Читать книгу Kissed by Cat - Shirley Jump - Страница 12

Garrett remained rooted to the spot until he heard the soft whoosh of the door. Then, when he could function enough to move, he took a seat on the rolling stool in the corner. He left the lab coat on the kennel, an empty reminder of the woman who’d just been wearing it.

His mind conjured up several pictures of the retreating and naked Catherine but he dismissed them all, trying his damnedest not to think about what she looked like without his jacket.

It worked, for about one second, and then the pictures came anyway. Luscious, creamy skin. Firm thighs and breasts. And above it all, those steady gray-green eyes, watching him.

Garrett closed his eyes, leaned against the wall. He’d done the right thing by getting rid of Catherine Wyndham.

Then he thought of Queenie, and how she’d responded to the woman’s touch. How the dogs seemed to calm when she walked by. How every animal in the place appeared to watch her, as if they knew her somehow.

He’d never met anyone who had such a connection with animals. She would have made the perfect assistant. An even better vet.

For someone else, he amended. Not for him.

And yet, he couldn’t rejoice at driving her away, as he had all the other times he’d made someone leave him alone. By asking about his scars, she’d opened the door most polite people left shut. Everyone else was smart enough to leave it at staring and whispering about him behind his back, wondering what tragedy had left him with that tortured appearance.

There were rumors, Garrett knew. A vengeful woman who’d set his house on fire. A drunken night of partying ending in a fiery car wreck. A fight with another man over a girlfriend. The whispers were constant. Garrett didn’t bother to correct anyone. His scars were his own mark of stupidity and he saw no reason to tell anyone about how he’d earned them.

Still, he’d been mean to her—too mean. He’d lashed out like a dog that had been beaten and didn’t know a gentle hand from a cruel one. Somewhere in the last three years, he’d lost the bridge to people and replaced it with one to animals. Clearly, he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t even behave like a civilized person anymore.

At the very least, he owed Catherine Wyndham an apology.

He heard another door open and close, somewhere in the back. She must have gone in search of Tiffany’s clothes. Despite his best intentions, he pictured her slipping into a dress, the silky fabric gliding over her breasts, sliding past her waist, snuggling along her hips. Touching where his hands dared not go.

He’d been alone for so long. Three long years spent in an empty, cold bed. Three long years without the voice of another. With only his own company, which admittedly, wasn’t all that pleasant.

Garrett stood and went down the hall, toward the storeroom. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but she opened it before his knuckles met the wood. “I’m leaving now. You don’t have to escort me out the door.”

Tiffany apparently hadn’t left many clothing choices behind. Nor had she been as tall as Catherine. The skirt Catherine wore only reached her mid-thigh, the black suede against the pale expanse of her skin. She wore a fuzzy pink sweater that rode up a little on her stomach, exposing a flat, pretty abdomen. And on her feet, red high heels that did nothing to calm the fantasies rolling through his mind.

“I’m not here to throw you out. I just came to—” His words drained away when she shifted and the sweater strained against her rib cage.

Tiffany had definitely been smaller than Catherine. In every way.

The slide show of her in the nude and in his bed played again in his mind, a lusty tape stuck on repeat. If he’d had a mental Pause button, he wasn’t so sure he’d have the strength to punch it.

Silence ticked between them. “Came to…what?”

He cleared his throat, reminded himself of his real reason for coming down this hall. “Apologize,” he muttered.

“Did I hear you say apologize or antagonize?”

“Hey, I came to say I was sorry, not start a fight.”

She put her hands on her hips and the sweater jumped up another inch. Oh Lord, she had an innie. A petite, perfect belly button.

He needed a drink.

“Then say it,” she said.

He let out a gust that mixed a hundred different types of frustration into one. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a curt nod. “Have a nice life.”

Catherine brushed past him to leave and he caught her arm. The move sent her off-kilter and she stumbled back, against his chest. The link he’d felt earlier with her multiplied tenfold, launching within him like a burst of color in a black and white world.

So many years. So lonely.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and kissed her.

So many years. So lonely.

The words echoed in Catherine’s head. Had she thought them? Or had he?

When Garrett touched her, a searing heat exploded within her veins. Instead of pulling away, Catherine drew closer, seeking, needing…

What, she didn’t know.

And then…and then, his lips met hers and she knew what she needed. This—this touch, this tender, reverent touch, drifting over her mouth with the care of a jeweler handling a rare diamond.

She opened her mouth to his, ignoring the warning bells going off in her head, heeding only the strange desire for more of whatever was between them. She twisted against him, pressing herself to his torso, her hands reaching for his back. He cupped her face, rough skin against smooth, so full of sensation it seemed like a thousand nerve endings were awakening for the first time.

So many years, with no physical contact from others. She’d done her best to stay distant, to keep her heart intact, knowing she’d just be moving on again. But here, with Garrett’s mouth on hers, his hand against her cheeks, her chest pressed to his, she felt…

She felt as if she’d come home.

From the other room, a cat let out a meow. The sound jerked Catherine back to reality. To her damned half existence.

The curse can only be broken if you can find a man who can love you both as a woman and as a cat, the witch had said. That evil twist on the fairy tale—the witch knew what she’d been doing. No one could love her knowing she was half human and half house pet.

Even this man, with his clear love for animals, would recoil if he knew what she really was. What she became when the sun went down.

She stumbled back, breaking the connection. Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed a hand to her heart, willing it to slow. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I was completely at fault. I—” He swallowed hard and took two steps back, once again hiding his face from her in the shadow of the corner, as if the intimacy of their kiss had opened another wound. “It’s best if you leave.”