Page 12 of Purrfectly Outfoxed
“You know,” he says, his voice dropping even lower as he stalks toward me, “you are way hotter in human form.”
My knees wobble. Then my brain catches up with my body, and I hold up my hands, showing him my very human, very sharp nails. “And yet my nails are just as sharp as my claws.”
He looks at my hands. Then back at my face. Then he actually has the audacity to chuckle—this low, rough sound that does absolutely nothing for me except make heat coil low in my belly.
“Yes, please, kitty,” he murmurs. “Do bad things to me.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” I tell him, but my voice comes out thin and scratchy. Not the dangerous feline purr I was going for.
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “I’m pretty sure you were the one getting ready to murder me in my sleep. I was just up having a snack.”
“You’re—this is—I’m not—” I stumble over my words, which makes me even more angry because I don’t stumble. Ever. “Stop being so?—”
“So what?” He tilts his head in the opposite direction, all faux innocence except for the wicked glint in his eyes.
“So—” I gesture vaguely at all of him. “This!”
“This?”
“Yes! This whole—” I wave my hand at his stupid attractive face and his stupid attractive chest and his stupid attractive everything. “Whatever this is!”
“Are you saying you think I’m hot?”
“No!”
“Because it kind of sounds like you’re saying I’m hot.”
“I’m saying you’re annoying!”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. No words come out.
He grins like he’s won some kind of prize. “How do you think it’d work?”
“What?”
“A fox and a cat. Cats go into heat, right? And the males of your species have this weird backward?—”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
I cut him off and my cheeks burn. He smirks.
“But you’re thinking about it.” His eyes travel down my body again. “Don’t worry. I’m thinking about it too.”
“You bring that thing near me and I’m calling animal control,” I snap, “or maybe I’ll neuter you myself.”
He throws his head back and laughs, genuine and wild, and I have to suppress a shiver at the way it vibrates through the space. The sound is dangerously infectious.
I take a step back and realize, too late, that I have boxed myself into the corner by the fridge. He just stands there, arms crossed, eyes glinting with animal amusement, making no move to touch me but also making no move to leave.
“So what’s the plan, kitty-cat?” he asks. “Gonna chase me out with a spray bottle?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I say, but the bite is gone from my voice. “Where on earth did you come from anyway?”
He shrugs, which makes the blanket slip a full inch lower on his hips. I force my vision upward, but the effort gives me a headache. “Here and there. I get by.”
“Squatting, you mean.” I curl my lip, infusing it with every ounce of aristocratic contempt that years of practice can provide. “Don’t think being new here gives you immunity from the code of manners this household upholds. If you’re going to freeload, at least have the decency to wear pants before raiding the fridge.”