Lawless winged up an eyebrow. “What else have I taken from you?”
“You moved back in.”
He chuckled. “It’s my cabin.”
“Yeah, well.” She clicked her tongue. “He’s still my cat; you don’t even like them.”
“Who said?”
“You keep none of the kittens that you help.”
“Because they didn’t belong to me.”
“They could have if you’d wanted them. You keep things you want.”
Ah, fuck. She wasn’t talking about abandoned cats now.
His wiring might not be firing in the correct sequences, but he could read between the lines as well as the next dickhead man.
“Yes, angel.” He answered, eyes on the side of her face. “I keep things I want.”
Did she know?
Would she hear?
She stiffened, her fingers frozen on the keys, and for a few seconds, she stopped breathing, and the tension grew as heated as a raging inferno. Lawless watched every emotion play over her delicate face from the other end of the wide U-shaped couch.
She understood what he was putting out.
She exhaled in a brief shudder and continued typing.
Good girl.
Those abnormal thoughts of his pushed in again and showed him other circumstances where he’d make her shudder like that. It put moisture on his tongue.
Being without sex for the last two and half years didn’t feel all that difficult.
Until right now.
Being in front of something he hungered for.
Obsession slithered over his vision.
Pandora was out of the box, allowed to prowl free, and the moment Lawless let the reins go, he was unhinged with his thoughts.
Swimming in filth.
Without warning, Angela jumped up, leaving the computer on the couch. Oscar came awake and clawed Lawless’ shoulder the fuck up in his haste to follow his mistress. She headed toward his bedroom. “Angela, you’re upstairs now.”
“What? You moved my stuff?”
“Yes.”
He heard feet on the stairs.
And then. “You touched all my things?”
“It didn’t levitate upstairs.”