don’t think that counts. I’m no master thief. Somehow I’d believed that if I could just converse with Gracie, a way out would be obvious. So much for being blissfully naïve; evidently I’m just stupidly naïve.
It’s not generally like me to berate myself for long, so I shake my head, get up, and head back to my car. I’ll think of something. I can always talk to Barb or Naomi to brainstorm. What I really need is someone who is a master thief—or who at least knows the tricks. Maybe there’s something on the Internet.
I’m rather lost in thought as I walk, so I almost scream when I realize there is someone leaning against my car. No, not someone. Jorge. Instead of screaming, I suck air into my lungs as a gasp. What the hell does he think he’s doing?
And why does he look so good? Dammit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I put on my best pissed-off face.
He’s a cat after all, so he can probably see at night at least as well as during the day, if not better. It would explain a lot about how he got around so gracefully last night.
“I might ask you the same thing.” He’s immediately defensive. We glare at each other for a few seconds.
God, he is hot when he’s annoyed, green eyes blazing in the moonlight, muscles tensed .
Fuck. You’re mad, remember?
He softens his expression and sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. That’s hot too. Dammit .
“I apologize. I didn’t come here to fight with you.” His apology disarms me a bit.
“OK. Then why are you here?” I maintain my pissed-off face. It’s about all I’ve got between getting safely in my car and starting to cry from embarrassment and shock. Or jumping him.
“Despite how things were left last night, I am still concerned for your welfare, Chloe. It was not my intent to upset you last night. I am, uh, I am…”
I want to jump in and finish his sentence with something like “stupid,” “mercurial,” “heartless,” “a cad,” et cetera, but I bite my tongue. I did, after all, admit I might already be in love with him earlier today. Perhaps I shouldn’t do anything to completely screw this up .
So instead of a biting retort, I soften my expression but still stare mercilessly, willing him to look back up and meet my eyes.
He finally looks up, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “…I do not do well interacting with people. And I don’t tell people my secrets.”
I find myself melting a little when I see some chinks through the wall he erected last night. “Yeah, well, I can understand that.”
He looks mildly surprised that I’m not berating him or stomping past him to get in my car. Am I really that harsh?
Yeah, maybe. No, definitely, if I go on what he’s seen of me.
“You do?” He looks more vulnerable, and therefore more sexy, by the minute.
“I know having to hide a part of yourself puts up a pretty big barrier to maintaining relationships,” I say, and find I mean it. I smile. “And you do seem like kind of a nerd, too.” I’m relieved by the slight upturn to his lips.
“A nerd?”
“Yeah. You’re quiet and I bet you know a lot. You’ve got a bookish vibe.” At that he seems a little crestfallen, and I worry I just undid any repairs I’d made to this incredibly awkward conversation/relationship/future marriage/whatever.
“That’s not a bad thing. Nerdy can be cool. I’m somewhat of a science nerd and bookish myself. And you’re a pretty sexy nerd, so it’s all good.” Oh, God. There go my capillaries again.
I decide the best way to save face is to keep staring at him, so I see his mouth widen into a satisfied grin. His nervousness seems to have evaporated, and he’s back to cool cat. “You think I’m sexy?”
“And if I do?”
He chuckles. Then he is moving toward me so quickly he’s almost a blur. He weaves his hands into my hair and kisses me. Not a gentle, get-to-know-you, let’s-ease-into-this kind of kiss, either.
Wow, talk about erratic. Maybe
It’s not generally like me to berate myself for long, so I shake my head, get up, and head back to my car. I’ll think of something. I can always talk to Barb or Naomi to brainstorm. What I really need is someone who is a master thief—or who at least knows the tricks. Maybe there’s something on the Internet.
I’m rather lost in thought as I walk, so I almost scream when I realize there is someone leaning against my car. No, not someone. Jorge. Instead of screaming, I suck air into my lungs as a gasp. What the hell does he think he’s doing?
And why does he look so good? Dammit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I put on my best pissed-off face.
He’s a cat after all, so he can probably see at night at least as well as during the day, if not better. It would explain a lot about how he got around so gracefully last night.
“I might ask you the same thing.” He’s immediately defensive. We glare at each other for a few seconds.
God, he is hot when he’s annoyed, green eyes blazing in the moonlight, muscles tensed .
Fuck. You’re mad, remember?
He softens his expression and sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. That’s hot too. Dammit .
“I apologize. I didn’t come here to fight with you.” His apology disarms me a bit.
“OK. Then why are you here?” I maintain my pissed-off face. It’s about all I’ve got between getting safely in my car and starting to cry from embarrassment and shock. Or jumping him.
“Despite how things were left last night, I am still concerned for your welfare, Chloe. It was not my intent to upset you last night. I am, uh, I am…”
I want to jump in and finish his sentence with something like “stupid,” “mercurial,” “heartless,” “a cad,” et cetera, but I bite my tongue. I did, after all, admit I might already be in love with him earlier today. Perhaps I shouldn’t do anything to completely screw this up .
So instead of a biting retort, I soften my expression but still stare mercilessly, willing him to look back up and meet my eyes.
He finally looks up, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “…I do not do well interacting with people. And I don’t tell people my secrets.”
I find myself melting a little when I see some chinks through the wall he erected last night. “Yeah, well, I can understand that.”
He looks mildly surprised that I’m not berating him or stomping past him to get in my car. Am I really that harsh?
Yeah, maybe. No, definitely, if I go on what he’s seen of me.
“You do?” He looks more vulnerable, and therefore more sexy, by the minute.
“I know having to hide a part of yourself puts up a pretty big barrier to maintaining relationships,” I say, and find I mean it. I smile. “And you do seem like kind of a nerd, too.” I’m relieved by the slight upturn to his lips.
“A nerd?”
“Yeah. You’re quiet and I bet you know a lot. You’ve got a bookish vibe.” At that he seems a little crestfallen, and I worry I just undid any repairs I’d made to this incredibly awkward conversation/relationship/future marriage/whatever.
“That’s not a bad thing. Nerdy can be cool. I’m somewhat of a science nerd and bookish myself. And you’re a pretty sexy nerd, so it’s all good.” Oh, God. There go my capillaries again.
I decide the best way to save face is to keep staring at him, so I see his mouth widen into a satisfied grin. His nervousness seems to have evaporated, and he’s back to cool cat. “You think I’m sexy?”
“And if I do?”
He chuckles. Then he is moving toward me so quickly he’s almost a blur. He weaves his hands into my hair and kisses me. Not a gentle, get-to-know-you, let’s-ease-into-this kind of kiss, either.
Wow, talk about erratic. Maybe
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