Page 39 of The Holy Grail
“Are you lost?” Jules asked, bending to pet the cat, who gazed up with bright yellow eyes before rubbing her face against Jules’ hand. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
The door opened, and immediately the cat deserted Jules and dashed into the house. Surprised, Jules straightened, but before she could comment on the cat, Malcom was ushering her inside.
“Come on in, it’s freezing out there,” he said.
After quickly closing the door behind her, he pulled her in for a kiss, which he’d intended to be more of a greeting than anything else. However, as soon as he pressed his lips against her softer and slightly colder ones, it turned into more than just a simple greeting, and became an exploration, instead. His hands found their way into her hair, gently holding her in place so he could deepen the kiss and reacquaint himself with Jules’ unique, sweet taste.
He hadn’t seen her in almost a week, and it had felt like forever.
When he was on the verge of dragging her to his couch, he stopped, even though it almost hurt to do so. This passion for another person had been missing from his life forso long, he now wanted to immerse himself in it, and to hell with dinner. “There,” he said, with a quick cough, when he finally drew away from her, “now you’re all warmed up.”
“I’ll say,” she agreed, slightly breathless.
His manners kicking into gear, he helped her remove her coat and hang it up, discreetly admiring her in her flowing, knee-length skirt with a bold poppy pattern on it, and a fitted cream-colored shirt and matching short cardigan. On her feet were a pair of moss-green, suede boots that should have clashed with her outfit, but somehow added the perfect touch. “You really don’t look like an accountant.”
“And you don’t look like a lawyer,” she returned, noting he was wearing the same outfit he’d worn for their first date. “You know, you should have bought that shirt in every color.”
Malcom accepted her teasing with ease. “I should have, but honestly, I thought there was a possibility you weren’t going to go out with me more than once, so I just got the one shirt.”
“Are you serious? After I groveled to get you to go out with me in the first place, you thought I’d give up after one date?”
He shrugged. “You could have easily decided I wasn’t your cup of tea. Women change their minds, right?”
“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “And I’ve changed my mind about waiting a few months to go shopping for clothes. We’re going to knock that out next week.”
“Oh, we are?”
“We are. Put it on your calendar.”
He took her hand and led her down to the kitchen, the faint sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. As he had on their first dinner date, he got her settled at the island (this time with a glass of water), and then set a bowl of kibble down on the floor, which was immediately pounced on by the cat. Pointing, she said, “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
His expression turned a little sheepish. “I’m not sure I do, to be honest.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“Well, one morning when I was getting my paper off the front porch—”
“Wait. You still get the paper delivered? Like an actual, printed paper?”
“Yes. I read actual printed books, too.”
She hid a smile. “Oh, that’s right.”
“Anyway, one morning, while I was getting my paper, there was a cat on my porch, and he seemed hungry, so I fed him a can of tuna. A few days later, he appeared again, so I fedhim another can. Then the next time I saw him, he just ran into my house before I could stop him and sort of made himself at home. He stayed for a couple of days, then left for a week, then came back and I fed him again … and now he lets me know when he wants to go out and meows like hell when he wants back in.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A couple of months.”
“A couple of months?”
“Yes, but like I said, he leaves, sometimes for a week, so it doesn’t really feel like he’s my cat. Plus, when he’s here, I’m not even sure if he likes me or not.”
“Well, first of all, it’s a ‘she’, and second of all, sheisyour cat, since she keeps coming back to you. That’s an indication she likes you, or at the very least, tolerates you.”
“How do you know it’s a she?”
“Because torties are usually always female.”
