Cat's Lair

by Christine Feehan

  "It isn't any of your business," she said, and knew she sounded uptight and stiff. Well, she was uptight and stiff. And it wasn't any of his business.

  The same flash was there in his eyes. Hot. Angry. Pure steel. Her stomach did another flip. He was both scary and sexy at the same time, a combination she wanted no part of.

  "I'm making it my business, Kitten, whether you like it or not. After hours, half the men in here are drunk. Why do you think they're in here?"

  "I make a mean cup of coffee and word has gotten around. It sobers them up a little. Coming to Poetry Slam gives them some time to wind down."

  He made a sound in the back of his throat that alarmed her. A rumble. A growl. The sound found its way to her heart, kick-starting her into flight mode.

  "You can't possibly be that naive, woman. Just in the two weeks I've been coming, the traffic between midnight and three has doubled. Mostly men. They come here because they're hoping to get lucky. They spend the entire time staring at you and trying to think of ways to get you in their beds. A few of them may have figured out that you walk home and they may make plans you aren't going to like and can't do anything about on your own."

  She jumped up fast, but he was faster, his long fingers settling around her wrist, shackling her to him. He stood too, towering over her. His fierce golden eyes stared down into her blue ones, just as intense as she remembered, more so even. His gaze cut right through her until she feared every secret she had was laid bare in front of him.

  "Don't run from me. I'm telling you the truth. Clearly you're living in a dream world when it comes to men and their intentions."

  She tilted her head to one side, forgetting to keep her attitude in check. "Would you like to tell me what your intentions are?" she challenged.

  His eyes changed and she knew immediately she'd made a terrible mistake. His eyes went liquid gold, focused and unblinking, locked onto her, and this time there was interest. Real interest. Before she'd been the one locked on to him, playing in her head with silly fantasies, but his motivation for following her had been actually watching out for her--she could see that now, at least she thought she could. Until that moment. That second.

  She'd put too much sass into her tone. There was no backtracking from that, not with the stark speculation in his eyes. She forced air through her burning lungs and tugged at her hand to try to get him to release her.

  His thumb slid over her wrist, right over her pounding pulse, a mere brush, but the stroke sent hot blood rushing through her veins. She wanted to look away, but there was no getting away from the piercing stare of his eyes.

  "Now I'm seeing you, Kitten. And you've got a little bite to you."

  "Enough to handle myself if someone decides to attack me on my way home."

  "I disagree."

  "That doesn't matter," she said, and tugged at her hand again.

  His hold didn't loosen. He wasn't hurting her; in fact, the pad of his thumb sent waves of heat curling through her body as it continued to brush little strokes over her pulse.

  "It matters to me."

  "It isn't your business." Now he was back to scaring her. He couldn't follow her around. Especially not to her home.

  She was usually adept at spotting and shaking a tail. She practiced. He couldn't see her practicing. He'd wonder what she was doing and why. She desperately tried to remember if she'd done such a thing in the last two weeks. Usually, after working a full shift, she was exhausted and didn't take the extra time.

  "I've decided to make it my business."

  His voice was so low she could barely catch the sound, but the tone vibrated right through her body, disturbing her balance. She almost felt as if she was caught in a dream, waking up for the first time, suddenly aware of what real chemistry between a man and a woman was. She was certain she'd been the only one to feel it, and even then, it was just an awareness, not in the least harmful--like her silly daydreams of him.

  This was altogether different. Her awareness of him, her reaction, was so strong, almost feral, female reacting to a male on the hunt, wanting him, yet wanting to run. Maybe needing the chase to prove something to both of them. She saw the answering challenge in his eyes. It was impossible not to see.

  She shook her head and took two steps back, trying to put distance between them despite his fingers around her wrist. In spite of the fact that she couldn't look away from him. What was wrong with her? Her lack of control was frightening. She couldn't blow this. She didn't dare.

  "I have no interest whatsoever in a relationship with anyone. I don't do one-night stands and I don't date. I don't want attention from you or any other man. I'm asking you politely to let go of my wrist."

  She could barely get the words out. There was something, a part of her she'd never known existed, a part of her that didn't want to walk away from this man. He was beautiful. Sexy. Intelligent. And Dangerous. Everything a woman might find attractive in a man. Everything she found attractive when she hadn't even known she could be attracted.

  He didn't release her right away. His amazing eyes searched hers for a long moment. His face softened, and the male challenge was gone from his hard features as if it had never been there. Instead, he looked gentle. Still holding her wrist with one hand, he retrieved her hat with the other and gave it to her.

  "You really are afraid of me, aren't you? I'm not going to hurt you, Cat. No matter what you think, I won't do that to you." His voice was pure velvet, stroking over her skin, low and vibrant and all male, almost a purr. His eyes hypnotized her all over again. They hadn't blinked. Not once. She was watching to see. He was absolutely, entirely focused on her and her alone.

  Her belly did a slow roll and her breasts ached. Each separate spot where the pads of his fingers touched her bare skin felt as if he burned a brand right through her skin to her bones.

  She hated that she was so susceptible to his voice. To his eyes. She retreated back to the character that always served her so well. She let her eyelashes fall, and nodded as if she understood. She couldn't handle a man like Ridley. She knew that. She didn't dare chance becoming his friend. She wouldn't know what to do with him.

  He let her go. The moment she was free of his grip, she pulled her arm to her, pushing her wrist up against her body as if she could hold in the heat from his touch. She sent him one look from under her lashes and hurried past him back inside.

  2

  CATARINA looked at her watch for the hundredth time and then looked at David. He rolled his eyes. He held up his hands, fingers spread wide and grinned at her.

  "Last call, everyone," David shouted. "If you want a coffee for the road, come get it now. We're closed in ten."

  She flashed him a small, tired smile. It had been a great night for Poetry Slam. Business was huge. Huge. The take was the most they'd ever done. The tip jar was overflowing, which meant extra gas money. It had been a great night, but she was exhausted. She hadn't even been able to keep track of how many different variations of coffee she'd made that night. She could do ten more minutes, but beyond that . . .

  Three men swaggered up to the counter to give David their closing orders. She avoided looking at them. One of the three, a man his friends called Jase, had twice tried to engage her in conversation. She'd given him a vague smile without meeting his eyes and stayed busy inventorying her various coffee beans both times.

  "Hey, Cat," Jase called out to her, overloud.

  She winced and forced herself not to glance toward the corner where Ridley continued to read his book. She was all too aware he hadn't missed both times Jase had tried to get her to converse.

  "I can hear you, Jase," she answered, without looking up.

  "What's it take?"

  She made a mistake in pausing as she made his friend Marty his favorite latte. "I'm sorry?" she said, frowning a little, trying to puzzle out when he meant.

  Ridley moved. He put down his book and stared hard at Jase.

  "To fuck you. Tell me what it takes. We're trying t
o figure that out and you're giving us nothing."

  The coffee-house went utterly silent. David froze. Catarina blinked and Ridley was behind Jase, one hand on his shoulder. He spun the man around and punched him in the face. He hadn't pulled back his arm for strength. It was a short punch, but Jase's head snapped back on his shoulders and his legs turned to rubber. The only thing holding him up was Ridley's hand on his shoulder.

  "Ridley," Catarina protested softly.

  "Don't speak," Ridley snapped. "Just get this place shut down." His eyes moved to each of Jase's friends. "Either of you two got something you want to say before you leave? Because you're leaving right now."

  Both took one look at the hard, implacable lines in his face, the smoldering golden eyes, and they shook their heads. Ridley, still holding Jase up, gestured toward the door. Without a word they turned and went out, Ridley trailing them, dragging a rubber-legged Jase with him. He thrust the man at the other two and wasn't gentle about it.

  He shut the door decisively and turned and walked back to his table. Applause broke out. The spectators liked their coffee.

  Catarina glared at David, who was clapping along with the others. "You're not helping. Don't encourage him. He thinks I need protecting."

  "You do," David said. "Jase is trouble."

  "I can take care of myself," she muttered, sending Ridley a look that should have fried him on the spot. Not only did he not appear to fry, he looked a little amused.

  She didn't draw attention to herself. Not ever. Thanks to Ridley the entire room was aware of her as more than the barista, a body behind the coffee machine. She sighed and started the cleaning process. The coffee-house shut down at three and emptied. This time Ridley didn't leave. He sat in the corner. She glanced up at him and scowled a couple of times, jerking her head toward him when David looked at her.

  "He's got to go, just like any other customer," she hissed.

  "I can hear you just fine," Ridley said. "I'm walking home with you, so get used to it, Kitten. Just get your work done so we can get out of here."

  "Don't you have anything better to do?" she demanded.

  "No." He didn't even look up.

  She shook her head, exasperated. Of course Jase would have to act like an ass in front of him and he'd use that to prove his point. She could have handled Jase, no problem.

  She accepted her half of the tip money, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. That much cash made her very happy. It was worth putting up with jerks like Jase until three in the morning to have extra money. She used every little bit she had to get extra lessons from Malcom. She'd been practicing a lot with her gun. That required time at the local range as well as ammunition. It didn't come cheap.

  Ridley fell into step beside her. She shot him a look from under her lashes. "You really don't have to do this."

  "If you feel as if you owe me something, say thanks."

  "I feel as if I'd like to hit you over the head because clearly you aren't listening," she countered. It just burst out of her when she'd promised no sass. No attitude.

  Just like earlier, his eyes immediately focused on her. He didn't slow down. Didn't miss a step, but suddenly his golden eyes were fixed on her with the same amused speculation. Total interest. And this time there was something else smoldering in his eyes. Something hot and sexy that sent a wave of fire rushing through her body, burning through her nerve endings and centering squarely between her legs like the hottest fireball imaginable.

  Her breath hitched in her lungs. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, shocked. Embarrassed. Terrified. He brought out something wild in her. Something uninhibited. Something she wanted no part of.

  "I'm listening, woman. I'll always listen to anything you have to say. You're just talking a lot of crap right now so I'm dismissing what you have to say as the crap it is. Jase and his friends could just as easily be waiting for you. You don't want them following you home, knowing where you live."

  "I'd know. I always know. I've been followed before and I handled it."

  He stopped abruptly, his fingers settling around her wrist, dragging her to a halt. "What the hell did you just say?" he demanded.

  She blinked up at him. Major mistake revealing that piece of information. She should have kept that to herself. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Her heart pounded. She didn't know how to defuse his anger. In his quiet, cool way he was angry, and that was more terrifying than if he'd yelled. It wasn't his business, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

  "Something you need to know about me, Kitten. I don't have a lot of patience. When I ask you something, I need you to answer. It isn't that damned difficult. Just tell me what happened and how you handled it."

  His gold eyes burned like a flame, boring through her body. She licked her lips again. His hand tightened.

  "And stop that. That's going to get your ass in trouble. Just talk, Cat, say what I need to hear."

  She leveled a glare at him. "You are not in the least bit Zen, Ridley. Not even a little bit, and you have crushed one of my fantasies. I have to tell you, that's just plain sad because I could work with that for a very long time."

  He blinked. He never blinked. Never broke his stare. That was one of the first observations she'd made about him, and he definitely blinked. Amusement crept right through all the sparkling anger.

  "You thought I was Zen?" He began walking again, taking her with him, walking so close she could feel the heat of his body. He hadn't relinquished her wrist, rather his hand slid down her arm to take possession of her fingers.

  "The Zen master," she said, "Which, by the way, was really cool, and now you've blown that all to hell."

  "So you were having fantasies about me?" The amusement definitely deepened.

  She sent him a look of sheer reprimand from under her long lashes. "Newsflash for you, Ridley, every woman has fantasies about you. That's your gift. But the fact that you just blew one of the biggest parts of my daydreams about you took your hotness down a notch or two. Zen was very 'it' for me. You rocked that cool vibe."

  "You have fantasies and daydreams about me?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know you're freakin' hot. The way you look at women, there's not a doubt in my mind they're all over you, and you've got that hound dog disdain."

  His eyebrow shot up. "Woman. You cannot tell me I'm the thing of fantasies in one breath and say I'm a hound dog in the next."

  She gave him a serious look. "They aren't mutually exclusive. You are, right? A player? A hound dog? The kind of man who kicks a woman out of his bed right after sex and then loses her phone number?"

  His eyes laughed at her. "I don't take women to my bed, I'm usually in their beds, and I get up and leave. They know the score or I wouldn't be in their beds in the first place."

  She nodded. "Yep. A player and a hound dog. And just so you know, telling you about my now completely blown fantasy does not mean I'm giving you the go-ahead to make a move on me. Fantasy and reality are two very different things."

  "I see."

  Catarina secretly hugged herself. She had forgotten it was fun talking to another person. She didn't allow herself that luxury, not ever anymore. Well, sometimes with Malcom, but not like this. Not just saying anything that came into her head. Watching Ridley's face lose the stone-carved effect and replacing it with laughter was fun. Just fun. She'd forgotten what that was like. Or truthfully, she hadn't known about having fun in the first place.

  They rounded the corner of the second block and started down the third before she remembered he was holding her hand. Before she realized she hadn't taken a careful look around her to make certain no one was following. The smile inside slipped away. Vigilance was far more important than fun. She actually liked Ridley, even though she was certain he was too beautiful for any woman to ever keep. She didn't want to be responsible for anything happening to him.

  Catarina tried to slip her hand out of his, a subtle retreat, nothing overt that he would notice. He noticed. His hand tightened a
round hers and he looked down at her immediately. He had eyes that saw everything. He didn't fail to see her gaze scanning the rooftops and the fire escapes as they passed the buildings.

  "What is it?"

  His voice was low. Velvet. So soft and perfect she nearly closed her eyes against the mesmerizing sound. She was fairly certain he could growl, she'd heard him do it once. Now, she thought he could probably purr as well. For some reason, the moment it came into her mind, her body reacted, going feminine on her. She decided it was him. Ridley just had a way with women and he was casting a spell.

  "Nothing." She was back to mumbling, her sense of fun fading along with her confidence.

  She felt vulnerable and exposed walking beside him. Alone she could stay in the shadows, close to the building if there were no openings, slipping back toward the street if she couldn't see directly into the alleyways and doorways. Ridley walked straight down the center of the sidewalk, head up, shoulders straight, and he looked like a man no one ever messed with. She was certain most men would take one look at him and scurry away.

  Rafe Cordeau was not that kind of man. He would walk right up to Ridley, staring him straight in the eye, and without a single word slit his throat. Or his belly. Her fault. She glanced at their linked hands. Rafe would kill him. There would be no discussion and no way to stop him.

  Her heart began to pound and she tasted fear in her mouth. "I don't know you well enough to hold your hand and it makes me uncomfortable."

  It wasn't a lie, although she'd enjoyed the moment with him, the moment of fun she'd always remember. Still, she was uncomfortable holding hands because she liked it--maybe a little too much. But she wasn't a woman who could ever walk openly down a street with a man and feel comfortable. And she wasn't naive enough not to realize Ridley Cromer was way out of her league, even if she didn't have hell following her around.

  Ridley's piercing gaze searched her face and then their surroundings. His eyes moved in a search pattern around them, the alleys, the streets, the alcoves and doorways. Only then did he look up toward the rooftops and fire escapes as she'd done.

  "You're afraid, Kitten, but not of me. Whatever it is you're afraid of, know that when you're with me, you're perfectly safe."