Page 11 of Just Say (Hell) No
It could be the pair of gray jeans that clung to every curve. There was also the deep-purple top with its billowing sleeves, its tightly fitted waist, and some lacing between her breasts that was doing him no favors at all.
He guessed it was meant to be a gypsy motif. It was working for him.
Not much less effective than the running clothes, actually. Same thick mass of dark hair, out of its ponytail today and tumbling to her shoulders. Same square little face, same sea-green eyes, mostly behind a camera, unfortunately. Same assurance. Samemouth.
She said she wasn’t interested. He’d swear she was. Or maybe that was him. In any case, something was taking him back into that room, and it wasn’t his promise to Brenda.
He got to the door the same time as she did. She was carrying another cardboard box, a smaller one this time. There were two kittens in the box, sitting on a towel. A tiny gray one, and a larger white one with long hair.
He eyed the white kitten with misgiving. A man could just about get away with cuddling puppies. Cuddling a white kitten that looked like it should be in a Disney movie, though? That might be a bridge too far.
He could have decided he’d spent long enough here and left. Instead, he opened the door for Nyree and ushered her through, carefullynotputting his hand on the small of that back. No right. Professional obligation. Professional situation.
That indentation, though. That spot just above a woman’s tailbone, where her soft skin curved into that sweet little dip, creating a couple of irresistible dimples either side of her spine. Her gypsy shirt barely missed meeting the low waistband of her gray jeans, leaving a few centimeters of skin visible. Unfortunately, they included that spot that, if you stroked it exactly right, would make her shiver and go liquid inside. And his hand was so close.
Once he had the door closed, she set the box carefully on the floor, which made her shirt ride up some more. The white kitten promptly leaped out and did the cat thing, strolling around the room looking aloof, then jumping up on one of the chairs and prowling its arms and back as if testing its balancing skills. The gray kitten was too small to get out. Instead, it sat in the box and stared up at Marko with big blue eyes.
He didn’t have a good feeling. Well, he did, but not about the cats.
Koti looked at his watch and said, “Whoops. I’ll have to miss this one out. Time for me to go.”
“I thought you were my moral support,” Marko said.
“It’s all relative,” Koti said. “I’ve got a baby and a two-year-old at home, and Kate’s looking at the clock right now.”
“Which makes one wonder,” Marko said, “why you came at all.”
Koti grinned, not a bit abashed. “To have something to entertain her with, of course.” He asked Nyree, “Think you could email me a couple of those snaps? My daughter Maia would like the one of me with the puppy, and I’d like the one of the puppy weeing on Marko. That one would be choice.”
“Of course,” she said. “Happy to help.”
He gave her his address, then said, “Seeya, mate,” to Marko, and was gone, but Marko wasn’t looking at him. He was watching Nyree.
He said, “So.”
“So,” she said, then blinked. Slowly. It was an extravagant thing, all sooty black lashes and sea-green eyes with dark flecks. Changeling eyes.
“Cats,” she said, shaking him out of it. “I thought a white kitten. With the… ah… blue jersey. Contrast again. If you’d just… pick it up.”
Now that Koti was gone, the room seemed too quiet. A faint hiss from the ventilation system, the imagined sound of Nyree’s soft breath, and that was all. She picked up her camera, which she’d had on a strap around her neck, as if arming herself. But he could still catch her scent.
Cookies. That was what it was, odd as it sounded. She smelled like a cookie, and she looked like she’d taste like one, too. Absolutely delicious.
She didn’t even come to his shoulder. Too short. He wasn’t going to say “too curvy” again, because he wasn’t thinking it. But definitely too short.
“Kitten,” she reminded him, seeming to get her assurance back along with the camera.
“Right.”
Except not. He approached the chair where the white kitten was perched, and the kitten drew back. He came closer, and it hissed, its ears flattened, its sharp little teeth showing. It lifted a paw, claws extended, in case he hadn’t got the message. He looked at the claws, looked at the teeth, turned to Nyree, and said, “Maybe not.”
“But it’s friendly,” she said. “Here.” She reached down, scooped the kitten up, and offered it to him.
The kitten spat.
Nyree said, “All right. Maybe not,” and put it back into the cardboard box. Where it hissed at Marko some more.
The tiny gray kitten was still in there. Colored like a puff of smoke and just about as substantial, staring at Marko out of big round eyes. He picked it up, maybe because he wasn’t quite ready to go home yet, and the tiny animal curled into the palm of his hand. He put his other hand over it all the same and lifted it carefully to his chest.
