Seduce by Missy Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

once she was inside. “So, North Street?” I said, starting the car.
    “Well, I was thinking,” she began slowly, a smile creeping across her face, “Maybe we could have a coffee at your house? Get to know each other?” The surprise I felt must have been all over my face because she started to laugh.
    “If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” she chuckled, fidgeting in her lap.
    “No, if you want to come back to my place, that’s cool. It is pretty early anyway, and I only live around the corner,” I added, not sure why I felt the need to rationalize it to her. I had no idea how to take this girl.
    As we pulled into my parking spot, it hit me that I’d never actually brought a woman home before. My other places were convenient settings for a quick session, especially when I knew I wasn’t planning on seeing them again, but this girl—I didn’t care if she saw where I lived and to be honest, that scared the fuck out of me.
    “Nice building,” she commented as we walked out of the lift. My flat was on the top floor, and as I unlocked the front door, Mr. Jefferies came running up to greet me. “Oh hello, kitty,” she cooed, kneeling down to pet him.
    He rubbed himself up against her, basking in the attention. She picked him up, cradling him in her arms, nuzzling her face up against his. I smiled, feeling insanely jealous of my cat. What I wouldn’t give to have her rubbing herself up against me like that. What the hell was going on in my head? I never acted like this around any woman.
    “This is my cat, Mr. Jefferies,” I commented, reaching out to rub his chin. “Can I get you a drink? I have wine, beer—”
    “A soda is fine, thanks,” she cut in. I watched her as she carried the cat over to the sofa. She sat down with him on her lap, her face lighting up every time he meowed. She looked at home, not awkward or nervous at all—the exact opposite of how I’d thought she would act.
    “You like cats,” I said, stating the obvious. She nodded.
    “I was never allowed any pets as a child,” she explained. “But I’ve always loved them. I used to love sleeping over at friends’ houses because they had a menagerie of animals. It was great.”
    “And now?” I asked. She looked surprised by the question.
    “Leasing,” she explained quickly, “so I’m not allowed any animals.” Pushing Mr. Jefferies aside, she stood up and walked over to where I was pouring her drink. I grabbed a beer for myself and handed her the glass of soda, ignoring the sparks that hit me as her fingers brushed against mine. Every time we touched it was like a fucking fireworks show was going off in my head.
    “Have you lived here long?” she asked, glancing around.
    “A year or so,” I shrugged, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I felt with her in my space. She spotted my guitar in the corner, her eyes lighting up.
    “Do you play?” she asked.
    “Not well,” I chuckled. I walked over and picked it up, strumming a few cords. I didn’t play as much as I liked to anymore. Another example of where work got in the way.
    “You sound pretty good,” she commented shyly. I laughed. I could put together a few notes, but I was far from good. If she wanted to hear what a great guitarist sounded like, I was more than happy to show her. I opened my CD player and put in a disk.
    “What’s that?” she asked as the smooth sounds of Jimi Hendrix drifted through the various speakers around the room. Confusion creased her features as she tried to place the song.
    “Jimi Hendrix,” I said, chuckling. Her expression remained blank, as if I had just named some unknown, third-world artist. “You’ve never heard of Jimi Hendrix?” I gasped.
    Surely this was some kind of joke? Who over the age of fifteen hasn’t heard of Jimi Hendrix?
    “I’ve heard of him, I’m just not familiar with his music,” she replied defensively. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and gave me a look that clearly said if I didn’t drop