Chapter 15
D ammit.
I was convinced my fixation with Fallon was a result of our time apart, a fleeting illusion that would fade once I got back to New York.
I was wrong.
The sight of her knocks the air from my lungs—her hair falls in loose waves, framing her face, while her ocean-blue eyes and the tilt of her chin exude confidence.
When I walked into the kitchen, I was mesmerized when I saw her singing her heart out. I couldn’t break the spell. Not when I had a front-row seat to the way she moved, carefree and lost in the moment. Her shorts molded to her ass, the fabric hugging every inch of her as she swayed her hips along to the music.
I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. The reasons I found her unbearable don’t seem to matter so much anymore. Before I left, I was ready for space, but now all I can think about is kissing her again.
“Now who’s the one zoning out?” Fallon says with playful sarcasm. “Good thing you weren’t the one using the sink, or the entire apartment would be underwater by now.” She’s leaning casually against the counter, a smug smile spread across her face.
“You had to have thought about me at least once while I was gone.”
“Oh, I did. Every time I made it through a horror movie without interruptions or strolled through the apartment in nothing but my underwear.” She smirks.
An image of her doing just that flits through my mind, and now I’m wishing I had peeked at the cameras at least a few more times while I was gone to see if there was any truth to her statement.
“Very funny,” I say.
“I’d like to think so,” Fallon says, moving toward me. “Don’t forget, you were the one texting me while you were in Aspen Grove.” My cock stirs as she takes hold of my tie and wraps it around her fist. “Multiple times, if I remember correctly.” She tugs on it, pulling me in.
“You texted back,” I counter, my hand slipping to the small of her back, bridging the space between us.
We’re close enough to share a breath, but neither of us moves away. It’s like the banter, and unspoken tension has finally spilled over, and we’re locked in a silent battle of wills.
Our gazes clash, neither of us willing to surrender as the weight of our unspoken desire lingers between us.
“What are we doing?” she whispers.
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
But I like it.
My finger follows the curve of her collarbone, while my other hand rests on her back. I’m tempted to lift her onto the counter and drag her sleep shorts off to see what sweet noises I can coax from her—still haunted by ones she made during our weekend together all those years ago.
Fallon’s breaths come out in quick, uneven bursts, her eyes fixed on mine, mirroring the same confusion as me.
We aren’t supposed to get along or whatever this is between us. Hell, if she could read my mind, she wouldn’t hesitate to slap me for my wandering thoughts. Why does that make me so damn hard? My primal instincts don’t care if I like her or not. They’re consumed with thoughts of her full lips, her long legs secured around me, and my hands gripping her hips with unrestrained possessiveness.
My rational side is quick to remind me that she’s my private chef—the one I’m supposed to despise—and getting too close is a dangerous game, no matter how tempting she may be. There’s also the fact that she’s taken over my apartment, and made it hers. Although, I admit the plants are growing on me since she’s using the herbs in her food, making everything taste even better.
Then I’m reminded of the hurt Fallon caused and how I thought I mattered to her, only for her to prove that wasn’t the case.
I stumble back, visibly shaken, and Fallon releases her hold on my tie.
That was a close call… too close.
A brief flicker of disappointment crosses her face before schooling her expression.
Fallon smooths out her apron, clearing her throat. “How was your trip to Aspen Grove?” she asks.
“Great. It’s always a good time when my family is all in the same place.”
“I’m surprised your parents let you leave early. Sounds like they take the holidays very seriously,” she observes as she grabs a bottled water from the fridge, twists off the cap, and takes a drink.
My mom practically shoved me out the door, but I’ll keep that part to myself—otherwise Fallon will ask why.
“They have the rest of my siblings to fuss over until the New Year. How about you? Did you and Cat have a nice time together?”
I’m asking for trouble by bringing up the topic, but I ignore the guilt rising in my chest in favor of my desperation for a confrontation to snap me out of this ridiculous attraction and reignite my irritation.
Fallon sets the bottle on the counter, narrowing her eyes at me. “Oh, you mean your feral cat who hisses whenever I get close?”
“That’s the one,” I answer, biting back a dry laugh.
He’s not mine, but I can’t resist playing along for a little while longer.
“Cat’s living his best life, destroying everything in his path,” Fallon answers smugly, motioning around the kitchen.
I take in my surroundings, including the claw marks on the wooden floor, the shredded curtains hanging in tatters, and one of the barstool cushions that has been reduced to tufts of stuffing littering the floor. I’m shocked I hadn’t noticed sooner, but my focus was entirely on Fallon when I got here.
“Are you going to tell me when you got Cat and explain why you kept him a secret? Please say you didn’t get him solely to mess with me,” Fallon says, folding her arms as she levels me with a suspicious glare. “And did you really have to hide all of his supplies? Not that I minded the shopping spree,” she adds with a smirk.
That explains the five-thousand-dollar charge at Velvet Paw.
“I didn’t get him,” I say, bracing myself for her reaction.
Fallon tilts her head, frowning. “Come again?”
“Cat isn’t—”
I’m interrupted by something running across my shoes. I recoil, my eyes widening when I glance down to find the cat in question racing past us, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove to investigate a batch of muffins Fallon must have baked earlier.
“Cat, stop,” Fallon shouts as she quickly moves to shoo him away.
He ignores her, sniffing the baked goods, nudging a muffin with his nose before tipping it over the edge of the counter onto the floor.
Fallon shoots Cat a sharp look, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re even more of a menace than your owner, you little devil.” She spins around to face me. “Do you see what I’ve had to deal with while you’ve been gone? He’s the reason I bedazzled your hockey stick.” I can’t help but laugh, earning a glare from Fallon. “What is so funny?” she bites out.
“I’m sorry, but it’s one thing seeing him misbehave on camera and another in person.” I manage to stifle another laugh as Fallon’s glare deepens.
She shoos Cat off the counter, earning an indignant huff before he hops down and sulks to the other side of the room.
“Why are you surprised? Obviously, you’ve seen him misbehave before. He’s your cat.”
I rub my neck. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. Cat isn’t mine.”
Fallon blinks rapidly, her expression hardening when she registers what I said. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve never seen that cat before.” I nod toward the scruffy creature, noticing that part of his left ear is missing, only seeming to emphasize his rebellious streak. “And I sure didn’t leave him with you while I was away to mess with you. You think the guy who lost his mind over some plants and throw pillows would be willing to trash his own apartment just to prank you?”
The chaos Cat has caused is almost enough to push me to the brink. But I remind myself that once he’s gone, replacing the furniture and curtains and fixing the floors will be simple enough.
That’s not the mindset I would have had two weeks ago. I’d have been in full-blown panic mode, angry at the state of the penthouse. However, despite Fallon’s frustrations with Cat, I can tell she’s fond of him. He’s a handful, but I’m glad she had someone to keep her company over the holidays, even if he’s a mischief-maker.
Fallon’s eyes widen as she swats my arm. “Are you serious? Why wouldn’t you tell me when we spoke on the phone?”
I shrug. “I figured I should handle it in person, and seeing your reaction is definitely priceless.”
She rolls her eyes, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh my god, you’re insufferable. Don’t you dare ask for an apology about your hockey stick. You’re not getting one after this stunt.”
I cross my arms. “Wouldn’t expect one anyway.”
In the past, I’d be furious with her, and make sure she knew it. However, I’ve got more pressing issues to deal with, like Cat wreaking havoc on my apartment. It’s just a hockey stick and I’ll be the first to admit it was a damn good prank.
“I’ll have Cabrina call animal control first thing in the morning. For now, we’ll keep the cat in the bathroom before he can cause any more trouble.” I move past Fallon, mentally mapping out how to corner the thing without losing a hand.
She grabs my arm, stopping me. “Wait! You can’t call animal control.” Her voice is panicked.
“Why not? In case it escaped your notice, there’s a stray cat lounging in my penthouse.” I gesture to the furry intruder who’s now sprawled out on a cushion in the corner as if it’s his personal throne, indifferent to the mess he left behind.
I press a hand against my face and inhale sharply. “Fallon, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about keeping the cat. We have no idea where he came from.”
I’m still convinced there’s no way he could have strolled into the penthouse alone. That means someone had to let him in, or he must’ve followed one of the delivery people through the lobby and into the elevator without being noticed. Which is hard to believe.
Fallon plucks a nonexistent piece of lint from her apron before lifting her gaze to meet mine. “What if I do want to keep him?” She casts a glance at Cat with sympathy in her eyes. “He’s definitely a stray with no other place to go.”
“Too bad. I have a strict no-pets rule.” I move around Fallon to grab a paper towel and scoop up the muffin Cat left behind, tossing it into the trash. “Especially not one who thinks it’s okay to tear up furniture and treat the kitchen like his playground.”
Fallon squares her shoulders, moving toward me. “Cat is staying,” she declares.
“What if I say no?” I counter, closing the remaining space between us.
She doesn’t flinch or waver. If anything, her resolve only strengthens as she stands her ground. “Cat stays, or we both leave.” She’s so damn passionate. It’s both exhilarating and exasperating.
I’ve wanted Fallon gone from the start, so why am I hesitating to let her walk out the door and take the cat with her? The obvious answer is her cooking. It’s out of this world, and after not having it for so long, I admit I missed it.
Yeah, that’s definitely the only reason I don’t want her to go. It has nothing to do with my inability to stop thinking about her. Or how badly I want to trace my hand along her jawline and feel the pulse in her neck against my thumb.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “Fine. Cat can stay for now,” I mutter, my patience wearing thin. “But you need to take him to the vet to make sure he’s up to date on his shots and doesn’t have fleas. We also have to figure out how to stop him from causing damage. If he ruins any more furniture or messes with my meals, he has to go.”
“Oh, thank you, Harrison.,” Fallon exclaims. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I freeze when she throws her arms around me.
Her appreciation sends a ripple of warmth through my chest, leaving me feeling unexpectedly content. Unable to stop myself, I wrap my arms around her and lean into her hug.
“You’re welcome.”
It’s strange, but with Fallon in my arms, everything else falls into the background. I stop worrying about the flood of emails in my inbox, the financial reports waiting for me, and even Cat’s destruction. All I can focus on is the warmth of her body and the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat against mine.
She goes rigid when she realizes we’re in each other’s arms and slowly removes her hands from my shoulders. I’m forced to let her go when she steps back.
“Sorry, I got carried away,” she says, glancing at the ground.
“It’s fine.” I do my best to sound unaffected as I dismiss it with a shrug.
Fallon turns to glance at the clock above the stove. “Dinner should be ready in an hour. I’m making meatloaf, and I’ll whip up a salad and potatoes to go with it once I’ve prepared something for Cat.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’ve been feeding the little terror gourmet meals?”
She nods. “I wouldn’t skimp on his food or he’ll revolt. Mealtime and horror movies are the only things we’ve managed to bond over.”
I hold out my hand. “What do you mean you’ve bonded over scary movies?”
“Cat loves them. He meows uncontrollably when I have to press pause or when they end,” Fallon says, like she’s talking about a friend, not a mischievous creature with fur.
“I’m going to regret letting him stay, aren’t I?”
Fallon grins, patting my chest. “Probably.”