Pretty Kitty (2 page)
Instead, however, she was lapping up the sauce like it was cream.
Thank all the gods she always gave him her purse to hold. Her intent was to make sure someone didn’t steal it while she was on the dance floor or otherwise not paying attention to it. But Max had formed the habit of slipping out her car keys and sticking them in his pocket until the evening was over. If she was sober enough when she got ready to leave, then he tucked them back in and she was none the wiser. But tonight he was sure he wouldn’t be giving them back. He wasn’t too anxious to pour her into a cab, either. Cab drivers weren’t the most trustworthy guys in the world.
A glance at his watch told him they were just thirty minutes from closing time. Thank the gods. He reached behind him and yanked on the rope of the bell hanging there. It was the signal for the band to stop playing for a minute and give him a chance to make his announcement.
“Last call,” he shouted. “Better get ’
em
now.”
People immediately surged from the dance floor and crowded the bar or waved down the waitresses from their tables. The next half hour was a blur for Max as he uncapped beer bottles, drew draught from the taps, mixed drinks and poured shots. In ten years he’d become one of the fastest, most efficient bartenders in the city and the customers appreciated it.
Then finally, finally, everyone was gone. The last stragglers ushered out the door by the bouncer. All the cars safely out of the parking lot. Those too drunk to drive dumped into one of the cabs they’d called and sent on their way.
Max blew out a breath, wiping his hands on a bar towel. Now he just had to deal with Aisha.
She was still sitting on the bar stool, arms crossed on the bar and her head resting on her forearms. Her beautiful streaked hair spread out over the varnished surface like a curtain, tempting him to run his fingers through it. Touch that delicate skin. Stroke the smooth surface of her arms.
Suck it up, you
lech
.
He wondered if she’d passed out, but when he touched her hand she lifted her head and looked at him from beneath heavy lids.
“Hey, Max.”
“Hey, Aisha.”
He couldn’t help himself. He brushed her hair away from her face, revelling in its silken touch.
“Time to pack it in for the night.”
“Oh.
Hmm. Okay.”
She dropped her head back onto her arms.
Max sighed. He had two choices here, at least ones he’d feel okay with—take her home himself or stuff her into a cab.
Not that he didn’t trust the cab drivers—oh, okay
, he
didn’t trust
them and he rejected that option. That left just him.
Sir Galahad to the rescue.
Yup, that was him. Good old Max, saviour of drunken women. He went through his usual closing routine—locking the doors, cashing out the till, putting the money in the office safe for deposit the next day.
Shutting of everything that needed to be shut off.
At last he hung her thin purse around his neck, lifted Aisha in his arms—Jesus, she was light as a feather—and carried her out the back door. Next question—her car?
His car?
He decided to take hers and leave his in the lot, since he didn’t know how long he’d need to be at her place. If anyone wanted to trash a vehicle, better his than Aisha’s.
After he had her buckled into the passenger seat, he fished in her purse for her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license to check her address. Close by. Good.
He had to physically restrain himself from running the tips of his fingers over her mouth-watering breasts that peaked at him so temptingly from the low neckline of her dress.
Or smoothing them down the line of her hip and thigh.
Sliding them beneath the short skirt of the dress.
Jesus, Rogan!
He mentally shook himself. What kind of
perv
was he, anyway? Still cursing under his breath he pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the street. The sooner he got her into her own place the better for both of them.
And all the while he’d been busy getting her in the car, heading towards her
apartment,
he’d never noticed the car at the kerb across the street from the club, or the man sitting in it, watching them.
Chapter Two
Of course she had to live on the second floor of the building in her apartment complex. And of course it had no elevator. Max was just damn glad he hadn’t been one of the guys moving her in.
He balanced her against
him,
holding onto her tightly with one arm as he fiddled with her keys until he found the right one, pushed the door open and stepped gratefully inside. Groping with his free hand, he found a light switched and flicked it on. A small overhead light came to life, giving him just enough illumination to get his bearing. Straight ahead was the living room/dining room and beyond that he could see a small kitchen separated from the rest of the room by a raised counter. To the right was a little hall that he assumed led to her
bedroom.
Sighing, he adjusted her in his grip and carried her to the first open door. Bingo. The switch on the wall this time turned on a lamp beside the bed. He carried her over to the bed and set her on her feet, but before he could do anything else she had draped herself against his body, her arms hanging around his neck.
A neck that at the moment she was licking enthusiastically.
“Ease up, sugar.” He unwound her arms and pushed her back a little.
“No,” she moaned. “
Wanna
kiss you.”
Did she even know who he was?
“C’mon,
Maxie
.
Stick your tongue in my mouth.”
Well, okay. That answered one question. But no way was he giving in to her.
“Time for bed, sugar.”
Tossing aside the fluffy throw pillows and pulling back the covers, he placed Aisha carefully on the bed, taking off her shoes and lifting her feet. Before he could straighten up she grabbed his hand.
“Want you in here with me. C’mon,
Maxie
. Come fuck me.”
The shock of her words jolted his system and made his already hard cock throb painfully. “Not tonight, Aisha. You need to go to sleep.”
”Sleep with you,” she mumbled.
“Uh, uh, little kitty.
Not tonight.”
He managed to disengage her hand from his and place it next to her body. In a moment her breathing evened out and he realised she was asleep. He knew he probably should remove at least her dress but he didn’t trust himself that much. He had only so much self-control. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. She was so beautiful with her face relaxed and the soft light casting a glow on her. For one brief moment he allowed himself to acknowledge how very much he wanted her.
Even if she couldn’t shift.
Then he sighed, pulled the covers up and turned off the lamp. He relieved himself in the small bathroom then looked through the linen closet and found an extra pillow and a blanket. He didn’t feel good about leaving her alone like this. What if she got sick? Or tried to get up and fell, hitting her head?
As drunk as she was, he didn’t think she should be on her own. He’d just stay until whenever she woke up, get her to take him back to the bar and be out of her hair.
Just in case, he turned on a small table lamp before settling on the couch for however long he’d be there. He wished he could stop thinking about Aisha in the other room.
Aisha on the bed.
Aisha naked.
Wait. Where had that come from?
Get your brain out of your crotch, Rogan.
Closing his eyes he forced himself to relax and in moments drifted off into a light sleep, only to jerk wide awake at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice in his ear.
Aisha opened her eyes to complete darkness and groaned. Her head felt like a jackhammer had been pounding on it and her stomach wanted to throw its contents up into her throat. What was the matter with her?
Oh, right!
An extra vodka stinger or five.
And hadn’t that just been one of the dumber things she’d done. All she had to show for it was the beginning of a gigantic hangover.
She managed to push herself up out of bed and onto her feet, staggering only slightly.
Bed.
House.
Someone had taken the time to bring her home safely. Who?
Certainly not one of the guys from The Litter Box.
As little class as any of them had, he would have fucked her senseless and left her naked and drunk. So who, then? And where was her car? She hated the fact that she had no recollection of even leaving the club.
When she was steady enough on her feet, she made her way into the bathroom, flicked on the light and splashed cold water on her face. Then she looked in the mirror.
Big mistake.
Who was the person with that makeup streaked face and puffy eyes? Damn! She must have really done it this time.
But who the hell had brought her home?
She noticed soft light seemed to be coming from the living room and that startled her. She never went to sleep with lights on in the house. Did her unknown saviour leave it for her? She stumbled towards the living room, using the wall for support, stopping when she noticed a lump on the couch.
One that looked suspiciously like a body.
But who?
Inching closer she was startled to see Max Rogan stretched out with a pillow and blanket. Max? Was he the one who’d taken care of her? She reached a tentative hand down to touch his shoulder.
“Max?”
Instantly, he was awake and sitting up.
“Aisha, honey, you should be in bed.” His gaze raked over her.
“Maybe in something a little more comfortable.”
“You brought me home. Thank you, Max.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, call it my good deed for the year. You certainly weren’t in any shape to get here yourself, and I wasn’t about to leave you to the predators hanging around.”
“Thank you,” she said again, and collapsed into his lap.
Oh, gods, he smelt so good.
So earthy.
So animal.
So…so…cat. She wound her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Before she could stop and think what she was doing, she’d pressed her mouth to his, kissing him as hard as she could. She was stunned when he lifted his head and gently pulled her arms away from him.
“Listen, Aisha, this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Oh, no?”
She gave him a half-sober grin. “Feels like a good idea to me.” She wriggled on his lap, her ass sliding on his very obvious erection. This was Max.
Wonderful Max.
How many times had she dreamt of being here with him just like this?
When he stood up abruptly, she would have tumbled to the floor if he hadn’t had such a strong grip on her arms. She looked up into his face, puzzled.
“Don’t you want me? It sure felt like you did.” A kernel of ice dropped into her stomach. “It’s because of all those guys, right? You think I’m just a slut.” Well, what did she expect? He’d watched her take home stranger after stranger. How could he possibly think anything else? She blinked her eyes against the tears gathering.
“No, it’s not.” His voice sounded strained. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then what?” she pleaded. “Tell me. Because you’re the one I’ve always wanted.”
He sighed. “Aisha, you’re still half-drunk. You soaked yourself in alcohol tonight. You have no idea what you’re doing, and unlike those junkyard cats who sniff around you, I refuse to take advantage of you. I’m your friend.”
She leaned into him, loving the feel of his hard body.
Of his cock pressing into the soft flesh of her tummy.
“Then be my friend, Max. Make me feel good.”
Again he moved her away from him. “Not tonight, sugar. Not when you’re like this.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you into the bathroom so you can shower and get into bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“But—”
“No buts. Come on. You’ll feel better, I promise you.”
He turned on the shower for her, adjusted the spray, made sure she had towels,
then
backed out of the bathroom.
“Get into bed as soon as you’re done. Get some sleep.”
Aisha took time washing the
bar smell
out of her body and hair, lathering herself twice with jasmine-scented shower gel. The shampoo she used had a matching scent, the steam in the shower filled with the exotic fragrance. She even took time to shave her legs and under her arms, even though she’d done it early in the evening when she’d dressed to go out.
Towelling herself off, she poured lotion into her hands and rubbed the creamy substance into every inch and crevice of her skin. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth twice, washing away the aftertaste of the vodka. She carefully blow-dried her hair, taming it into relaxed curls. A dab of perfume and she was ready.
And sleep was the last thing she had on her mind. The shower had washed away the effects of the alcohol, her stomach didn’t seem to be rebelling any more and two aspirin took care of her headache. Wrapping a fresh towel around her body and knotting it at her breasts, she headed towards the living room. This might be her only chance with Max Rogan and she intended to take full advantage of it.
The lamp was still lit in the living room, probably in case he needed to get up and minister to her drunken self. The soft light showed the outline of his body stretched out on the couch again, arms behind his head. Was he awake? Was he thinking about her? Was his cock still as hard as it had been earlier?
She hoped so, because she planned to take full advantage of the fact. Finally, finally, she had Max in her apartment. Butterflies danced the mambo in her stomach and she was trembling with a bad case of nerves, but it was now or never. This was her best chance to make a move she’d never have the courage to try in the bar. She hoped in her current naked and perfumed state he could only hold her off for so long.
