Page 11 of Purrfectly Outfoxed
Wait.
I jerk my head up and my mouth goes completely dry.
He’s tall. Much taller than I expected. At least six feet two, maybe more, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. His hair is black, like the tip of his fox tail, messy and sticking up in all directions like he’s been running his hands through it or just doesn’t care to brush. And his face?—
Fuck.
His face is all sharp angles and amused eyes, with a smile that’s equal parts charming and infuriating. He’s got a bit of scruff along his jaw, and there’s a small scar through his left eyebrow that somehow makes him even more attractive.
And he’s wearing nothing but a blanket wrapped around his waist like a towel. My fingers itch to reach down and…tug.
“Like what you see?” he asks, and his voice—his actual voice, not the one in my head—is low and rough and does things to my insides that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
I snatch my hands back like I’ve been burned, taking a step backward. “You—how—what are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He quirks an eyebrow, looking completely at ease, like wandering around a stranger’s house nearly naked is a totally normal activity. “Although I’m guessing from the murder I saw in your eyes, you were coming to visit me.”
“Visit is a strong word. I was thinking more along the lines of terrorize.”
“Hot.”
My face flushes. “Shut up.”
He grins wider as he lifts his right arm and takes a bite from something. A turkey leg. A massive, cooked turkey leg that Iknow for a fact was in the fridge because Bea was saving it for sandwiches tomorrow.
“You can’t eat that!” I hiss, reaching for it.
He lifts it out of my reach—because apparently being tall wasn’t enough, he has to use it against me too. “Why not, kitty-cat?”
“Because Bea will notice it’s gone! I never take anything she needs.”
“She’s old.” He takes another bite, completely unconcerned. “She’ll just think she ate it and forgot.”
“That’s—you can’t—” I jump for the turkey leg and he pivots, holding it even higher. “Give me that!”
“Come and get it, princess.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Would you prefer Whiskers?”
I growl—actually growl—and make another grab for it. This time he steps back and I stumble forward, catching myself on his chest again.
We’re close now. Really close. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, can see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, can smell that wild scent even stronger now.
“You want a bite? It’s delicious.” He wafts the turkey leg in front of my face, and fuck me, it does smell good. My mouth begins to salivate, and I can practically imagine the taste and the texture on my tongue. “Yeah. You want it bad, don’t you? It’s OK. I won’t tell. Just lean in and take a great. big. bite.”
Instead of giving in, I reach up and snatch the turkey leg from his grasp, spinning away from him as fast as I can and running it back into the kitchen, placing it on the plate he left sitting empty in the fridge. Typical.
“That wasn’t very fair, kitty.”
I glare at him. But you know what’s really unfair? The fact that he’s now fully in the kitchen with me, his stupidly wideshoulders filling the doorway, a smug look on his face. The blanket is barely doing its job, threatening to slip at any second, and I absolutely will not let my eyes dip below the collarbone. Not even once. My dignity is already on life support.
I carefully reassemble the saran wrap as if that’ll somehow disguise the bite radius then close the fridge. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, the muscle in his forearm flexing in a way that honestly seems intentional. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching me, tracking every flustered movement with those lazy, calculating eyes.
“Are you planning to keep staring at me all night, or…?”
His gaze drops, slowly raking down my body. Taking in the robe, the bare legs beneath it, the realization that I’m not wearing anything underneath.