Riding the Thunder (19 page)

The fat feline rubbed against his legs, clearly steering Jago's steps toward the kitchen. “Guess one of us wants grub, eh? Sorry, I didn't buy cat food in Leesburg—since I don't have a cat.” He looked down at the shiny black beast with glowing orange eyes; the creature seemed to smile at him. Did cats smile? He shrugged. This one did.

“Colin—Oo-it—is right. You need a name, but damned if I know what to call you. I never had a pet before. You'll have to be patient with me, Puss.”

While growing up, his brothers and he'd never owned a dog or cat. They'd been too poor and always moving about. Later, he'd been busy working. The bachelor's life, a lot of it spent traveling, didn't lend itself to having an animal needing you there to care for it.

He didn't dismiss what his mother had gone through to keep the family together—what Des had gone through—but he'd spent too many damn years living with the same old heartache. He was just so tired of it all, wanted Des' plans done, so he could finally move on. The bloody past consumed too much of the present, their future. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back all the memories of his mother; her pain and suffering, her constant living in fear; how the tragic death of their father and the fallout afterwards had molded the Mershan brothers into fiercely determined men.

“Men missing so much in our lives.” He exhaled, bending over to snatch a can of spring water tuna from the lower kitchen cabinet. Opening it, he dumped the tuna onto a saucer for the silly feline. “Here. Chow down, pal.”

With the cat happily stuffing his face, Jago considered how to kill the next few minutes. When he'd brought Asha back to the motel, she'd quickly made excuses of wanting to be up early, and ducked into her bungalow.

“Not even a goodnight kiss, Puss. The wench doesn't trust herself. The woman wants me; she just has this strongly developed flight-or-fight response going. Fine. I let her escape. Run, but you cannot hide, Asha. I only granted you a brief reprieve.”

He'd accepted her brush-off on the surface, come back to his new home-away-from-home to shower and change into something comfortable, before implementing his plan to invade her cozy little bungalow for the night. He was merely waiting now, giving her time enough to go to bed and get drowsy; he had a feeling she'd be easier to handle in that state. Pacing, he ran through different approaches to use on her, trying to tumble to the right one.

He could tell Asha wanted to distance herself after the drive-in—for several reasons, he assumed. One, things had been getting pretty intense between them before Colin knocked on the car window. The other matter troubling her: these damn blackouts. They disturbed him, too. Something was wrong. The second attack had been slightly less frightening than the one at the pool the night before. Nevertheless, she'd scared the bloody hell out of him phasing out like that. Her skin grew clammy and she lacked any response to touch or voice. Her beautiful eyes turned to doll eyes. He couldn't recall his heart ever beating with that sort of fear—at least not since he'd been a small kid and his mother was in one of her black moods. That had been a child's alarm. This was a man terrified, powerless to aid the woman who was coming to mean so much to him.

“Men don't deal well with helplessness, Puss. Makes us cranky. Give us something to pound with a hammer, slice in two with a sword or screw down with a Phillips and we're in our element.”

The cat looked up from his Charlie the Tuna meal and yawned. When Jago didn't have anything else to say, he went back to scarfing down the fish.

“Great. I'm boring the mouse mangler. Well, I can't take any more waiting and talking to you like a blethering eegit, so I am off to play guardian. Enjoy yourself, Cat-With-No-Name. Feel free to make use of the bed.”

He turned off the lights, except the nightlight in the kitchen, and then let himself out. As he was pulling the sliding patio door shut, Fat-fat-the-Kitty-Cat came barreling out, determined not to be left behind—so determined that he nearly knocked Jago's legs out from under him. Shaking his head, Jago locked the door and walked the few steps down the stone walkway to Asha's cabin.

As he knocked on the door, he was buffeted by the winds. They whipped the trees, sending more leaves to fall, and warning that another storm was headed their way. The
cat leaned against his legs for shelter. When there was no answer, Jago rapped again, a little more insistently. This time the light flicked on in the living room, and he could see the shadow of Asha coming to the door. Glaring at him with a sleepy frown, she pulled the edge of the drapes back.

She wore a thin silk wrapper, of an iridescent shade like pearl. A very sensual gown. Unbelted, it gaped open to reveal matching silk boxer shorts and a plain white, muscle T-shirt underneath. He about swallowed his tongue. With the thin cotton clinging to her breasts, the dark circles of her areolas visible through the semi-sheer material—the sleepwear was an odd combination of pure sex and a touch of innocence that was a punch to his gut. He tried desperately to remember why he'd come.

“Let me in,” he said, not quite a command, but close enough. Her eyes traveled to his bare chest, then down to the cat he was wearing as an anklet. “Okay, let
us
in.”

That brought a reluctant smile to her mouth. She clicked the lock and opened the door, but only a few inches. The cat rammed his chubby body through the crack, squeezing his way into her cozy little cottage. Fine, if the pussycat could do it, so could he. Placing a hand on the door, Jago pushed it open, making her step back.

“What . . . do you think you're doing?” Asha bent down to pick up the cat, clearly intent on evicting him. Jago figured he wasn't far behind, unless he did some quick convincing. She groaned as she hefted the feline into her arms. “Ugh. No cat is this heavy. You must be a nose guard for the Chicago Bears in the off season.”

“We've come to keep you company—that's what we are doing.”

Asha shoved the cat against his chest, hard. “Take your—”

“Pussy?” he supplied with an impish grin. He just kept his hands on his hips, staring at her as she pushed the cat at him again.

She pursed that kissable mouth. “When in America . . . They use that word
differently
here.”

“Oh?” He gave her his most innocent expression. “Do tell. How do they use it?”

“Eegit, take your cat and leave. You're not getting in my bed by flashing that sexy chest.” Asha tried to appear grumpy, but didn't quite succeed. She sounded breathless.

“My chest is sexy? Guess it matches my sexy lips, eh?” He moved forward, stalking her as she backed up, until the kitchen bar hit her backside. Placing a hand on either side of the counter, he trapped her. He leaned near, letting her feel the high heat of his skin. She clutched the rotund cat to her chest like a shield. “Want to see what else on me is sexy, Asha?”

He moved closer to where she could only inhale his male pheromones. He tilted his head to the side of her face, nuzzled the hair against her ear. If she was getting as much of a buzz off him as he did her, he'd better stop pushing her buttons and ease down a notch on the sexual play. “This night is going to be hard enough—no pun intended there—so I better back up before you jump my bones and I can't fight you off.”

“You arrogant . . . Ooooh . . .
me
jump
your
bones?” Asha fussed.

“See, Puss? The cat doesn't have her tongue, after all.” Jago chuckled, then lightly kissed her cheek. “Relax, Angel May, I didn't come over here to offer myself up for your depraved sexual abuse.”

“You didn't?” She blinked, confused. Disappointed?

He chuckled at that expression. She looked so deliciously rumpled that he wanted nothing but to take her to bed and make love to her—all night. Though it might put a crimp on his libido—tonight was about making her trust him. He wanted hot sex with Asha. Hey, he was male and she intrigued him, lured him, taunted him more than any woman he had ever known. Only, he wanted more than one night with Asha Montgomerie.

As matters stood, the whole situation was pretty complicated. His falling in love with Asha hadn't been part of
Desmond's plan. He needed to gain her trust or things between them could spiral out of control, maybe destroy them both.

“You, me and What's His Name are going to bed—to sleep. Just sleep, Asha.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Your spacing out scares me, lass.”

“Oh . . . that.” She wouldn't meet his eyes, but instead looked down at the cat she was holding. “Nothing to fash about.”

“Okay, I won't. Nevertheless, you had an occurrence last night. Another tonight. I'm
not
leaving you alone. End of discussion.”

Ridiculously, she shoved the cat at his chest again. “What makes you think you can come in here and dictate anything to me—”

His hands took her upper arms and yanked her to him. The poor puss was squished between them, but Jago didn't let that stop him. He kissed Asha, took her mouth with every ounce of ravenous need she provoked within him. Not gentle, he channeled all the fear she'd caused with the two blackouts into passion, let loose the hunger that had him prowling to the refrigerator several times a night for months. The pounding drive to mate promised this was the one, the only woman for him. Fortunately, the cat was still between them and squirming. That last shard of reason stopped him from lifting her atop the counter and taking her right there.

The cat squealed, bringing back sanity. Every muscle tensed within Jago as he reined in his out-of-control emotions. His mind swam, dizzy from wanting her, as he brushed his lips once more over hers. Asha nearly caused him to come undone as she opened her mouth, giving him access to her warmth. Leaning down, he scooped her and the cat into his arms and then carried them to the bed.

Setting her down, he pondered where the bloody hell all this chivalrous nature came from. “Tonight, I just want to be near you—make sure you are all right.”

The cat stomped happily across the duvet, long claws puncturing the material. The silly beast was smiling again.

“I'm glad one of us has something to smile about,” Jago muttered.

Jago wasn't getting much sleep.

Just as his body stopped going off like an Asha Geiger Counter and he'd start to doze, she'd shift in her sleep, bump some sexy body part up against him and it'd cause his groin to stir to life with an insistent ache. This time she rolled when he was on his side, shoving that cute little tush up against his loins. To make matters worse, as he was trying to keep from gritting his teeth until they cracked, the blasted cat stalked up his body and decided to perch on his hip. As long as Jago kept his eyes open, the bloody feline stared at him, smiling. Giving up, he pulled the sheet over his head and pretended to sleep.

After several minutes, the animal shifted and lay down, still on his hip and thigh. While he knew the thing didn't weigh fifty pounds, it sure felt like it. The longer they both remained in that position the heavier he became.

He considered dumping the pest, but he'd have to move to do that and he rather liked lying spooned against Asha. It would be snug, cuddling like this on snowy winter nights. The vision was easy to conjure with the wind still blowing outside. Some sort of shrubbery was at the back of the bungalows; the breeze forced the small limbs to scratch at the bedroom window. In his mind snow howled, piling up deep, stranding Asha with him—and the cat—for days. Maybe at Christmastime.

He smiled at the dream. Nearly echoing his mood, the cat noisily purred. Absently, Jago reached out his hand and patted the pussycat's head, oddly finding comfort in ruffling the animal's fur. Maybe having a kitty was a good thing.

A discordant note filtered through his dreams, causing him to awaken. He listened, trying to pinpoint what had
pulled him away from something beside chestnuts roasting before an open fire. There was nothing. Nothing but the scratching of the bushes against the glass. Not a sound he heard normally, still the winds had been going on for several hours. Why did the scraping bother him now?

Almost holding his breath, he lay there listening. The refrigerator in the kitchen kicked off, so the silence was stronger. Nothing but the non-rhythmic scraping of the bushes.
Scratch . . . scratch . . . scratch
. Feeling as if he was listening for something that wasn't there, he sighed and started to relax again. He smiled in the darkness. Maybe if he was lucky, sexy Asha would wake up horny and want to have her wicked way with his body.

The dissonant noise came again. And it wasn't just his mind conjuring the sounds; the kitty heard. He'd stopped purring and his head turned toward the window, ears alert. What finally convinced Jago something was not right: the cat's ears laid back and he growled lowly, similar to a dog.

Carefully pushing the cat off his leg, Jago slid from under the sheet and out of the bed. Trying not to disturb the sleeping Asha, he moved in silent steps to the window. His instinct was to yank the shutters wide and confront whatever dared intrude upon his domain. Instead, being his usual careful self, he tried to peek through the cracks of one panel. The scraping stopped. It left him holding his breath and waiting for the noise to come again. He stood frozen for a minute, then decided to beard the devil and snapped open the louvers.

The gray light of dawn greeted him. His eyes strained, trying to see in either direction to the edges of the building. Nothing. The European snowball bushes provided a splash of autumnal color, but blocked him from seeing if there were footprints on the ground.

His head snapped around as he heard a faint tapping near the front door, almost like a bird pecking. “‘Only this, and nothing more,'” Jago muttered to the cat, who still lay on the end of the bed, also looking in that direction.

Quickly crossing the bedroom, Jago headed through the living room. Asha's purse on the counter caught his eye, and he recalled that she carried a gun. Opening the handbag, he found the revolver, the weight feeling as if it was made for his hand. Quickly checking to see it was loaded, he walked straight to the patio doors and silently unlocked them. With a jerk he pulled them open.