He didn’t stop the chuckle that rumbled in his chest. Her eyes flashed up at him, greener than palm fronds in summer.
“Being stalked is a big deal.” Her lips pressed into a thin line and her arms crossed. “Have you and your buddies been interfering with my investigations?”
An angry Rachel beat Rachel sad and worried any day. He reached out to touch a strand of her hair but she wrenched away, moving closer to the fridge.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Look, it was years ago. Besides, you mostly investigate spousal infidelity. Not any groundbreaking legal stuff.”
“Ha, I do a lot more than investigate philandering spouses.” She glared at him and the brilliance of her eyes almost dulled his instincts.
But not quite. A thread of truth wove through her tone. His radar went off. Rachel sounded too sure, too confident. A chill crept across his skin.
He stepped closer to her, forcing her to lean against the fridge. He hardened his gaze so that she’d know he meant business. “Like what?”
She wet her lips and looked away. Evasion. “Just other stuff. Like you said, nothing groundbreaking.”
Grant shifted on his feet, ran his fingers through his hair. She wasn’t telling the complete truth but obviously he’d made her feel bad. “I didn’t mean what you do isn’t important. You’re smart. Didn’t you win some math tournament in high school?”
“Calculus.” Her lips curved. “I went to nationals.”
“And you’re kind.”
She snorted.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, marveling at how this tall, confident woman could feel so fragile beneath his touch. “You really are. I watched you with Maggie. There’s not too many women who would comfort her like that.”
Rachel’s eyes deepened to a darker green. As though his words wounded her. She shook her head. “I’ve been a horrible sister. Judging Maggie, censuring her.”
“Protecting her.” He smoothed his thumbs across her collar bone, then cupped her face. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”
Her eyes widened as he leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against hers. Coffee still clung to her lips, the taste of it both bitter and sweet. Her arms slipped around his neck. For the first time he felt as though this kiss was right. As though the attraction that sizzled through him whenever she came near was more Godly, more good, because it was tempered with tenderness and respect. He stroked the back of her neck, thankful for the way the muscles relaxed beneath his touch. Poor Rachel. Trying to be so strong, so independent.
A hungry need swept through him, uncontrollable. His lips devoured hers.Her fingers feathered against the base of his neck, bold.
Too bold.
Prickles of pain raked against his skin and he jolted away from her. He heard a soft thump behind him just as he stepped back. His heel crunched down on something. A shrill yowl pierced the room. A familiar yowl. Grant leapt to the side, pulse rushing through his veins.
“What was that?” He glanced at Rachel. She was bent over, arms around her waist. Her hair fell past her face and her shoulders shook.
“Are you laughing?”
“I-I’m sorry.” Her giggles could melt sugar. They trickled through the room, landing in his heart and warming it through and through.
Grant reached up and touched the moisture on his neck. “I hope your cat has all its shots, because the thing clawed me good.”
Rachel let out a shaky sigh, wiping at the tears trailing down her face. “She does. Here, let me have a look.”
“You think this is funny?” But he turned, hiding his smile. That kiss had been something. An eye-opener. God knew what he was doing.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know Miss Priss was hovering on the top of the fridge. I think she swatted your neck when you jerked back. Then she jumped down behind you and you mashed her tail.”
She chuckled as her fingers probed the tenderness at the base of his neck. “Poor Miss Priss.”
“Sounds like a mean cat to me,” he grumbled, then winced when her fingers prodded a scratch.
“I’ll get some water. These are little scratches and there’s only a bit of blood.” She turned the water on and the rack squeaked as she unwrapped some paper towels. “Don’t move. I don’t want any blood on my floor.”
“Of course not.”
The water stopped and she moved behind him, dabbing at his cut with gentle pauses. “So you noticed my perfectionism.”
“Hard not to.”
“Done.”
He straightened and faced her. She tossed the paper towels in the garbage.
“About that kiss,” Grant paused, not sure what to say.
“Yes?” She gave him a saucy grin, her hands on her hips, but he thought he saw wariness in her eyes.
He wanted to kiss her again. The knowledge fed him, sparked feeling into his befuddled mind. He wanted more than that. A family he’d never had. A stability and warmth she could share. “It was unexpected.”
Her lips screwed together, tightening into suspicious lines.
He never planned on creating forever with anyone. His mom and then his foster families had given him the impression that romantic love was only a dream, something to keep the heart hoping. Now that he’d become a believer in God, he knew true love existed. But romantic love? Was it the strange tickle near the vicinity of his heart? The urge to be near Rachel at any cost? The desire to see her smile forever?
“I didn’t know I’d feel this way about you,” he said quietly.
Rachel’s head kind of jerked forward, like his words surprised her. The tightness around her lips eased but her arms circled her ribcage.
“What way do you feel?” Though she looked more at ease, her pitch was still altered.
“You know what kind of guy I was.”
“Before you became a Christian.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. Talking about feelings wasn’t the easiest thing to do. It made him feel awkward, something he hadn’t a whole lot of experience with. Women had always come easy for him. His heart had never snuck past his smile. Now he knew why guys in college and high school shuffled their feet and mumbled. Purposefully, he relaxed back against her counter, giving her the smile a girlfriend once told him was crooked and irresistible. “Being with someone forever, loving her, was never in my plans.”
The smile seemed to be working on Rachel. A flustered blush crept along the edges of her cheekbones. “What are your plans now?”
“I have a couple.”
Her brow lifted at the same time as the corner of her lip.
He held up a finger. “One, to learn everything I need to know about following God.”
“There’s not a whole lot to it, Grant.”
He ignored her and popped up a second finger. “Two, I plan to let Him lead me in love.”
Now she looked confused. She crossed her arms again and regarded him with a quizzical smile. “And…”
“He’s leading me to you.” He watched in triumph as her jaw slacked and her eyes widened. Time to switch things up. “Do you want to see a movie one night?”
Her eyes flickered. Then a smile transformed her face and her arms lowered. “Tuesday?”
“Sounds good
A strange ball of warmth bounced through him. Amusement, and maybe a touch of heaven-sent peace, pulled his mouth into a broader smile. “I’ll see you at the movies Tuesday night.”
Rachel nodded and stepped past Grant. Her throat felt dryer than beach sand at low tide. Another date. All those dinners, watching him and pining for him, and now he was turning his affections her way.
Or God was, if she believed Grant. Which she did. While he was known for being a charmer, she’d never heard anyone accuse him of sneakiness or deceitfulness.
A deep sigh escaped from somewhere deep inside. Tuesday night. Only two nights from now. She glanced at the clock hanging near the front door. Almost eight o’clock.
The emotional drama of the day made her fi
ngers tremble as she reached for the lock on her door.
“I could’ve let myself out,” Grant said from behind her, his tone laced with humor.
“I know.” But she wanted to be near him for as long as possible, to see the quick wit in his eyes and the relaxed set of his shoulders. To relish his warmth towards her. She twisted the lock and swung the door open.
Miss Priss weaved against her calves. She shifted her feet so the cat wouldn’t escape. Grant moved around her, taking the door from her and pausing in the doorframe.
“Any particular movie you’d like to see?”
She thought about it and realized she’d watch just about anything if it was with him. The knowledge shook her. Was she so emotionally dependent? Like her mother? No. She tossed the thought to the curb. Grant was different.
“Romance. Maybe that new one with that blonde actress.”
Grant chuckled. “Sure. But I choose next time.”
The ‘next time’ left her speechless. Her whole body sagged against the hallway wall and quick as a flash, Miss Priss snuck out the front door.
Her apartment building, located in the tiny historic district of Manatee Bay, was nestled between Victorians that had escaped the conversion into medical and law offices so many others had undergone. The street stayed quiet both day and night.
When Miss Priss slid out the door, all thoughts of Grant’s future date plans evaporated. Her muscles jumped into action but not soon enough. Grant was ahead of her, stepping down her stairs and trying to coax Miss Priss from the shrubbery next door.
Rachel slowed her movements, not wanting to spook the cat. Miss Priss wasn’t on the light side. She’d be easy to catch if she decided to emerge from hiding. But who could dodge those claws? She grimaced, remembering Miss Priss’s first day home.
“Go slow,” she told Grant, sidling along the edge of the bushes to see if she could reach through somehow and grab the cat.
This was why she didn’t need a pet. Annoyances. Distractions.
Worries.
“I’ve got her.” He grunted and the bushes rustled as he pulled out a hissing Miss Priss.
He stood and Rachel followed him back into the apartment. She closed the door behind her and studied Grant. Miss Priss, fickle feline, purred against his chest. Even she was susceptible to his charm.
“Rachel.” Grant’s tone caught her attention. “Where did you get this cat?”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
“The shelter. Why?”
“She’s Helga.”``
“Who?” The name battered at her. An ugly name that made her think of a warty witch.
“My cat.”
His cat? Then she remembered sitting at the police station, when she’d been grazed by a bullet. The scar at her neck itched and she lifted a finger to it. It had faded to a tiny ripple in her skin, a subtle reminder that her life had been in danger, if only for a moment.
The cat’s purr rumbled louder.
She moved her hand away from her neck and searched Grant’s face. “How do you know?”
“It’s pretty hard not to recognize her.”
True. Even though she’d lost weight, Miss Priss still had a mean look to the line of her nose.
“But,” Grant continued. “She has this nick in her ear.”
Rachel leaned forward, felt the cut herself. “How did that happen?’
“I don’t know. I found her half-dead on my property. Poor thing weighed almost nothing.”
“When I got her from the pound, she weighed fifteen pounds.”
“She likes Fancy Feast.” He grinned, his smile crooked.
She refused to be charmed by his display. The math didn’t add up.
“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you pick her up from that place? You left her there to die.”
“To die?” His eyebrows lifted. “That’s a little harsh.”
“So you did leave her.” She resisted the urge to snatch Miss Priss from his arms.
“You think I would do that?” Amazingly, he looked hurt.
She mentally backtracked, but the calculations still didn’t make sense. And he’d deflected her accusation into a question. Brilliant, and very cold.
“I think you should tell me the truth.”
A soft meow came from the ball of fur in his embrace. He shifted Miss Priss. “I looked for her when I could. Never saw her there.”
“Did they keep her in the back?”
“Maybe.” Grant grimaced. “I didn’t realize she was missing until the morning of the day you came running in, bleeding.”
“Huh.”
“When did you get her?”
She cringed. Now the math added up. “I picked her up the next day.”
Grant smiled and stroked Miss Priss. The cat arched beneath his palm and her claws dug into his skin. A nuzzle from the suddenly affectionate feline brought a sting to Rachel’s eyes.
Clearing her throat, she stepped away. “I guess you’ll need her things.”
Grant didn’t respond. He set Miss Priss down and folded his arms against his chest. “You’re giving her up that easily?”
Not really. What she wanted to do was hide Miss Priss under her bed and tell Grant to go away. Or stay in the living room. Or she could hide him under her bed too, so she could keep them both forever.
Shaking those ridiculous thoughts away, she marched into the bathroom at the end of the hall. “Here’s her litter box,” she called, grabbing the small container by the handle and carrying it out of the bathroom. Grant remained planted in her hallway. Miss Priss sat at his feet, cleaning herself as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Rachel ignored the pang gripping her chest and brought the box to Grant. It thudded to the ground. Miss Priss scrambled into the living room, but not before giving the box a spiteful hiss.
Grant leaned against the wall, crossing an ankle over a foot. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“She’s your cat.”
“Yeah, but you like her.”
“Maybe.”
“Admit it.” A teasing smile played at the edge of his lips. “I’ll bet she sleeps with you every night.”
Rachel wrinkled her nose and gave him a look.
“Why don’t you keep her?” Grant straightened and brought his hands to her shoulders. He always had such a firm, steady grasp that belied the quicksilver charm in his eyes.
She moved out from beneath those strong hands and sent Miss Priss, who hovered beneath the TV stand, a worried look.
“I think she may be happier with you.”
Grant laughed, a loud bark that made Rachel jump. “She wasn’t a house cat.”
“What?”
“She stayed outside, yowled all the time. Plus, I’m gone at weird hours, on call a lot. Her coat was never as shiny as it is now. You must pet her like crazy.”
Rachel slitted her eyes at him. “I do. You’re trying to get rid of Miss Priss?”
He laughed again, warm and rich. The warmth of it slipped right into her soul, even though she thought he might be laughing at her.
“You named the cat Miss Priss.” He laughed again, slapping one hand against his knee.
“It’s better than Helga.”
“Guess so.”
She could see he wanted to laugh again. It didn’t bother her, and that was surprising. Normally it didn’t take much to incite her temper but Grant calmed her. His easygoing, unflappable approach to life loosened her up. Except for his strange obsession with following rules. She knew why she broke them, but she wondered if he knew why he was so determined to follow them. Maybe it had to do with his childhood. It was worth discussing.
Someday.
Just the thought that there would be a someday melted the remaining bits of her armor.
Biting her lip, she met his gaze. Something passed between them. A connection so deep she thought her soul would burst from the thrill of it.
She moved toward him. He stayed against the wall, wat
ching her through heavy lids.
“Tuesday night?” she asked.
He nodded. She reached up to touch his cheeks. The blonde stubble grazed her palms.
He gripped her hand, moved it so that he could place a chaste kiss against her fingertips. His eyes glittered, all traces of joking gone. “I’ll see you then.”
***
The next morning the smell of bacon roused Rachel from bed. She reached for her pillow and pressed it against her nose, groaning. Maggie must be in the kitchen.
Yuck. Memories of last week’s rubbery eggs tried to invade her dreams. She rolled over. Miss Priss growled and shifted out from beneath her toes.
Moving the pillow, Rachel sat up and yawned. She might as well face Maggie. The confession last night had been so much darker than she’d expected. No wonder Maggie had broken beneath the weight of her guilt.
Rachel heaved a sigh and tossed the sheets off. Well, she’d wanted to blame Mayor Owens for Maggie’s breakdown, but now it looked like the clinic was the only culprit.
First things first. Regain control of her kitchen before Maggie burnt the house down. Then she’d talk to her sister about that meeting at the warehouse.
When she reached the kitchen, it was in time to see Maggie standing at the stove, the scowl on her face blacker than the smoke billowing from the burners.
Alarm zipped through Rachel. She whipped into the kitchen, grabbed a towel from a drawer and wet it beneath the faucet. “Here. Smother that fire.”
Maggie turned, catching the towel against her chest by default. But she obeyed, moving the pan and wiping the flat-top stove until the smoke cleared. Rachel leaned against the sink, willing her pulse to slow to a normal speed.
The bitter fumes receded, but her annoyance didn’t. Who needed coffee now? Nothing woke a person up more than almost dying. She glared at Maggie and held out her hand. “Give me the towel and don’t ever cook in my kitchen again.”
“It was just a little grease.” Maggie tossed the towel over.
Rachel caught it, then let it droop between her forefinger and thumb. “You’re lucky you didn’t burn the house down.”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 21
