What’s New Pussycat(13)

“It’s Bolognese, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the mate. I just don’t…” He set the knife down, moving away from the island and toward the fridge.

“Want to mate with someone forever,” she finished for him, peeling a carrot. “I get it. You don’t have to defend that because I don’t either. I like single probably as much as the average male, maybe even more.”

Derrick pulled out a bottle of red wine and held it up, a question in his eyes.

She nodded with a happy sigh, feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. “Oh, please. A glass of wine would be fantastic. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” A long while.

“Because?” he asked, pouring two glasses and dropping one in front of her before he resumed chopping some onions.

“No questions, remember?” she asked, taking a long sip from her glass, letting the chilled liquid sit on her tongue for a moment, feeling the pressure of guilt for asking him to stay out of her business when her business could bring trouble. She was still at odds over whether she should tell Derrick why she hadn’t been able to shift.

But are you risking his pack and its members if you don’t?

Derrick smiled, and when he did, it was more of that beautiful he had going for him. His teeth perfectly white, his lips full and delectable. “We haven’t made the deal yet, remember?”

“Right. So the deal. You have any fine-tuning you want to do?”

He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “Maybe just a question or two before we finalize. Nothing too personal.”

Martine pursed her lips. “Go,” she said, setting the wine down and grabbing the peeler.

“How did you end up at the 7-Eleven?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. All I remember was going to bed the night before—”

“In cat form?”

Martine nodded, pushing the stray tendrils of hair falling from the knot on top of her head out of her face. “Yes. I went to bed and woke up when you found me in the cat carrier. I don’t know how I got there or even how someone managed to stuff me into it without waking me.”

Come to think of it, that was rather strange. She was by no means a light sleeper, but she certainly would have awakened if someone were dumping her into a tiny plastic box.

“And why couldn’t you shift?”

“I wasn’t being difficult, honestly. I guess it’s like you said, nerves? Anxiety?” That sounded as good as any explanation.

“Fair enough. Anyone you want to call to let them know you’re okay? Family?”

She bristled at his intrusion then caught herself. Derrick was clearly close to his family. It was only natural he’d think she had family she needed to inform of her whereabouts. But she didn’t. None she wanted to call anyway. No one who would answer that call, and definitely no one who could help her…

There was no one. Well, maybe her landlord—because she was six months overdue on her rent, and then she thought better of it. “Nope. I’m golden.”

“Okay, so the deal is, you stick around for another three weeks until the next full moon, we…”

Martine watched him falter, struggle with the words. More adorable. More melty-knee syndrome. “Make the business. Do the do. Copulate.”

“You’re not shy, are you?”

“I just told you I’d have sex with you so you won’t die, and you don’t even have to buy the cow. Does that say bashful?”

He laughed, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he did, the deep rumble of the sound pleasant. “Also fair. So why would you do this? You don’t even know me. What difference does it make to you if I end up dead?”

Because she knew the paranormal. She knew the kind of fruitcakes running around in their world. She knew what it was to be frustratingly held captive with no control and the clock ticking away as your only bedfellow. Because Derrick didn’t seem like the kind of guy who should die for something he had nothing to do with.

Also, because she needed a place to stay, a safe harbor, and she wasn’t above doing what she had to do in order to hang on to it for as long as she could until she was able to figure out what to do next.

Doesn’t that make you loose? She’d given that niggle of her conscience a good dressing down the first time it reared its ugly head. Did it make her loose if she was saving a life? One that was likely good and honorable, if her nose and senses were still in proper working order?

Would it make her loose if circumstances had been different and she’d met Derrick at a bar? Or maybe at the reception of one of the weddings she planned? He was beautiful to look at.