The world needs more men like Hank, doesn’t it?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Traces of pink stained Cat’s cheeks as she snatched her keys from her purse. Before Hank could read much into her blush or ask about her relationship with Esther, he spotted the number of dead bolts on her door and frowned. This upscale neighborhood shouldn’t have a serious crime problem, so why all the locks?
When the last one clicked open, Cat looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Home.”
The way she’d said it while grinning at him made it seem like they’d arrived at their home. Another freakin’ fantasy.
Even so, he couldn’t wait to get inside, having imagined her home many times since they’d met—brightly colored fabrics, stark modern lines, mirrors, and a few frilly accents. When he stepped inside, he immediately saw nothing he’d expected was true.
Brazilian cherry wood flooring lent warmth to the understated, homey space. The painted beige walls were offset with creamy-white trim. Interior French doors added an airy touch despite the small size of the rooms, so unlike the McMansions he’d become accustomed to building.
Her furniture was transitional but not modern, upholstered in neutral silks and suede, with dark, glossy wood accents. It was tasteful, elegant, and relaxing. Not at all what he’d pictured, but so much better.
He smiled at the thought of her here, then frowned at how vivid his daydreams would be after having seen her private space, which held the intoxicating aroma of her spicy perfume mixed with something earthy, like cedar. He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“What’s wrong?” Cat stared at him with her head cocked to one side.
“Nothing.” He rested his hands on his hips while willing his arousal into submission. “It’s pretty, Cat. Suits you.”
“Thanks. I fell for its cozy charm.” She pressed her lips together and, magically, he felt it between his legs. “It blinded me to its major shortcoming. Come on, I’ll show you the problem.”
His thoughts raced in all directions as they approached her bedroom. For reasons still unclear to him—especially after being jilted—his body responded to hers like with no other woman on the planet. His caveman instinct to toss her on her bed and take her might be difficult to hide.
Thankfully, they stopped in the spare bedroom first.
“See the piled-up boxes of stuff I can’t put away?” She strode across the room to the small closet. When she glanced at him, he noticed a calculating look in her eyes, but couldn’t imagine why. Probably just more games for her own amusement. “This closet stores my formal wear.”
She opened the door to reveal a space jam-packed with glittering, silky gowns. Gowns that had hugged her body the way he might’ve liked to, he thought as a shiver traced down his spine. His eyes widened as he processed the fact that the overstuffed closet contained only her formal wear.
Cat held up her pointer finger. “No judgments, please. I know—I have a problem. Hazard of my job, I guess.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “No judgments.” The price tags shocked him, but maybe she got some of the stuff for free, like movie stars. Quit analyzing her and focus. Scanning the small room, he asked, “So what other closet space do you have?”
She tipped her head toward the door. “This way.”
He followed her into her bedroom. It was lovely, and that wasn’t a word Hank used—ever. A needlepoint carpet covered a good portion of the floor. Her sleigh bed, constructed of a bird’s-eye maple and draped in a creamy satin duvet, dominated the room. Three pale-pink-and-green velvet decorative pillows added a splash of color. Feminine yet sophisticated.
Hank bit back a groan as he envisioned her lying amidst the bedding, her long, dark hair fanned out—or tangled around his fingers. The clarity of his vision fed the desire already coursing through his body. Despite his better judgment, apparently Cat St. James would always be his weakness.
Closing his eyes as if he could block out the image, he forced himself to turn away and survey the rest of the room. The only other furniture included a small nightstand and a narrow dresser with a mirror, both of which matched the sleigh bed.
Above her bed hung a sizable charcoal sketch of the figure of a woman with a “V” scrawled in its bottom right corner. He guessed Vivi drew it. Cat’s sentimentality—one of the traits he’d fallen for that first night—reinforced his love-hate relationship with the many ways she caught him off guard.
His silence must’ve drawn her attention.
“You’ve awfully quiet.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking?”