Kira Sinclair - Caught Off Guard

Instead, a laugh—probably hysteria—bubbled up inside her chest at the look of absolute horror he gave the spitting, clawing sack of skin in his hands. He held the cat as far in front of him as the console would allow. “Why do you have a skinned squirrel in your car?”

Reaching over, she snatched her baby from his hands. “Prada is not a squirrel.” She turned her focus to the cat and held her up to coo at her, “Are you, baby?” She did it more because she knew it would bother him than for anything else. How she knew this, she had no idea, but she was dead certain it would.

And the curl of his lip and squint in his eyes proved her right.

“She’s a hairless cat.” Placing the cat in her lap, the black-pink-and-white mottled ball of skin curled up, keeping her eyes firmly on the man who’d dared to pluck her up from her comfy seat.

He watched, a mixture of horror and bewilderment on his face. “Why do you have a hairless cat?”

She shrugged, continuing to run her hand down the rough skin in rhythmic strokes. “Her original owners bought her because it was trendy, but then decided she was too much trouble to keep, so they took her to the shelter. But no one wanted her. The shelter volunteers said everyone thought she was ugly.” It had broken her heart to see the tiny, shivering thing stuck in a corner cage, away from everyone else. She’d watched as several children had ignored Prada, opting for the cute and cuddly kittens with their wide take-me-home eyes. It had stirred something inside her. Prada deserved a chance to have a warm and loving family.

“That thing is ugly.”

She looked over at him in disgust. No one ever looked beyond Prada’s unusual exterior to the fiercely loyal soul beneath. Just another reason they never would have worked. Want her body? Love her cat.

“She’s not ugly… . She has personality.” Prada sighed, a discordant sound that cut through the car, and closed her eyes for a nap. Anne wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the cat was sort of a spoiled brat.

The silence stretched out around them. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, the kind that left you lax and somehow in tune with the person next to you. There was too much friction, too much male sexuality emanating off him for her to be comfortable.

What she wanted was for him to go away. No, that wasn’t true. What she wanted was to take him upstairs—to hell with the ninjas—and let him give her libido another mind-blowing workout. What she needed was for him to go away. Because she couldn’t deal with this—with him, too—right now.

She wanted him with a fierceness that had apparently sharpened in the month since she’d seen him, not lessened. The problem was that she shouldn’t. They weren’t good for each other. He made her feel things she’d left in her past. He made her want to abandon everything and lock them both into a room with a bed for the next month … or twelve.

She couldn’t think of anything but him when he was so close.

So he needed to go. Turning her head, she looked at the man sitting beside her. Comfortable. Cocky. Solid as a damn bull.

“What do you want, Blake? You didn’t come here looking for Karyn. It’s way too late to contact me about our night together. Why are you here?”

He opened his mouth to answer her. She could see it would be something pat. It was written in his eyes. You could never lie to a champion liar.

“No bullshit.”

He snapped his mouth closed again and stared at her for several seconds. She realized the minute he decided to tell her the truth, because his face took on a pinched look and his eyes went all soft and apologetic.

The expression shouldn’t have looked good on him. Blake Mitchell was made to be a hard man. He had the body—tall, broad and thick with muscle. He had the attitude—confident, as if he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. But that touch of softness, of regret, made him more human somehow.

It also tied her stomach in knots. She wasn’t going to like whatever he was going to say.

“Your mother asked me to bring you home.”

BLAKE WATCHED as her entire body went rigid. Her jaw. Her hands. Even the muscles in her thighs. Not that he should be looking. Not now anyway. It was like lighting the fuse on a bomb and then getting distracted by the beauty of a sunset.

Stupid and pointless.

“Funny. I don’t remember Mother having an office in Huntsville.”

“What?” Shaking his head, he realized he needed to focus. He had no idea what she was talking about and that was a quick way to disaster. He was probably already headed there but …

“You said you met with a client in Huntsville before coming here. I didn’t realize Prescott Hotels had an office in Huntsville.”

The lightbulb flipped on. Damn she was quick.

“They don’t.”

The sirens of a police cruiser wailed in the distance, saving him from having to come up with more of a response. Those sirens were the perfect reminder that Blake could no longer question her mother’s words. Anne was in serious trouble.

And he was going to help her whether she wanted him to or not. He would not let someone hurt her. He still wasn’t certain that meant taking her home to her mother, but one issue at a time.

The first one being her look of skepticism. “I didn’t lie. I met with another client. A government contractor worried about securing classified documents.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds became louder as the police car pulled into the parking lot for Anne’s complex. “Go away, Blake. I don’t need or want you here. I don’t care what my mother wants, either. I’m not going home.”

Hopping out of the car—that drowned rat cradled to her chest—she slammed the door in his face. Frowning, he followed slowly behind Anne to where she and a cop stood close together.

The man was middle-aged with his blue Birmingham Police Department uniform shirt stretched over a slightly bulging belly. He was listening intently as Anne shared the details of the break-in.

Taking a step closer, Blake positioned Anne in the shelter of his body, almost touching her shoulder with his chest. He used his height to protect and claim. He couldn’t say why, but the urge had been there and no desire to fight it had surfaced.

The maneuver earned him a glare from Anne, something that actually made his mouth twitch into a grin. What was it about needling her that made him smile?

He kept his mouth shut though. He had nothing of importance to add to the conversation and he’d learned a long time ago that listening always netted more information than talking.

“Let me take a look around first, then if everything is clear we can go inside and speak some more.”

Anne nodded and they both watched as the officer strode toward her house. The tension was back in her muscles. Hell, he could have cut wood across her shoulders they were so tight.

Without thought, he reached for her, offering the comfort and support of his arms. This was harder for her than she was letting on. He could only imagine the turmoil and sense of violation she must be fighting, something that had likely been a daily part of her life when she’d been Annemarie Prescott. But she’d put that behind her until today.

To his surprise, she let him tug her close. His arms wrapped around her stomach, her back nestled snuggly to his chest.

“I’m sorry, Annie.”

A shiver tore through her. His reaction was immediate and intense, his cock jerking stiff at the smallest rub of her body against his own. He fought back a groan and hoped she was too preoccupied to notice.

Her chest expanded on a deep inhalation of breath. She held it for a second before finally letting it all go in a slow, smooth stream of air. Then she stepped free of his arms and turned to face him.