Page 35 of Without You

“Wow,” I whisper to myself. “He’s definitely talented.”

Throughout my inspection of Brody’s house, there’s one thing that’s consistent. The masculine, woodsy, smoky scent. It’s permeated the walls, it seems. It’s so perfectly Brody it causes a sigh to escape me after I inhale deeply.

Leaving the office, I walk into the last room on the main floor. I noticed a staircase leading to a basement earlier, too, and assume that’s where his laundry room is because I haven’t spotted that yet.

And this room.

This, is his master bedroom.

Where he sleeps at night.

And it’s perfect.

Decorated in blues and grays, his bed is enormous and so inviting I want to sprawl out on it. He made his bed today, even though it would not pass an inspection in the military.

The dark wooden dresser appears to be sturdy and well-made. The nightstands on both sides of his bed match the dresser but he doesn’t have a headboard. It looks like his mattress is just on a platform of some kind.

“Oh my,” I whisper when noticing what’s on his nightstand. “He reads.”

And not just car magazines. A novel. An actual, thick, heavy, hardback novel. I have no idea why that’s so sexy to me but dang, it is. Maybe it’s the glasses that are folded neatly and set next to the book.

I trail a finger over the raised letters on the slick cover then pick it up. Texas Outlawby James Patterson.

He likes suspense novels that are a little country, maybe.

I turn it over and read the back and am not surprised in the least that, by the placement of his bookmark, he is loving it. Even though I’m a little surprised to see that he’s a reader, the type of book that he seems to gravitate toward isn’t part of the shock. Small town. Country singer. Lawman. Mystery.

I return the book to where I found it and snoop a bit more. His bathroom. It’s… magazine worthy. How in the heck does he have a kitchen that looks like it does when the rest of the house is pretty much a walking HGTV renovation show advertisement?

Enormous rectangle bathtub in the corner that looks large enough to fit at least two grown adults. That thought alone makes me warm and tingly at the same time irritated because it makes me wonder who has been lucky enough to sit in the bathtub with him. The shower, also big enough for two, is tiled on three sides with two shower heads positioned in a way that it would rain down water on whoever is standing below them. I notice only a single bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, a bottle of generic brand body wash, and one body puff. Generic brand or not, whatever Brody’s washing his body with makes him smell amazing.

I turn around when I hear a quiet mewl and see a dark gray and black kitten sitting on the floor, licking her… well, private area. Completely unashamed. I suppose it could be a male kitten, too. I don’t really know. What I do know, is that it’s adorable. Its spotting resembles that of a leopard’s, and her eyes are bright blue.

“Well, hello,” I coo, slowly lowering so I’m on one knee in front of the little darling. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing there ever was?”

She looks at me as though trying to figure out whether or not to trust me so I extend a hand and let her sniff my fingers. Taking a chance, I reach out and lift her into my arms, tucking her close to my chest as I scratch around her ears. She immediately begins purring and turns her tiny little head into my ministrations. One ear twitches and the purring deepens.

“Okay. You’re precious. Will Brody notice if I steal you?”

“Yes, Brody would notice.”

I gasp and look up as I stand quickly, the adorable little kitten jumping out of my arms and darting to Brody’s feet. He bends down and picks her up as if he’s saving her from the dangerous kitten-napper. And then she nestles into his arms, crawling up his chest to rub her body against his.

Never in my life have I felt jealousy with another being as much as I do right now with that kitten. Because I get her. A cat. I’m jealous of a cat.

I feel kinship with a cat because she’s rubbing along Brody’s no doubt solid and muscly chest and damn it, I understand why she’s dropped me for him.

He smiles down at her and rubs his face on hers.

“This is Sabrina.”

No.

It is not.

He didn’t name his kitten after a teenage witch.

Or name his darling cat something as precious as Sabrina. He’s a manly man. Sabrina seems so…

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