Still Not Over You(48)
I arch both brows. “Wow. Big words for someone I didn’t even know was a cat person.”
“I wasn’t, I just...” He glances back at me again. Something like chagrin darkens his eyes. “You asked me about them before. And I shut you down.”
I offer a smile. I get it now, I really do. “If you want to tell me, I'm all ears.”
He hesitates, then laughs and ducks his head, almost boyishly. “It’s my Mom’s fault, really. My aunt passed away, and left these two behind. My mother was supposed to take them, but her condo association doesn’t allow pets, other than those yappy purse dogs.” A rueful smile bends his lips up. “Never doubt a mother’s power of persuasion.”
Never doubt a man’s power of persuasion, either, when he looks at you with soft blue eyes and lets his gaze drift over your naked body with only a thin layer of cotton in the way.
My face goes hot. Sweat beads on my brow. I can’t resist the magnetism in his stare, and I slip off the stool, padding barefoot across the floor to tuck myself against his side, picking up a bit of ham to feed to Mews.
“I think it’s sweet,” I murmur, resting my head on his shoulder as his arm slides around my waist. “And I like these little guys. I think they like me, too.”
“Mew!” Mews looks at me, giving the definitive answer.
Seriously. Is it really this easy?
It can’t be.
We’ll be fighting again by noon.
*
All right, so maybe it is this easy. Some days.
I can’t believe how I’m just falling into things with Landon. We click.
We got lucky, too. Milah’s latest show was delayed due to technical issues, which meant no snotty little Barbie prancing around, offended that Landon’s not drooling all over her. We don't know where she's gone since leaving his place, and thankfully, we don't need to care.
It's nice without Landon rushing off to put out figurative and literal fires. Just two weeks of quiet, sun, sand, some heavy wordcounts, and the most amazing sex ever.
Well, there was one fire.
Down on the beach, a few drunken kids started a bonfire. It spread to an old abandoned fishing shack. We got one hell of a scare when we were sound asleep, naked and tangled in each other, and heard the familiar wail of sirens.
After that, though, Landon seemed to relax more.
If those kids caused one fire, then they were probably behind others – including the one in the beach house that had him so worried about his mystery arsonist. I try to convince myself, too, slip into a convenient explanation for my strange hoodie prowler.
I like Landon relaxed. His eyes go soft in a certain way, and I remember him dreaming of stars.
Only, now he looks at me the way he looked at those stars.
I want to say I can’t fall in love with Landon Strauss.
But I’m not sure I ever fell out in the first place.
Especially when, in the early morning light, I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m awake before him, for once.
We’re both early risers, but he’s usually out for his morning swim before I’m awake. I’m downstairs making coffee before he comes in.
Last night was a little rough. As we get closer and closer to Milah’s rescheduled gig, he’s been more and more tense, and his crew has called with more problems. Last night he’d almost called the whole thing off.
And when he was shaking with anger, when he was furious and drawn taut with every line of his body hard and angry...
I’d touched his arm.
And he’d responded, wrapping me up and holding me tight. Just breathing hard and fast, until he went lax against me.
It felt strangely like sheltering him. Keeping him safe.
But he’d been so exhausted by the time he climbed into bed that he didn’t even want to touch me. Just hold me, tangled close, skin to skin, quiet in the dark.
I tell myself this isn’t a relationship. Not formally. We’ve dodged defining it for the past two weeks.
Still, it's something. Something magic as I trace the beautiful, brooding lines of his sleeping face, following the path the sunlight makes over his storming brow.
He stirs under my touch. This man doesn’t wake up like most people, snuffling and groaning and yawning.
The way he wakes up is just another part of what makes him an animal: one moment he’s still and quiet, the next he’s stone-tense and flooded with this vibrant energy. It's like switching on the lights in a darkened room.
Instant alertness. Predatory and oh-so-ready to strike at any danger.
Like now. One blue eye snaps open, assesses me, before softening.
He catches my hand and turns his head to kiss my palm, stubble rasping over my skin.
“Morning,” he rumbles. “You’re actually awake.”
“You overslept today.” I can't hide my smile.
“Bull,” he growls, though there’s a touch of drowsy laughter in it. He rubs his cheek against my wrist, raising those little shivers I love. Goose-bump prickles everywhere. “Guess I’ll be skipping my morning swim.”
“You still have time. You don’t have to deal with Milah for a few more days.”
“Mm. But if I go swimming...”
Suddenly, he's got a better idea for his wake-up ritual.