Page 112 of Painted Scars
She yawns and blinks back heavy eyes. “You’reluckyIlovethat nickname. I have reason to be grumpy, working three jobs for the last six weeks and getting little sleep.” She pokes me in the stomach. “And your dick needs to take responsibility for keeping me awake until the early hours of the morning.”
“I’ll give you that.” I rub her hip. “You’ve got more reason to be grumpy than me.”
I smile, not feeling as lonely now that there are two grumps first thing in the morning. She’s dropped the performance and isn’t trying to dazzle me with sequins.
I trace her collarbone. “Is that your way of saying you won’t breathe dragon fire on me?”
She snaps a sassy eye open. “I’ll hold off on digging your glittery grave only because I love you, and you look sexy in my apron and make tasty pancakes.”
Those three words hit harder than any bullet can. Maybe I’m not completely damned after all.
I huff out a laugh. “Glad to know you only view me as eye candy who can cook.”
She brushes her fingers along the ridges of my stomach, appreciating her protective piece of stalker meat.
I nip her jaw. “I’m going to pour fairy stalker mother glitter into your panties so you don’t wake up grumpy.”
She laughs and props herself on her elbow, hair a glorious disaster that I sink my fingers into. “I’m awake now and twenty percent less grumpy.”
“I know something to boost your sunshine by fifty percent.” I roll her onto her back and lean over her to capture her lips in a morning kiss. She sighs into my mouth.
PJ3 stretches, yawns, and shoves his paw into my face, his version of scolding me for moving.
“Just fifty?” Her nails trace lazy circles on my back.
“Sixty percent.” I kiss the column of her throat, showing her just what kind of pleasure the percentage entails.
CHAPTER 32 - KATE
“Kitty Kat, where are you?” Burt’s voice slithers down the hallway from his office, a snake on the hunt for a mouse.
“Shit!” My stomach knots and sirens wail in my brain.
The photocopier groans like it’s as tired as I am from working all day, starting at 5AM to pack orders, squeezing my exposé articles around my day job. I should be at home, eating a delicious meal prepared by Daddy and wrapped in a six-foot-four wall of muscle rather than be here.
“Kittttyyy Kaaaatt,” Burt drags out the name, and nails drag down my spine.
That asshole put me on night assignments to get me alone and badger me again. I left twice last week before he got his chance to corner me. Tonight, I’m not taking another risk. I yank open the document feeder and snatch my expense claim for reimbursement from the glass.
The door creaks open, and I crawl out of my skin, crunching my paperwork in a messy bundle. Burt corners me near the copier, close enough to choke me on his cheap aftershave.
“Come, and we’ll finish the article together,” his voice is slick with smugness.
His fingers walk up my arm, mocking the dangerous crosswalk story I’m working on. Beady eyes crawl over my pink blouse, telling me tonight he’s decided I’m done dodging him.
Bile surges up my throat. I’ve been evading him for four weeks, since the last incident. He stayed away until last week and then resumed his old habits.
I swat him away. “Don’t touch me, Burt. Remember what happened last time with my boyfriend?”
I probably shouldn’t mention my stalker when our partnership is secret and somewhat forbidden.
He withdraws and blocks the exit with his body braced on the door. “You owe me, Kate. Your boyfriend cost me two thousand to replace my windshield.”
Fuck him.
I don’t owe him a cent. The only thing he’ll get is a new set of teeth and gouges all over from my hand weapon.
“Move. Now.” I fail to budge him out of the way.
