Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  “Welcome to my abode.” His tone is beyond sarcastic. “I’m sure you’d love to stay awhile amid the chaos and destruction.”

  I make a face, trying not to make it too judgmental. “Your cat definitely has issues.”

  “My cat has issues on top of issues and then some more issues as garnish.” He waves vaguely toward the couch and the recliner next to it, which seems not to have suffered quite as much. “If you can find a place to sit that’s not ripped to shreds, feel free.”

  Just being near him makes me self-conscious. I thread a bit of hair back behind my ear and suddenly feel exposed when I notice him watching. What is he thinking? Probably not that he’d like to see me naked again. Still, there’s something about the way he’s looking at me…

  Never in a million years, I chastise myself. Thinking about that night just sends my system into overload, alternating between humiliation and arousal. It’s not a good combination. Especially since I know damn well a guy like that would never have any interest whatsoever in a geeky weirdo like me.

  I move toward the recliner, my bag bumping against my thigh. Jesse frowns suddenly and points, like he only just noticed it.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Tools of the trade,” I tell him. I perch on the edge of the recliner and set the bag in my lap. He looms over me and watches as I unzip it and lift the lid. I’m far too aware of his presence. I can smell him when he’s standing this close—soap, fabric softener, a sort of lingering smoky smell, and the musk of maleness. No hint of cologne or anything artificial. It’s all just him. It’s damn near the best smell I’ve ever had inside my nose.

  Shaking myself back to the present, I tell him, “Cat toys.” I sift through the bag, displaying a few pieces so he knows what I’m talking about. “A scratching pad, some sprays that help keep your cat out of certain areas. This one eliminates odor when the cat does go potty where he shouldn’t.” He’s started chuckling by now, but I soldier on. “Catnip—”

  He cuts in, laughing even harder. “You’re suggesting I get my cat high?”

  “Well…” He’s the one with the out-of-control cat, and he wants to question my methods? “Aren’t you a lot happier when you’re high?”

  “I’m a public servant, hon. I’m not allowed to get baked.”

  “Weed is legal in the state of Washington, you know.” Probably not so much for firemen, but I’m not too inclined to give him the benefit of being right. He irritates me too much.

  He winks broadly. God, what an asshole. I’d think he was trying to flirt with me, but that’s just ridiculous. Him flirting with me is not something that’s going to happen in this lifetime.

  I pull out another toy. This one’s a long, flexible stick with a string on the end. On the end of the string is a collection of feathers and a bell. For a split second I wonder what Jesse would do if I smacked the stick part across his tight ass.

  I clear my throat. “This is a lure-type toy—they like to chase the feathers on the end.” I bounce the feathery lure up and down a few times then drag it across the floor, demonstrating. It’d be a much more effective demonstration if the cat were actually in the room. As it is, I come off looking a little crazy, I’m sure.

  When I look back up, Jesse’s watching me and biting the inside of his cheek, obviously holding back laughter. “Do they like chew toys?” he asks.

  “No. Dogs like chew toys. Not cats. Cats like things they can stalk.” I’m surprised again by how little he actually knows about his pet. Does he not know you can get books at the library if you need to know why your cat is shredding your couch or pissing on the carpet?

  On the other hand, if he’d gotten books at the library, I wouldn’t be here now making a decent hourly rate.

  “There’s more,” I add, “but we won’t get into that until we actually need it.”

  He’s still giving me that “man-this-girl-is-crazy” look. “Is there a couch?”

  I’m not sure what he’s getting at. He wants me to replace the couch his cat shredded? “A couch?”

  “Yeah. So he can lie there and tell me all about how he never really got along with his mother.” The last word comes out in a weird little burst, like he’s holding back hysterical laughter.

  I, however, am not finding him all that funny. “No.”

  He shakes his head, still half laughing at me. “Well, I just hope it does work, because I’m not clear on any of it.”

  I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or to walk out and let him figure his shit out on his own. I’m having a terrible time reading him. Does he like the cat or not? Is he actually trying to flirt with me, or is he one of those guys who likes to string girls along? Maybe he just has no idea how to flirt. Maybe he’s so good-looking he’s never actually had to. Girls just automatically fall at his feet, tossing their panties at them on the way.

  I clear my throat again to get my own attention. “I’m sure it’ll make more sense once we get started. Let’s go see Thor.”

  He makes a vague gesture toward the hallway. “He’s down here.”

  I follow him down the hall. As we get closer to our destination, I start to hear noises. Strange noises. Banging and scratching and hissing interspersed with loud meows. What in the world has he done to the poor cat?

  The noises get louder until we stop in front of the last door on the right. Right when we stop, there’s a violent pounding sound, as if the cat has flung itself bodily against the door.

  “He’s in there,” says Jesse, gesturing but making no move to actually open the door. He looks…nervous. It strikes me again that he’s genuinely afraid of his cat. That’s going to make things complicated.

  “You locked him in a bedroom?”

  “It’s a big bedroom,” he says defensively. “It’s not like I put him in a box or something. And I can’t let him out, as if you can’t tell from my thoroughly fucked-up couch.”

  “Did his previous owners keep him in a bedroom?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then he’s used to having room to roam. You can’t just lock him up in the bedroom and expect him to behave.” There’s another violent pounding and a series of loud meows. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

  “He’s never happy. I put him in the extra bedroom because when he’s out ‘to roam’”—he makes air quotes, making it clear he’s not on board with my suggestions—“he jumps on my face in the middle of the night. I can’t sleep when the goddamn cat is trying to kill me.”

  “He’s just lonely. He wants attention.” It’s my job to empathize with the cat, and I’m finding it far too easy to picture the poor animal wanting nothing more than to roam his new territory, but suddenly being forced into a completely different living situation than what he’s been used to. No wonder he’s not behaving.

  I make a vague gesture toward the door. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”

  Jesse wipes his hands down his thighs—God, those are nice thighs—as if he’s preparing himself to face the cat. He literally flinches as his fingers touch the doorknob. Slowly he turns it then jerks it open like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid.

  The cat tears out of the room, a gray streak that makes Jesse and I both jump back to get out of the way. The streak resolves into Thor, looking even bigger and fluffier and more unkempt than he did when I saw him at the vet’s. He heads straight for the living room.

  “Hey!” Jesse calls after him. “Stay away from the couch!”

  Of course, the first thing we see when we get to the living room is Thor next to the couch, scratching the hell out of an upholstered leg.

  “Stop it, you piece of shit!” Jesse runs toward him, swiping at the cat with his hand. Thor ducks the attempt to smack him and heads for another couch leg.

  Before Jesse can chase Thor down again, I grab him by the arm and stop him. “Let me try.”

  I grab the lure toy and walk over to Thor. I bounce the feathery lure next to his head. Thor immediately shifts his attention, swatting at the
lure.

  Pleased with the result, I tease him with the feathers, guiding him away from the couch. He slaps at it again and again. I trail it across the carpet and he pounces on it, so quick and accurate he almost catches it.

  That’s not the point, though. The point is to keep him stalking after it. I play with him for a few more minutes while Jesse watches. The poor cat looks like he’s been dying for a chance to play, to the point where he’s almost manic, leaping and jumping after the feather lure like it’s the coolest thing he’s seen in years. He’s enjoying himself so much it makes me laugh, especially when he starts tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to grab at the toy.

  “Okay,” I say to Jesse finally. “It’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Yes.” I hold the long, flexible stick out to him. “Play with the cat.”

  He stares at the stick like it’s on fire. I poke it at him. The lure bounces and Thor jumps at it again. Finally Jesse takes the stick and starts bouncing it up and down.

  The cat stops playing and just stares at the lure as it moves up and down. Then Thor looks up at Jesse with a dumbfounded expression, as if he can’t believe Jesse is so stupid that he doesn’t know how to play with a cat toy.

  I have to admit, I’m fairly dumbfounded about that myself. Instead of doing what I was doing—bouncing the lure and then trailing it over the carpet—Jesse waves it weakly back and forth. It’s the least enticing lure I’ve ever seen.

  “That’s not how you do it,” I tell him.

  “How, then?” His tone tells me he doesn’t appreciate my critique.

  “Have you ever gone fishing?”

  “Sure.”

  “So…it’s like a fishing pole, right? Hold the lure down and let him try to catch it, then pull it back. You can drag it along the ground, too. He wants to be able to chase it. Like it’s a mouse. It’s a natural predator’s instinct.”

  He bounces the lure a few times, and Thor waves a paw at it, but Jesse’s technique remains less than intriguing to the cat. After another bounce, Thor looks at me, almost like he’s begging me to take over again.

  “Try on the ground,” I suggest.

  He lays the feathery lure on the carpet and pulls it back and forth. Thor jumps at it, but it’s too easy for him to pin down. Jesse flicks it around, yanking it out from under Thor’s paws. Thor tries to stalk it, but again he catches it too quickly and Jesse jerks it away from him.

  “That’s not how you do it,” I tell Jesse, exasperated. I showed him exactly how to tease the cat with the toy; I can’t understand why he’s having so much trouble mimicking me. “Try it again. Do it a little faster and don’t let him catch it so easily.”

  Jesse flops the lure around a few more times. He’s not trying. It’s infuriating. Thor smacks the feathers once or twice, then looks at me. His expression clearly says, “What the fuck is this guy doing?”

  I’m wondering the same thing. “Jesse. This is not hard. You’re playing with a cat, not planning world peace. It doesn’t have to be time consuming, either. You can play with him with the lure toy while you’re reading a book, or use a laser pointer on the wall while you’re watching football. Just figure out how it works into your schedule.”

  At that moment, Thor apparently decides he’s being ignored. He runs straight at Jesse’s leg, and before Jesse can get out of the way, Thor sinks his teeth in then tears back off across the living room.

  “Goddamn it!” Jesse flings the toy to the floor. “What the fuck is the problem with this cat?”

  My hands are still fisted on my hips, and I take a firm step toward him. I’ve got an intense urge to shake a finger in his face. “The problem here is you, not the cat. You haven’t made any accommodations at all for Thor. It’s no wonder he’s angry and acting out.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Jesse makes an expansive gesture that encompasses his shredded couch and fucked-up carpet. “He’s destroying my house!”

  I try to calm down. Getting up in Jesse’s face probably isn’t going to accomplish anything, although I have to say it’s pretty damn satisfying. Instead I take a quick breath and bring the volume down a little. “Cats need to scratch. It’s how they groom their nails, and it helps them relieve tension. Obviously, Thor has a lot of tension.”

  This drags a disgusted snort from Jesse. I keep talking, not allowing him to break in. “You need to get him a scratching post. More than one, even. One in every room he might head into, ideally. They need to be tall so he can stretch all the way out while he’s scratching.” He starts to talk and I raise my voice, barreling on. “And you need to play with him a few times a day. He needs to know he hasn’t been abandoned.”

  He frowns then and shoves a hand through his hair.

  “Do you want to fix this problem or not?”

  “I do, but—”

  Again I break through his objections. He’s not going to get anywhere if he refuses to listen to me. “Show me how you spend time with the cat now. We can fine-tune what you’re already doing so you don’t have to add much brand-new routine to your day.”

  His snorting laugh makes it clear that this, too, is going to be a pointless conversation. He leads me back down the hall to a different bedroom. The door’s closed.

  Jesse gestures to me. “Come here and look at this door,” he says. The back of the door is covered in scratches where Thor has torn it up. Trying to get in, or trying to get attention, I’m sure.

  “He does this every night when I go to bed,” he says. “I have to keep it shut and locked all night, because he can open doors.”

  “Wow.”

  “Thor hates me. Every time I come home, he surprise-attacks me. He’s dropped on my head from the stairs. He’s jumped straight up into my face from the floor. If he gets into my bedroom, he jumps on the bed and screams into my ear. I let him roam the house and all I get is shredded furniture. This room is the only place he can’t get into. I’m not safe in my own damn house.”

  I stare at him. I can’t believe he’s serious. “You’ve got…a cat panic room?”

  “I’ve got a room where I can sleep in peace.” He suddenly sounds tired.

  I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember poor Thor locked up in the other room, flinging himself against the door, desperate for attention, and I get angry again.

  “Why the hell do you even have a cat?”

  He shoves his hand through his hair again. When he answers the question, he doesn’t look me in the eye. “I have no choice. I had to take him.”

  That makes no sense. “We can find him a better home. I’ll take him. I know a good no-kill shelter where they can hook him up with somebody who—”

  “No. I’m not giving him up.”

  It’s my turn to run a frustrated hand through my hair. I have no idea how to deal with this situation. Usually pet owners are either willing to do what they need to do for their animals or they’re willing to let someone else take care of them. I don’t understand Jesse’s deal, and he seems not to want to explain.

  “Okay then. Fine. But if you’re not willing to do what you need to do to make Thor happy, then there’s no point in me being here. I didn’t want to take this on in the first place.” I start back toward the living room to grab my bag. “It’s obvious now that I was right.”

  Even so, I pull out a business card and hand it to him. “If you change your mind and decide you’re willing to listen to me, give me a call. But right now I have other places to be. I’ve got to be at the comic-book shop at six.”

  Too late, I realize what I just said. That was far more than I want Jesse to know about me.

  Following me out to the living room, he laughs. “Comic-book shop? Seriously?”

  I wheel on him, feeling my face go hot. It’s bad enough when he makes me angry, but this hits me where it hurts, and now I’m embarrassed. Still, I straighten and look him right in the eye. “Yes. It’s a comic-book meet-up. How is that funny?”

  “It’s not,
” he says, quickly sobering. “I think it’s cute.”

  “Cute?” I’ve had this argument too many times. Comics are worthless. Why are you sitting around reading X-Men and Black Widow when you could be doing something useful with your life? The words all run through my head in Dad’s voice. “They have literary merit. They win major awards, even. Get studied in college literature courses.”

  He shakes his head, waving me off like he knows I could go on and on about the merits of my favorite form of literature. Which of course I could. “I didn’t mean it like that, honest. I’m not judging you.”

  Yeah, sure he’s not judging. I turn back toward the door—I’m out of here. But there’s a hand on my elbow. His grip isn’t forceful, but he turns me back around to face him.

  “I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere. “I’m just having a hard time figuring you out.” He gestures toward my chest, and for a second I think he’s going to say something about my boobs. “You show up to give my cat therapy and you’re wearing jeans and a big baggy T-shirt with…” He struggles a moment. “That guy. With the claws.”

  “Wolverine,” I clarify archly. How does anybody not recognize Wolverine at this point? He’s only been in a gazillion movies.

  “Wolverine. Right.”

  “And what’s wrong with my T-shirt?” I can’t figure out if he doesn’t like the shirt itself or is criticizing my choice of superhero.

  “You’ve got a hot bod. There’s no need to drown it in clothes.”

  “Oh, really?” I plant my hands on my hips again. The nerve of this guy, telling me what I should wear! At the same time, though, his comment about my hot body has me rattled. Why would he tell me that? He’s seen what I’m hiding under that big T-shirt—all the stretch marks and the weird floppy bits that won’t go away. “Screw you.”

  “Damn, Maddy.” He seems flustered that I’m snapping right back at him. “I’m just saying I think you’re—”

  “Give me a break.” I don’t want him to finish that sentence. I don’t need this guy telling me I’m hot, especially since I know he doesn’t mean it. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I can’t even look at him right now. I’ve been here before—guys setting me up so they can knock me down. I don’t like it.