her ears alone.
Her cheeks pinkened to match her lifting nose. “Three, if everyone cooperates.” She held his gaze long enough for him to feel like a fool, then walked toward the kitchen. “There’s a trick to unfolding the roll-away bed, Allie. And the pilot light sometimes goes out on the stove. How about taking the ten-cent guided tour?”
Allie’s enthusiastic nod made Joe stare. Whatever happened to “This sucks big-time“?
Ignoring him completely, Catherine glided around the apartment touching features with the grace of Vanna White turning letters of the alphabet. He’d never seen a woman move like that. So erect, yet so fluid a book on her head wouldn’t have wobbled.
They spent a long time in the walk-in closet talking about bed latches, linens and storage space. The bathroom tour drew Allie’s appreciative, “Cool.” After that Joe quit paying attention and sat on the sofa with a sigh.
For a man who supposedly understood women, he couldn’t seem to get a handle on Catherine. Take this apartment, for instance.
In his living-room experience acceptable colors ranged from beige to dark brown. Fabrics matched. Walls were covered with family photographs or framed prints. The only purple in sight was grapejuice stains on the carpet. But this …
He stretched out his legs and gazed around. This place was as foreign to him as a subtitled movie.
Now that the shock had worn off, he could tell there was a weird sort of order to everything. Somehow the green-checked sofa blended with the floralpatterned armchair. The glossy green patio table and chairs looked good against the purple back wall. Even the Mardi Gras masks hanging like pictures didn’t spook him the way they had at first. The black iron doorstop, though, would definitely have to go.
Joe examined the thing with a shudder. He hated cats. All cats. Even fake ones. He leaned forward and squinted. Stood up and moved closer. Bent down and reached out.
The doorstop opened slitted green eyes and hissed. Something gray streaked up close and bit Joe’s outstretched hand.
“Son of a bitch! ”
“Romeo!” Catherine rushed forward and scooped the gray cat from the floor.
Clutching his injured hand, Joe glared at the scruffiest, ugliest, meanest-looking excuse for a famous lover he’d ever seen. Satanic yellow eyes glared back from the cradle of Catherine’s arms. At her feet, the black doorstop yowled plaintively.
She looked down, her expression softening. “It’s okay, Juliet, he’s not hurt. See?” Catherine lowered the huge gray tomcat to the floor, where he began grooming himself as if soiled irreparably by the incident.
Joe pointed a wounded finger. “ He’s not hurt? I need a rabies shot, for cryin’ out loud.”
Frowning, she reached for Joe’s hand, examined his punctured skin with a small sound of dismay, then twisted toward Allie. “Honey, would you get antiseptic and bandages from the medicine cabinet please?
Crouched on the floor stroking the black cat, Allie looked up and met Joe’s stare. Traitor, he accused silently.
Her golden skin flushed. “Sure thing,” she mumbled, loping off to the bathroom.
“Romeo’s had all his vaccinations. You won’t need a rabies shot,” Catherine assured him.
“Where the hell was he hiding all that time?”
“Under the couch. He probably thought you were going to hurt Juliet. He doesn’t like men.”
“No kidding,” Joe muttered.
Bending her head, Catherine probed his wound. “Does it hurt much?”
Like he’d been stabbed with hot pokers. “Nah.”
“Such a manly man,” she said, amusement lacing her voice. “Is this my cue to swoon?”
“You wouldn’t be the first one, doll.”
Her green gaze lifted. The air hummed between them. Her shift in mood from skeptical to speculative didn’t surprise him. His fierce desire to satisfy her curiosity did.
Allie ran up, breaking their locked gazes. “Here’s the stuff you wanted,” she said breathlessly.
Catherine
Her cheeks pinkened to match her lifting nose. “Three, if everyone cooperates.” She held his gaze long enough for him to feel like a fool, then walked toward the kitchen. “There’s a trick to unfolding the roll-away bed, Allie. And the pilot light sometimes goes out on the stove. How about taking the ten-cent guided tour?”
Allie’s enthusiastic nod made Joe stare. Whatever happened to “This sucks big-time“?
Ignoring him completely, Catherine glided around the apartment touching features with the grace of Vanna White turning letters of the alphabet. He’d never seen a woman move like that. So erect, yet so fluid a book on her head wouldn’t have wobbled.
They spent a long time in the walk-in closet talking about bed latches, linens and storage space. The bathroom tour drew Allie’s appreciative, “Cool.” After that Joe quit paying attention and sat on the sofa with a sigh.
For a man who supposedly understood women, he couldn’t seem to get a handle on Catherine. Take this apartment, for instance.
In his living-room experience acceptable colors ranged from beige to dark brown. Fabrics matched. Walls were covered with family photographs or framed prints. The only purple in sight was grapejuice stains on the carpet. But this …
He stretched out his legs and gazed around. This place was as foreign to him as a subtitled movie.
Now that the shock had worn off, he could tell there was a weird sort of order to everything. Somehow the green-checked sofa blended with the floralpatterned armchair. The glossy green patio table and chairs looked good against the purple back wall. Even the Mardi Gras masks hanging like pictures didn’t spook him the way they had at first. The black iron doorstop, though, would definitely have to go.
Joe examined the thing with a shudder. He hated cats. All cats. Even fake ones. He leaned forward and squinted. Stood up and moved closer. Bent down and reached out.
The doorstop opened slitted green eyes and hissed. Something gray streaked up close and bit Joe’s outstretched hand.
“Son of a bitch! ”
“Romeo!” Catherine rushed forward and scooped the gray cat from the floor.
Clutching his injured hand, Joe glared at the scruffiest, ugliest, meanest-looking excuse for a famous lover he’d ever seen. Satanic yellow eyes glared back from the cradle of Catherine’s arms. At her feet, the black doorstop yowled plaintively.
She looked down, her expression softening. “It’s okay, Juliet, he’s not hurt. See?” Catherine lowered the huge gray tomcat to the floor, where he began grooming himself as if soiled irreparably by the incident.
Joe pointed a wounded finger. “ He’s not hurt? I need a rabies shot, for cryin’ out loud.”
Frowning, she reached for Joe’s hand, examined his punctured skin with a small sound of dismay, then twisted toward Allie. “Honey, would you get antiseptic and bandages from the medicine cabinet please?
Crouched on the floor stroking the black cat, Allie looked up and met Joe’s stare. Traitor, he accused silently.
Her golden skin flushed. “Sure thing,” she mumbled, loping off to the bathroom.
“Romeo’s had all his vaccinations. You won’t need a rabies shot,” Catherine assured him.
“Where the hell was he hiding all that time?”
“Under the couch. He probably thought you were going to hurt Juliet. He doesn’t like men.”
“No kidding,” Joe muttered.
Bending her head, Catherine probed his wound. “Does it hurt much?”
Like he’d been stabbed with hot pokers. “Nah.”
“Such a manly man,” she said, amusement lacing her voice. “Is this my cue to swoon?”
“You wouldn’t be the first one, doll.”
Her green gaze lifted. The air hummed between them. Her shift in mood from skeptical to speculative didn’t surprise him. His fierce desire to satisfy her curiosity did.
Allie ran up, breaking their locked gazes. “Here’s the stuff you wanted,” she said breathlessly.
Catherine
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