Chapter 39
KAT
Grimm joined the call right before we hung up. The kid had mostly been a dead end once Grimm located his truck in the high school’s parking lot. The teenager had been approached by a hot older lady with long blonde hair and dark clothes on Sunday at the gas station.
She paid him a hundred bucks to graffiti my garage door. He said it was supposed to be a joke, and he needed the money to take his girlfriend out to the movies. Grimm said the kid almost peed his pants when he realized it was not a prank.
And now, under Jace’s watchful eye, he’s repainting the door.
He also said he remembered part of a license plate but I stopped paying attention, excusing myself and wandering back through the downstairs to the kitchen.
There’s no tea kettle to speak of, but that feels like the least of my worries as I pull a small pot from one of the bottom cabinets and fill it with water.
“Are you all right?” Tom asks, the sound of his voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine as I place the pot on the stove and turn on the burner.
“You know, authors get such a bad rap for romance being unrealistic, but I can guarantee that if I told this story,”—I wave my hand around—“I’d get just as many side-eyes as if I’d made it all up.”
I’m going for levity, but Tom’s expression doesn’t change. Concern is etched into the lines on his face, and for the first time since I met him, he looks tired.
“I think people believe what they want to believe. You can read an arguably terrible book and love it because it’s exactly what you needed at that time. It wasn’t a literary masterpiece, but it didn’t need to be.”
“I don’t think you’ll catch me retelling this story fondly.”
“Hey now,” he teases, closing the distance between us and settling his hands on my ass, his gaze skating to the opposite side of the island where he ate me out and then bent me over. “I will forever think of that counter fondly.”
I laugh and swat at his chest. “It’s nice to know under that tough exterior you’re still such a guy.”
His expression is wistful, his features softening as he presses a light kiss to my lips. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to truly enjoy anything—anyone—like this.”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” he asks, pulling me closer, the bulge in his pants impressive as he grinds me against him.
“That thing where you’re sexy and sweet.”
“You can’t tell anyone that,” he mumbles, his chest reverberating with quiet laughter.
“Don’t worry, I have no desire to fight off the hordes of women that would surely end up on your doorstep if they knew.”
“Hordes of women?” he repeats, his eyebrows moving up his forehead as he stares at me in disbelief.
“Yup,” I reply, popping the p for emphasis. “Don’t you see how women look at you when you’re out in public?”
“You’re assuming I’m looking for attention, Kitten.”
The nickname sends a little zip of awareness straight to my core. I’d only been with one other guy who attempted to call me that, but I’d put a stop to that almost immediately. The way he’d said it was almost condescending, but we’d been young so immaturity was a factor.
Still, it always left me feeling icky.
Maybe I just needed the right guy to say it.
And now I found him.
I never knew you could make one word sound so possessive.
Gravelly.
A praising endearment, like I’m something special.
“What are you looking for?”
“Threats mostly,” he deadpans and I roll my eyes, the moment dissipating as the conversation takes a less suggestive turn.
“We’ll have to work on your flirting.”
“My flirting? You had no complaints last night about my flirting, if I remember correctly.” He pauses and adds, “Or this morning.”
“That’s not flirting; that’s sex.”
“I’m more of an actions over words guy,”—his smirk is wolfish—“and I was definitely flirting with your pussy when I had my tongue—”
“Gah!” Shock and arousal bombard me like a system overload, and without thinking, I push up onto my toes and press my mouth to his.
My cheeks are on fire, the sound of his words both turning me on and too much for me to handle.
“I thought that was rather poetic,” he muses as I bury my face in his chest. I need him to stop talking before I die of embarrassment. “I’ve seen what you write, Kitten, and that wasn’t even close.”
“Ugh,” I whine, still talking directly into his shirt.
“I know, but it’s different. I have someone who proofs my audiobooks.
Bailey laughs at me but I just can’t.” A new wave of panic hits me as I think about the few people that might actually care that I’m missing.
“She doesn’t know I’m gone. Neither does Colt. What if—”
“Colt has been notified. He’s pissed but he’ll manage. I can have Royce reach out to Bailey and let her know that you’re okay but that we’re taking precautions for the time being.”
“She’s going to be pissed,” I murmur more to myself than to him.
“Yes, well, she can be pissed you’re alive instead of the alternative.”
“Fine.” My huff is less over the fact that he’s chastising me and more for the fact that I still can’t believe this is happening.
Before yesterday, I’d been uneasy and maybe a little scared, but someone had, in fact, tried to run me off the road.
What if they had succeeded?
The strip of roadway there is lined with trees, and there would have been no way for me to stop in time. And then I might not be here with Tom.
I might not be here at all.
A shiver races down my spine and it has nothing to do with Tom’s fluency in oral pleasure. Suddenly, I feel cold, a chill replacing the warmth that being in Tom’s embrace had given me.
“A scare tactic then.” Royce’s theory about the driver’s intentions comes back to me in a flash.
A scare tactic.
It’s almost worse, like a game of cat and mouse—one I’ve written more than a few times now.
Clearing my throat, I move away from him and toward the stove, turning off the burner and pulling two mugs down from the cabinet.
“Do you want some tea?” I ask, ignoring the fact that I hadn’t tried to locate anything resembling tea before boiling the water.
“There’s an electric kettle in that cabinet,” he says carefully, obviously picking up on my sudden shift in mood. Silently, he pulls a small wicker basket with assorted teabags from the shelf above said teakettle and places it on the counter.
“Thanks.”
“I need you to talk to me, Kat. I need to know what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling.” I can feel the snarky retort on the tip of my tongue, the one that wants to blast him for what he said in my office, but he holds up his hands in surrender. “I know.”
“Do you though?” I snap, tearing off the top of the packet with an unsatisfying rip as I pull the teabag out and dunk it in my cup. “Because I don’t even think I know.”
The admission hangs between us, me being mad for the sake of being mad and unable to articulate a reason. But instead of matching my negative energy, Tom takes my hand and threads our fingers together.
His presence is calm—grounding—and I sag against the counter, my hip propped up on the edge.
“I want to do this with you, and that’s new for me. I’ve never had to think of someone else in this,”—he squeezes my hand—“capacity.” Ducking to meet my stare, he adds, “Go easy on me; I’m figuring this out too.”
It might be the first time he’s ever looked sheepish in his life but it’s adorable. And I appreciate him taking a leap and laying his vulnerability out for me.
“Okay,” I tell him, a smile playing on my lips. “Can I make a confession?”
“Is it going to give me more gray hair? Because I’m rather fond of the few strands holding out.”
“I think you look sexy. Women go crazy for a silver fox.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Kitten,” he growls, scooping me up and setting me on the counter, pushing my legs open as he stands between them, “I only care about you.”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” I muse, running my palms up the hard muscles of his chest, “but an orgasm would go a long way in convincing me.”
“Is that right?”
“It is.”
“Well, then lie back, baby, and let me get to work.”