Page 47 of Cruelest Contract
And lo and behold, there’s my cat hunched beneath the table. Louisa’s paws are tucked beneath her and she’s motionless. Just a mound of grey fur with sharp eyes.
I’ve given up trying to keep her with me on the second floor. She doesn’t like it up there and seems much happier with her bed, food and litter box placed in the mud room not far from the kitchen.
Dropping slowly into a crouch, I hold out my hand and call her name in the sweetest tone I can muster.
Louisa doesn’t budge. Her whiskers twitch as she sniffs the air. The shape of her mouth turns down, making it seem like there’s a permanent frown stamped on her face.
With no warning she takes off, zooming past me and disappearing down a dim hallway. I think she might have run into Cass’s study but I don’t plan to wander in there and check.
My bad knee pops as I rise. Yesterday Louisa hopped up into Fort’s lap while he rubbed leather oil on his boots in the sitting room. He scratched her ears and she purred, just like she did with Getty. It seems like my cat is going to fall in love with every member of the Tempesta family before she even gives me a chance.
I’m trying not to feel hurt. She’s a cat. I have no idea what goes on inside her grumpy little head but I’ve never felt so unlikeable.
Determined footsteps patter in this direction and I look up to find Mel approaching with a bruschetta tray and a broad smile.
“Don’t you look lovely,” she says. “Dinner’s about to be served. Tonight it’s chicken marsala and Enzo whipped up some blackberry gelato for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious. Can I take that?” I reach for the tray but Mel shakes her head.
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ve got it.”
She gazes at me expectantly, waiting for me to join her on the walk to the dining room.
And she’s a speed walker. I need to hustle to keep up.
“Mel, why don’t you ever eat in the dining room?” I ask.
“I have a small dining table in my suite,” she says. “Occasionally I’ll eat with the staff. But meals should be private time for the family.” She notices how I’m looking at her with confusion and adds, “It’s my choice.”
This seems to close off the issue to more questions and anyway there’s no time. We’ve arrived at the dining room.
“Look at our beautiful girl,” Mel announces and sweeps her free arm in avoilagesture that ushers me into the room.
Three out of the four Tempesta brothers are already seated at the long table. All of them wear freshly ironed shirts and there’s not a cowboy hat in sight. They immediately rise to their feet upon my entrance and I wrestle with the urge to escape their scrutiny.
A sharp wolf whistle comes from Tye. “Stepping it up a notch, huh?”
Fort gives me a teasing wink. “Not that we’re complaining.”
Julian pulls my chair out and holds my gaze. “You look beautiful, Cecilia.” The heated current in his voice is drenched in sexual tension.
I’m mildly dizzy as I take my seat and allow Julian to push it closer to the table. I can’t explain why. I should be used to being near him by now.
What is it about this man that constantly turns me into an infatuated puddle?
Physical attraction is potent. Of course I’ve felt it before. But never as strongly as I feel it for him. My thoughts melt into hazy clouds when I should be keeping Alice’s good advice in mind.
“Make him jump through a few hoops.”
But how can I do that? I should have asked. My flirtation skills have always been deficient.
Julian declares that since their father isn’t around we don’t need to wait for Getty to show up. I can feel the three of them watching me as I cut up my chicken. And I wish I hadn’t rolled the sleeves of my dress down. Fixing them right now is too conspicuous. I’ll just have to cope.
Between cutting up my food, fretting about my cleavage, and being hyper aware of the fact that Julian is sitting so close that I can feel his body heat, I don’t even notice when Getty walks into the room. The next time I look up, there he is, sitting across the table as if he’s been there all along.
“What was that?” Fort asks his brother.
Getty pours the pitcher of ice water into his glass. “What was what?”
