heartfelt blessings to all of you.

  Bad Cat

  Deborah MacGillivray

  • Destin, Florida ― Any dog or cat, which attacks and bites a person or another animal without provocation, shall be deemed a ‘bad dog’ or ‘bad cat’ and the owner or custodian of such animal shall pay a civil penalty of one hundred dollars…

  Present Day

  “That is not a cat. That’s a pit bull with fur!”

  Ian St. Giles stood nose-to-nose with the sexy redhead, both of them leaning over the smiling cat. He never knew cats smiled. Actually, it wasn’t a smile―the bloody beast smirked.

  Ian enjoyed cats, but this one he could really grow to hate. Unfortunately, Katlyn Mackenzie adored the ridiculous creature, which was one-quarter Scottish Wildcat. Likely the only person on God’s green earth―in this case Destin, Florida―who did. This pony-sized menace turned over trashcans, knocked-up half the female pussycats in a ten block radius, chased people down the sidewalk as they passed Katlyn’s house and terrorized the town’s dogs. From day one, after Katlyn moved into her great aunt’s beachfront property, Destin hadn’t been safe.

  Just last week, Auggie Moggie shredded the ear of Molly Mays’ toy poodle. Granted, he hated that dog even more, so he sniggered when the annoying poodle ran into Freddy Krueger in a fur coat…hmm…Katlyn’s darling.

  “There’s a city ordinance against bad cats. You can be fined, you know,” Ian warned.

  Eyes flashing, the sexy woman in the black lycra bathing suit fired back, “Is there an ordinance against grouchy neighbors?”

  Ian pointed at The Cat Auggie. “That beast is a menace. I’ve been over here every day this week to complain about his antics.”

  As he stared at the longhaired, grey-striped tabby, with the half-white face, it finally hit him―Katlyn wore a swimsuit. It left nothing to his imagination. Evidently, she’d been tanning in the backyard before he interrupted with his latest complaint. She was sun-kissed pink and a sheen of perspiration coated her silken skin.

  The black suit had a deep scooped-neck front and high, French-cut legs that went all the way up to her hipbones. He hadn’t seen the back view yet, but figured it was barely there, close to a thong. The stretchy material may as well be spray-painted on!

  His mouth watered and his groin achingly throbbed to life. A state he’d found himself in with increasing frequency since she’d moved into the house next door to his. Worse, it played seven kinds of havoc with his writing.

  Her magnificent auburn mane hung in a braid over one shoulder and down to her waist. Hair like that sent a man into overdrive. Ian imagined it spread on a pillow as he drove his body into hers. Nearly groaning, he pressed back the urge rising within him to play caveman, snatch that long hair and haul her off to his cave―er, house.

  Ian had been delighted to meet his new neighbor when he stopped by to act as Welcome Wagon three weeks ago. It was nice to hear another British accent in the midst of these Floridians. Gave them the first thread of commonality. Quite delightfully, the air crackled with sexual tension whenever they were near. The impact she had on his senses was electric, magic.

  He’d rented the beach property for the summer to get a feel for the setting of his latest crime novel, an eye on his looming deadline. Only, every day that bloody beast sneaked into his house and stole something, dragging him away from his work. Today, the wee monster from Hell slipped inside while Ian carried in groceries. Auggie helped himself to a New York Strip steak and scampered off with it like a bandit.

  How the hell was he to meet his deadline with the distraction of mouth-watering Katlyn Mackenzie and her demon pussycat creating mayhem for his mind and libido?

  While he really craved to lure Katlyn into his bed, this feline varmint saw Kat and he remained at loggerheads over Auggie’s behavior. Or lack of it.

  “Bad neighbor? How about turning that pony with fangs and claws loose on this poor, unsuspecting town? He just ate seven bucks worth of prime New York Strip. I think feeding the cat my supper goes beyond the call of being a good neighbor.”

  “Auggie,” she put her hands on her hips, looking down at the cat with a frown, “did you steal the man’s steak?”

  The cat blinked up at her with an innocent face.

  Ian expected a halo and wings to materialize any second. “Oh yeah, the little demon’s going to admit his criminal ways. Look at him. He’s not a cat. He should be playing Nose Guard for the Chicago Bears.”

  Katlyn sniffed disdain―at him. “Obviously, Mr. St. Giles, you’re not a cat person.”

  “Auggie’s not a cat,” he repeated. “I don’t care what he’s told you. Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones are looking for him.”

  “Well, follow me.” She sighed, then turned on her heels.

  The blasted cat sniggered at him. Ian balled up his fist and held it to the cat in silent threat, going into a Jackie Gleason imitation. “Pow…zooooom, Alice!”

  “Auggie, ignore the bad man!” she called over her shoulder.

  Ian had trouble drawing air as he caught the full view of that next-to-nothing swimsuit as Auggie and he trailed after Katlyn. With feline sensual grace, Kat crossed the yard and climbed the steps of the deck, heading to the backdoor. Auggie bounded behind her as if his legs were pogo sticks. Rather amazing considering his tonnage, but Ian spared little attention for the comical sight. His eyes were glued on the inch-wide strap that followed her spine and the itsy-bitsy, teeny-weenie, black triangle dead center on those two glorious orbs.

  What an arse! His hands itched to grab it. He wondered what she’d do if he broke into a wolf howl. She’d certainly have divine tan lines―ones he’d loved to explore with his tongue.

  So intent on watching those magnificent curves, he tripped on Auggie. The cat squalled as if Ian smooshed him flat. Deliberately.

  “Oh, poor Auggie Moggie. Did the bad man hurt you?” she crooned, bending down to pet the feline on his head. The cat flashed Ian a look that said, nanabooboo.

  Ian suspected Auggie tossed himself under his feet just to make sure he came across as Snidely Whiplash in Kat’s eyes.

  As he stared at her bent over at the waist, he just wanted to grab hold of those
rounded hips and take her from that position. Blood left his brain in a whoosh, heading south. He rubbed his forehead in pain. “Aspirins,” the dazed word came from his mouth.

  Kat raised up and gazed at him with concern. “You have an ache?”

  “Hmmm, yeah…I’ve got…an ache,” he mumbled disjointedly.

  Long, black lashes batted over the huge brown eyes, then they traced over his body and returned to his face. “Maybe too much sun? I wanted to tan, but the sun was making me woozy.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of lemonade. “This should do the trick.”

  She handed him a tumbler, then ambled down the hall. It afforded Ian another chance to view that perfect derrière as it moved with a dancer’s grace and sensuality.

  He leaned back against the counter afraid his legs wouldn’t hold him. “Mercy.”

  Returning with her purse, she held out her hand. Like an idiot, he just stared. Her front view was as devastating. Oh, boy, how he wanted to yank down the top of that swimsuit and fondle those full breasts until she writhed and keened with a raspy need.

  He realized she held something out to him. Opening his hand, she dropped two aspirins in his palm. Figuring they couldn’t hurt, he popped them in his mouth and washed them down with the tart lemon drink.

  Katlyn opened her purse and removed a five and two-ones. “Here. Auggie shouldn’t have filched the steak. Auggie, tell the man you’re sorry.”

  Auggie rubbed against his leg, almost contritely, then his tail vibrated as if he was going to spray. “Don’t even think about it, you menace from Mars.”

  “You really don’t like cats, do you?”

  Her tone said, such a shame, for otherwise I’d find you attractive. Instantly, the urge possessed Ian to grab Auggie up and do nose rubs. “I like cats. Auggie isn’t remotely like a cat.”

  She waved the bills under his nose. “Take them.”

  “What for?” Ian blinked blankly, drowning in her hypnotic eyes. He wondered what she’d do if he grabbed her and kissed her―long and hard.

  “The steak.”

  “I don’t want your money,” he growled. I want you.

  “Auggie stole your meat. If you won’t let me repay you,

  permit me to cook for you.”

  Both his head and Auggie’s snapped back. “You’re offering to fix me supper?”

  Her witchy eyes flashed. “Seems fair. I have a couple steaks.” She wagged her finger at the feline. “And Auggie, Bad Cat, doesn’t get a bite.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight? Seven o’clock?” she queried, with a come-hither smile.

  Ian nodded. “Done.” He felt like sticking out his tongue and going nanabooboo at Auggie.

  She put the bills back into her purse. “See you then.”

  Sensing dismissal, he sat down the glass. “Thanks for aspirins and the lemon squash.”

  His hand was on the doorknob when she called. “Bloody shame you hate cats.”

  “I don’t hate them, just have…a personality conflict with that thing you call a pussycat.” His eyes danced over her sexy body as she stood, leisurely unbraiding her long hair. “Why would it be a shame if I hated cats?”

  With a mysterious smile, she shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Love me, love my pussy… cat.”

  Ian missed the step down onto the deck and nearly broke his ankle.

  The woman was a bloody menace! Mind out of the gutter, St. Giles. You’ve only been away from the British Isles three months. You haven’t forgotten a pussy is a cat in Britain, not the other connotation Yanks used. Since she was from Scotland, she used it in the Brit mien, though he judged she was perfectly aware of the American usage and did it just to push his buttons.

  Well, they say pets take after their masters. Bad Kat. He struggled to hide the pole-axed expression as he slowly stalked to her. Invading her space, he let her feel his heat. And, oh brother, was he hot! The little witch had no one to blame but herself for playing with fire. Standing in that next to nothing swimsuit, unwinding that bewitching mane, she’d deliberately provoked him. The predator within him growled.

  Realizing she pushed one button too many, she backed up.

  Until she hit the refrigerator.

  Putting a hand on either side of her shoulders, he grinned, pinning her. Playing Big Bad Wolf was entertaining. She sucked in a deep breath and held, shrinking back from him. That just lifted those perfect, grapefruit-sized breasts up closer to his face. It required all his remaining willpower not to gobble her up in three bites.

  “Oh yeah, I figured if a man loved you, he’d just adore your pussy…cat.” He leaned his body toward hers, yet not touching. His every muscle clenched as her tongue swiped her dry lips. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Pity that, lass. Tongues…can…be…so…useful.”

  He saw the pulse in her graceful throat throb, pounding out arousal. Wanted to feast on that vibrancy. As she stared, hypnotized by his scent, his closeness, he saw the skittishness shift. Deep hunger flared in her golden-brown eyes.

  “Hmm…maybe we could…discuss that over supper.”

  Ian arched a brow. “Can we lock the tubby tabby terror outside? I’m sure he’ll entertain himself menacing the Hood. After all, he’s already eaten din-din.”

  “Oh, Auggie Moggie vets my dates. Weeds out the short-hitters.” Her laughter was musical, something you’d expect to hear from a faery.

  Ian chuckled. “Bet he does. Also weeds out the dog population and maybe small farm animals, too. Remember, if he bites me it’s a hundred dollar fine.”

  She snaked her arms around his neck and nipped his lower lip. “And what if this Kat bites you?”

  “Name your price, woman, I’ll pay.” His hands grabbed her waist and pulled her hard against him, relishing the perfection of how their bodies fit. Just as he lowered his head to kiss her senseless, the alarm on his Rolex sounded. With a groan, he bonked his forehead against hers. “We’ll have to discuss price later. Sorry, lass, I have a conference call with my publisher and agent in five minutes. Gotta dash, luv.”

  He made it to the door, then jogged back, grabbed her and kissed Kat hard and quick. “To whet your appetite. I’d like my steak medium-rare and my woman as intoxicating as Highland Single-Malt Whisky.”

  ~~~

  Kat watched the sexy man dash across their yards to his house. She couldn’t contain her sigh. Ian St. Giles was everything a woman could want. Precisely, what she wanted.

  Not too tall―a shade under six-foot―he wasn’t the bulky muscle of a jock that often lacked real strength behind it. Lean hard bodies really pack the power. Elegant men were deceptive, as people didn’t notice just how strong they were. Ian St. Giles may be a writer, spending long hours at the keyboard, but there wasn’t an ounce of flab on him. From her bedroom window, she’d often watched the black-haired man doing laps in the pool in his backyard. Those beautiful arms sliced through the water as if he could keep up that pace for hours.

  Arms she kept seeing in her mind curved over her head as he pistoned his body into hers―as though he could keep up that pace for hours, too. Each day brought them closer to that reality.

  Thanks to Auggie.

  She sniggered, wondering when Ian would twig Auggie was horribly bright and fetched on command. A cautious lass, she didn’t want Ian for a night, a week or a month―she wanted to bewitch him, sex him, drive him wild until they were old and grey.

  “I think he likes us, Auggie. I like him. Oh, do I like him.” She watched as Ian entered his house and the door closed. “Think we can make him love us?”

  Ian sat listening to the two women nattering over the speakerphone. That’s what I get for having a female editor and agent. After seventeen bestsellers, both these harridans wanted his hard-boiled, Sam Spade-style character to get warm and fuzzy. He listened to them reciting statistics, how sixty-five percent of all books sold were geared for the women’s market. They had it in their mercenary little brains that he needed to buck the trend, and i
n a field dominated by women writers, pen his current crime drama with a heavy dose of romance and erotica.

  “Ian, it’s called Romantica…” Maggie Caldwell, his agent explained.

  In a conference call with the two women, he was redundant.

  “Leave it to women to muck up erotica with romance,” he muttered to the fat cat, dancing in place on his desk and purring louder than a diesel engine. He swiveled in the chair to make sure he’d closed the door. Still shut. He wondered how the Moggie Monster slipped in again.

  “Ian, you have asthma?” Jess Black, his editor, queried.

  Ian frowned at the cat. “No, just a big furball.”

  “Furball?” both women echoed puzzlement.

  “Never mind.” He reached to pet the cat. The stupid thing tried to bite him. He shook a finger at Auggie and earned two more snaps. “Your mistress may bite me all she wants, Cat. You sink fangs into me, you’re charbroiled pussycat.”

  He groaned, pussycat summoning images of his near brush at sex with Kat in the kitchen. He adjusted his aroused male anatomy, his black jeans suddenly too tight for comfort.

  “Ian, do you have company? Are you listening to us?” Maggie demanded.

  “I’m listening. You want me to change the book so it’ll pick up women readers. You want hot sex, laced with romance,” he repeated, glaring at Auggie who now gnawed on the mouse cord. He snatched the mouse away from him. “It’s not a real one, Buster.”

  Jess asked suspiciously, “Who are you talking to, Ian?”

  “A cat named Auggie.”

  “Oh, Ian, a cat! How delightful you got a pet. Now that’s what we’re talking about with your character. Tanner Descoin needs to stretch emotionally. He’s been this freelance investigator for years. While the stories are sharp, Tanner’s stagnant. He needs to grow.”

  “Did Archie and Nero grow?” Ian grumbled. “I think not.”