Page 8 of Power Play

Of course. Half the time I showed up at his place there was a perky blonde. Or a seductive red head. A cool brunette.

Sometimes all three.

“Hi,” I said. “Is Liam here?”

“Liam?” The blonde asked over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off me. “There’s a big cat here to see you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“A cat with attitude,” the blonde amended, and I almost laughed.

“A cat, huh? She real ugly? With a snaggle tooth?” Liam’s shout floated through the doorway.

“No,” The blonde said, her eyes walking all over me. “She’s cute in a sweaty kind of way.”

“Then it’s not who I’m expecting. Kit’s not cute in any kind of way. Just feed the thing some milk and it will go away on its own.”

I rolled my eyes again. “I’m Kit,” I explained.

“I gathered,” said the blonde. “Never heard him be so rude to a woman before.”

“What can I say?” I said. “I bring out the best in him.”

The blonde hummed and stepped back from the door so I could get through, but my giant cat belly and cat feet made it impossible.

“Sorry,” I murmured when my tail hit her in the head. “Excuse me.”

“Did you drive with that on?” she asked, stepping to the end of the foyer so I could get in.

“I took the bus.”

She laughed like I was joking and then sobered. I wasn’t joking.

“Liam is in the living room.”

I didn’t ask who she was or what she was doing there, because it seemed pretty obvious. She was a beautiful woman here on a Sunday morning. Wearing Liam’s sweatpants.

I wasn’t the most experienced cat in the world, but I could do that math.

On my giant cat feet I padded down the long hallway from the front door to the living room at the back of the house. Resolutely, I did not look around. I did not absorb any of the fruits of his labor, his rewards for all his hard work.

I ignored the framed jerseys, the trophies. The pictures with famous people that covered the walls. I walked down the hallway to the living room with the huge windows looking out over a golf course and that stupid painting of him over the couch.

I ignored everything. Except I couldn’t ignore the man in the room.

Because Liam was naked.

“Come on, Liam!” I cried, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“Doing what?”

“Put some clothes on.”

“I’m wearing clothes.”

I glanced back down and realized he was wearing gray boxer briefs and two gold chains nestled in the hair of his chest.

“Barely,” I muttered.

---