Page 58 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

Logan

Istudy Emily's naked form in the morning light, discovering details I missed before. There's a thin scar on her left elbow and a coffee bean-shaped birthmark on her hip. Though her skin has these tiny imperfections, she's still pure perfection.

I sigh. What the hell am I doing? I move a lock of hair from her face and watch her expression as she sleeps. Her cheeks are faintly flushed, and her lips are pushed out in an adorable pout. I could spend hours studying each freckle, each curve. My hand trembles, wanting to trace the delicate curve of her jaw, to memorize her face through touch.

But reality intrudes. This night was a catastrophic error, one I need to end before it goes further. Before I hurt her.

I've been a real jerk to her, but the truth is, I don't have the slightest idea of what to do. Emily is right. I've behaved like an immature kid. Not this time, though. When Emily wakes up, we will talk about everything that happened and why it can't happen again.

Part of me wants to wake her with kisses, to pull her against me again. Instead, I force myself to slip from the bed even if my muscles protest, reluctant to leave her warmth.

Maybe we can try to be friends.

Yeah, right.

With the memory of her body still fresh in my mind, friendship seems impossible. If only things were different. If she weren't under my roof, working in my clinic. I can't kick her out, can't fire her. My only option is to talk, hoping she understands why we need to stop before it's too late.

I retreat to the kitchen and switch on the espresso machine. Then I open the fridge, satisfied to see I have everything needed for breakfast. We don't have to go to the clinic on Saturday, so I'll have plenty of time to talk to Emily.

My hands shake as I crack eggs into a bowl while bacon sizzles in the pan. Breakfast is my limited culinary specialty.

Lost in rehearsing what to say, I barely notice the soft padding of footsteps until I hear a sharp intake of breath. Turning around, I almost choke on my own saliva.

Emily stands in the doorway, wrapped only in a white sheet. Morning sunlight streams behind her, making the fabric almost see-through. Every curve of her body is visible, her nipples hard against the cool air. Desire surges through me, and my plans for a platonic discussion evaporate.

I have to clear my throat before I can speak normally. “Good morning!” I force a smile as my heart pounds against my ribs.

“Good morning?” Confusion furrows her brow, uncertainty in her voice. She doesn't move and watches me with suspicion.

“Come, sit. I made breakfast.”

Emily's eyes narrow, and she stares at me with her mouth half open. I frown. What did I do wrong this time?

“Bacon and eggs. My grandmother's recipe,” I add.

She still doesn't move. I swear she's even stopped breathing for a few seconds.

“If you'd prefer something else—” Something else? This is all I know how to cook!

“No, no,” she hastens to say, waving her hand dismissively. “It's perfect, thank you.” She approaches cautiously, still looking at me from the corner of her eye, then slides onto a stool at the counter. “Um, is there something you want to say to me?”

My mouth opens, ready to deliver my prepared speech, but one look into her eyes scatters my thoughts. I can't find the words to explain that I'm not the man she thinks, that my damage runs too deep.

“Do you speak my language? Do you understand what I'm saying?” she asks suddenly.

“Huh?” Her bizarre question yanks me from my thoughts. What the hell is she talking about?

“You,” she repeats, jabbing her finger at me. “Do. You. Understand. Me?” She points to herself, speaking with exaggerated clarity as though I'm hard of hearing.

“You're crazy,” I mutter, turning back to the neglected eggs, hiding my relief. Even in this tension, her quirky personality breaks through my defenses.

“Phew, for a second, I feared the worst,” she whispers.

When the bacon and eggs are perfectly cooked, I take plates from the cupboard and turn to serve her. I freeze mid-motion, nearly dropping everything.

“What are you doing?” The words come out sharper than intended.

She shrugs with wide-eyed innocence as if saying,Isn't it obvious?Demon sits on the kitchen island like a miniature sphinx while Bob sits beside Emily's stool. Both animals stare at the cookie suspended in her hand.

---