Page 48 of Daddy By Design

A black and white cat shot out into the hallway and when it noticed the vast space, it got spooked and turned around only to bump into me. Its back went up and his fur puffed out as his gaze whirled around in abject fear.

“Gizmo!” Her voice was a sharp whisper.

The cat recoiled and then freaked out. Without thinking, I scooped him up. The cat howled and went all Wolverine on my arms and chest. His nails got caught in my old cotton T-shirt, which only made it freak out more as he flipped up my shirt.

She tried to reach for him, and her hand slipped across my exposed belly. Her brown gaze shot up to mine, but her hand didn’t move. She seemed to finally notice and snatched her hand back. “Sorry, he’s just scared.”

“I got him.” I didn’t, really. In fact, he was arching back and yowling, but I shuffled both of us inside so that the cat couldn’t escape, and I didn’t lose a pint of blood.

Once inside, the cat did a damn triple axel to get out of my arms and shot across the room.

She collapsed back against the door. “He’s out of sorts. Too many men have been in the apartment lately.”

As I checked my skin for blood, I caught her gaze roving over me.

She inched closer. “How bad did he get you?”

I pulled down my shirt. “I’m fine.” Just how many men? And why the hell did that matter to me?

She left me to call to the cat. “Gizmo, c’mon, buddy. You okay?” She stopped at the kitchen island and pulled a treat bag out of a canister and shook it. “Treat?”

The cat came bounding back into the room, took one look at me, and zipped right back out to hide in the hallway.

She sighed. “Sorry about that. We just had a situation and had to have maintenance guys in to redo the flooring and trim.”

I didn’t care, but I was admittedly relieved it wasn’t a bunch of men she was dating. Again, that shouldn’t freaking matter to me.

Her space was very much her. Classy with pops of color everywhere. A muted gray couch looked surprisingly comfortable instead of streamlined, but then she had a pillow in cherry red decorated with stark graphic flowers.

Wait, were those also bats in the design? Unexpected.

A few more dark touches explained why she may have been attracted to the Gothic attributes of my new house. The stained glass rose in an ebony frame on her dining room wall, the trio of candle holders on the sideboard in wrought iron with red tapers. A vase of flowers in black and red with a deep violet tulip that shouldn’t belong.

Not a typical decorator’s house.

A lived-in house.

So many of the artistic people I’d known in Los Angeles lived in showcase houses. All about the outward appearances, with very little individual substance.

Dahlia’s place had cat toys on the floor, a scratched-up ottoman with a stack of magazines on a tray, and a discarded iPad on the arm of the couch, with a forest green throw blanket dripping off the edge of the cushion like she’d tossed it aside.

“Are you coming?”

My gaze tracked to her in the hallway, the cat behind her swishing his tail.

“I have my office in my bedroom.” She and the cat left me in the living room as she disappeared.

Did she bring just anyone into her bedroom? Didn’t she realize how unsafe that was? I paused at the end of her hall. That damn peach and honey scent drew me forward.

An unreasonable anger brewed with each step.

I could be anyone and she just invited me in? Did she have no self-preservation? She didn’t seem stupid, but now I was beginning to wonder. My chest tightened as I stepped inside her space.

If it was possible, this was even more her than the living room.

I expected a made bed, but the sheets were twisted as if she’d had a rough night’s sleep like me. The simple gray of the sheets looked soft and probably smelled like her. If I stuck my face into her pillowcase, would it be all peaches or more of the honey?

Fuck.

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