Chapter 4 #2
“Squatting, you mean.” I curl my lip, infusing it with every ounce of aristocratic contempt that years of practice can provide.
“Don’t think being new here gives you immunity from the code of manners this household upholds.
If you’re going to freeload, at least have the decency to wear pants before raiding the fridge. ”
He glances down at himself, then up at me, eyebrow quirked. “You want me in pants? That’s not very foxlike now, is it?”
“Well,” I say, “it wouldn’t kill you to try a little domestication.”
He stares at me for a long moment—just long enough, I know, to let the silence become a dare—and then he leans in, close enough that his voice is a warm brush against my ear. “You ever see a domesticated fox, Kitty?”
I refuse to flinch, but my heart thumps hard in my throat. “I’ve seen a well-trained one, if that’s what you mean.”
He tilts his head and pulls back barely an inch, but it might as well be a continent. “Can’t be trained. Not like a dog. Not like a cat, even. Wild’s in our blood.”
“I don’t care what’s in your blood.” I fold my arms, robe gaping ever so slightly.
“And I don’t care if you fancy yourself some kind of dangerous, untamable creature.
You’re sleeping in a basket in somebody’s laundry room and taking leftovers from an old lady’s fridge.
If you aren’t planning to leave. At least show a little respect. ”
His mouth curls up into a grin. “That mean you want me to stay?”
I snort. “If my options are ‘deal with you’ or ‘deal with Bea’s heartbreak when you vanish,’ then yes, I want you to stay. But not in my space.”
He steps back, finally giving me room to breathe. “You know, I haven’t been around long, but I’m starting to sense you don’t like sharing.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s a very astute observation. Now maybe you understand why I’m not eager to let you mark your territory all over the carpet.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Not really my thing. The property marking, I mean. But if you’d like to show me around, give me the grand tour, I’d love to see your room.” There’s a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. “Sure I could find something in there I’d like to mark.”
“You’re not coming anywhere near my room,” I say, but my voice has lost some of its edge.
“No?” He takes a step closer, and suddenly the kitchen feels about ten degrees warmer. “That’s a shame. I bet it’s real cozy in there.”
“It’s off-limits.”
“Everything about you seems to be off-limits.” Another step. “Your food. Your space. Your human.” He’s close enough now that I can see the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. “Makes a fox wonder what you’re so afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“No?” He plants a hand on the counter beside my hip, effectively caging me in. “Then why are you pressed in the corner like I’m about to bite?”
“Because you’re in my personal space.”
“Am I?” His other hand comes up to bracket me on the other side. Not touching, but close. So close. “Funny. From where I’m standing, it looks—no, it smells—like you’re enjoying this.”
My breath catches. “You’re delusional.”
He leans in, and I feel his breath ghost across my collarbone as he inhales deeply. A low sound rumbles from his chest—not quite a growl, but something primal that makes every nerve ending in my body light up.
“You smell fucking amazing, kitty,” he murmurs, his nose trailing up the column of my neck without actually touching my skin. “You sure about this Halloween magic thing? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were mine.”
The word ‘mine’ sends a jolt straight through me, pooling heat low in my belly. For half a second—one traitorous, foolish second—I want to tilt my head back and give him access. Want to find out what his mouth feels like against my throat. Want to feel his teeth sink—
No.
I plant both hands on his chest and shove. Hard.
“I will never, ever belong to a man,” I hiss, ducking under his arm and putting the kitchen island between us. “Especially not some silver-tongued fox shifter who thinks he can charm his way into my life with a smile and a loose blanket.”
He doesn’t chase me. Just watches with those knowing eyes, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips.
“Never say never, kitty-cat.”
“It’s Tabitha,” I snap. “And you’d do well to remember that this?” I gesture between us. “Whatever you think this is? It’s not happening. You’re here for a few days, maybe a week, and then you’re gone. End of story.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Then why are you still standing here?”
Damn him. Damn him and his stupid face and his stupid abs and the stupid way he makes me feel like I’m seventeen and seeing a boy for the first time.
“Goodnight, asshole,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t much considering my knees are still shaking.
“Sweet dreams, beautiful. And it’s Jasper, by the way.”
“Sure, Casper. Whatever.”
“Jasper,” he says again, and I roll my eyes.
“I said, whatever.”
I turn on my heel and march out of the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hall to my room. I close the door firmly behind me and lean against it, pressing my palms flat against the cool wood.
My heart is racing. My skin is flushed. And between my legs—
No. Not thinking about that.
‘You know I can hear you, right?’ His voice slides into my mind, amused and entirely too satisfied. ‘Your thoughts are very loud right now. Maybe if you’d reach down and touch that spot you’re thinking about, we could both have a good night.’
‘Get out of my head.’
‘Can’t. Halloween magic, remember? We’re stuck with each other.’
‘Then at least have the decency to pretend you’re not listening.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
I growl—out loud this time—and shift back into my cat form, padding over to my heated bed and curling up tight. Maybe if I ignore him hard enough, he’ll get bored and leave me alone.
But ignoring him proves impossible, especially when his laughter echoes in my mind like a persistent itch I can’t scratch.
‘Sweet dreams, Kitty. Don’t worry, I’ll behave.
.. mostly.’ I curl tighter into a ball, tail wrapping around my nose, willing sleep to come and shut him out.
But my thoughts keep drifting back to that kitchen encounter—his scent, his heat, the way his eyes pinned me in place like prey that secretly wants to be caught.
The way his voice sounded when he called me ‘mine.’
Fuck.
I am so screwed.