Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(36)
Pea looked me straight in the eyes and chittered. She abandoned the donut box and trotted to me, where she stood on her hind legs and stretched up with her front hands. I took her up in my arms and she sniffed my mouth, around under my ears on both sides, and up under my hair, where the leaves grew when I read the land. Her fur tickled; her nose was damp and cold. She made odd, high-pitched mewls and moans that might have been some kind of language. She spun in my arms and leaped across to Occam, covering far more distance than her limbs and build suggested she could. She scampered up Occam’s chest, shoving Torquil off her perch, and sat on the werecat’s arm, nose to nose. She chittered again, and then leaped back to the table, giving her total concentration to the donut box and its sweet contents. She extended a single steel claw and speared a donut, pulling it out onto the tabletop, where she bit into the sugary dough, leaving a narrow, V-shaped, toothy bite. Ignoring us. Leaving us to . . . what?
When I looked up from the table, Occam had moved. Silent. Predatory. He stood in front of me, far enough away for me not to feel like prey. But close enough to feel the heat of his body. Far too close. I raised my eyes from his chest, slowly, to his face. His lips were laughing and challenging, a hint of cat-gold in the depths of his eyes. His voice a purr of sound, Occam said, “Pea says you can’t get were-taint if we . . . dated,” Occam said.
A funny feeling sat on my chest, like an electric elephant, charged and heavy. The feeling began to spread out and up. And raced to my fingertips in a tingling uncertainty.
Occam moved closer. “Nell, sugar. I aim to kiss you now.” He leaned in, slowly. One hand came up, even more slowly, as if he thought I might break and run. He placed the hand on my cheek, the body heat of the werecat warm. His hand was smooth, skin over bone with strong knuckles. His fingers caressed from the corner of my eye down. Across my jaw.
His eyes held mine. So close I could see the specks of gold and brown in his amber eyes. His breath feathered across my face, smelling of the sweetness of donuts. He moved closer. Closer still. His lips were almost touching mine. Almost. Not quite. He smiled slightly. “Nell, you act like you never been kissed before.”
“I ain’t—I haven’t. Not like . . . Not like this.”
Occam’s pupils widened a little. Shock traveled through his body and hand to me.
I said, “John pretty much took what he wanted. He wasn’t mean. He jist—just—wasn’t kind or gentle.”
“Hell, Nell.” Occam’s eyes darkened. “You never been romanced?”
I thought about the other books I had read. Romance novels. Books filled with passion. With need. With sex that both partners wanted. And I thought about Yummy and her interest in Occam. “No.”
“Ohhh. Sugar.” His hand slid around my head, to my nape. His palm cupped my head. Carefully, he stood so his body didn’t touch me. His lips lowered the fraction of an inch. Touched mine. Warm, gentle. They slid across my mouth. Heated. Not chapped. Not demanding. Not hard.
I smiled against his mouth. And leaned in to the kiss. Something like electricity leaped from Occam to me. Electric heat spun through me. Down my limbs to my toes and my fingertips. Like a flurry of snow caught in a whirlwind, if snow were made of sparks. Back up to my belly, where the warmth and charged flurries pooled, low down.
I breathed out a sound I didn’t know I was going to make, half moan, half surprised pleasure. Occam’s other hand caught my face, holding me tenderly between his cupped palms. His thumbs caressed both cheeks. I closed my eyes. His tongue licked across my lips. My mouth opened and his tongue slid along and inside my lips, across my teeth.
I touched my tongue to his.
He stopped. Froze in place for a heartbeat or ten. I slid my tongue along his, testing the texture and the shape. His tongue moved. Following mine like a dance.
My breath was coming fast. Fear and excitement trembled through me. My cell buzzed and I jumped halfway into the kitchen. So did Occam’s. The werecat cursed softly, and we both pulled our cells.
I read the group text from Rick aloud. “Debrief in sixty. No exceptions.” I didn’t look up before I added softly, “So much for a date.” The word felt odd on my tongue, as if it didn’t belong there. Like the kiss. One not sanctioned by family or church or contract for marriage. Negative lifestyle patterns. I wasn’t certain if I was relieved or disappointed. I touched my mouth. Looked up at Occam.
“Temporary delay, Nell, sugar. Temporary delay.”
“But that was a very proper kiss.” I felt my mouth form a surprised and satisfied smile as I turned to the kitchen.
I put the Dutch oven in the fridge, gathered up my gobag and coat, and followed Occam out of the house. Thinking. I could eat a meal with Occam. I could. I had kissed him. Not because I was supposed to, or had Daddy’s permission to, or had wifely duties to perform, but because I wanted to. So. Dinner. Though I might not swallow a single thing. I might just push food around on my plate nervously. But I could sit at a table with him. I could kiss him again. Maybe.
SIX
The EOD—end-of-day debrief—was short and full of nothing much. While we ate pizza from the “All” shelf, Rick spoke. “PsyLED isn’t lead agency for the investigations, but it’s probably only a matter of time. So I want each of you to keep up with all interagency findings. First up is the fire at the Justin Tolliver home. Initial testing results are uncertain regarding accelerant on-site. However, consistent with the way the fire spread, investigators are still looking at the possibility of an accelerant-induced fire, deliberately set. I want the Tollivers’ lives combed through. FBI has financials, offshore accounts, cumulative debt, life insurance, trust funds, extramarital affairs, friends, lovers, enemies. I want us to take their data and sift it. Find out if this is part of the restaurant shooting and the Holloways’ party shooting, an accident, or just an opportunity taken by an unhappy spouse or family member or business partner.