To Hiss or to Kiss (5 page)

Chapter Four

It’s not a long drive back to his house, seeing as he lives only a mile west. We pull up to another big old farmhouse, also in somewhat of a state of disrepair. The barn out back is barely standing. “In need of a paint job, eh?” I immediately realize that probably isn’t the best thing to say to a person I just met.

In response he growls softly. “I just moved in.”

Ah, so “new neighbors” was
him
moving in, not the assholes down the street. “Sorry. My filter doesn’t always work.” I try to put my smile into my voice since he is still busy parking and it’s fairly dark in the car. Since I got myself into this particular venture against my better judgment, I might as well make the best of it. Naomi would say it has to be fate that we met again.

When he finally puts the car in park and switches off the engine, he turns to me and hands me my keys. “Yes, I am seeing that.” He says it with a completely straight face, so I’m not sure if he is teasing or simply stating a fact. Maybe both.

I hope he’s not derisive. The utterly insane part of me that agreed to come to a strange man’s home really wants this guy to like me.

I take the keys and he exits the car with exquisite grace, and again I wonder how he moves so catlike. And he has a really fine ass. Sigh.

He turns and looks at me questioningly. “Are you coming?”

I realize I’m still sitting in the car and staring at him. I swear he looks a little smug standing there all handsome and bathed in moonlight. Is he glad I’m staring at him? And if he is, what is my face expressing? Shit
.

I shake my head a bit and then get out of the car. “I’m coming. Just surveying my environs.”

“Hmm, yes, I’m sure you are.” He is still straight-faced but now I’m positive he’s teasing me.

I feel myself start to blush again
.
Damn capillaries. Good thing it’s night.

He is watching me so intently as I get out of the car that I feel like he’s seeing me more clearly than the moonlight should allow. He gestures toward the front door. “Shall we go in?”

I nod and follow him up the walkway onto the wraparound porch and then through the front door. The house is sparsely furnished and almost entirely undecorated. We walk into a living area where the moonlight allows me to see the outline of a couch flanked by small end tables, a lamp on each one. “Very minimalist, I see.” Again the ever-tactful houseguest. My capillaries kick into high gear again.

He doesn’t even look at me but continues to the nearest lamp and switches it on. “Yes. I don’t see the need for much in the way of creature comforts. You can take a seat if you’d like. Do you want something to drink?”

“What do you have?” I sink onto the basic brown sofa. There’s a matching brown rug on the floor in front of a fireplace. No TV, no radio.

“Well, in that I’m not minimalist. Do you prefer wine or something stronger?”

I look up at his beautiful face, now cast in the lamplight, and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Definitely, I need something stronger. “Do you have scotch?”

He looks pleased with my request. “Of course. I am a MacKay.” He pauses, eyeing me shrewdly. “You seem like a Dalwhinnie girl.”

I narrow my eyes
.
How did he know that? Was he lying when he said he couldn’t read my thoughts? I start to blush again. “Fifteen-year or higher?”

He chuckles as if he’s on to me. “I only have the fifteen-year at present. Neat, I presume.”

“It’s a travesty to have it any other way.”

“Good. I see we have one less thing to argue about.” He disappears toward what I assume is the kitchen until I see a light flicker on and catch a glimpse of the slightly beat up, homey-looking country-style cupboards that confirm my presumption.

“So how did you come to live in this house?” I call, hearing a cupboard door open, followed by the tinkling of glasses. I’m not terribly good with silence when I’m nervous. Fight or flight? More like flirt or flight.
Ha.

“It’s been in my father’s family a long time but has been unused since my grandmother passed five years ago. My father wanted the property cared for, so here I am.” I hear a bottle being unstoppered.

“Are you going to fix it up to sell or something?” I hear the scotch being poured and then the water running briefly. Ah, the magical drop of water to open the flavor of the whisky.

“Hardly. This property must remain in the family. And so I am here as caretaker for a while at least.” He hands me a Glencairn whisky glass—perfect for enhancing the nose of the whisky—and sits down beside me. With Dalwhinnie in our hands, we both fall into an uneasy silence.

I inhale the complex aromas of cake and Christmas blended with floral earthiness. As usual with a fine scotch I find myself imagining what it would be like to walk along a heather-covered highland or linger beside a loch in the summer breeze, a castle ruin in the distance.

I know I’m idealizing Scotland. And I’m probably smiling in some sort of ridiculous schoolgirl daydream kind of way. Shit.

“What are you thinking?” Jorge breaks into my reverie.

Without looking at him, and not really thinking before I speak, I answer. “Daydreaming about Scotland.” Oh, shit. Why didn’t my mouth catch up with my internal swearing faster? He’s going to think I’m a total moron.

“Hmm. It is a beautiful country. Have you ever been?” Amazingly, he sounds interested and not turned off.

“No.” I’m sure he hears the longing sadness in my voice.

“Pity. You should.”

“Perhaps you can take me someday.” I hear his sharp intake of breath and realize what I just said. Oh, triple shit, or whatever I’m up to now. Completely sobered from daydreaming, I try to cover. “I mean, if you are ever going back to visit your parents sometime and I can afford a trip, you can point me to the right places. The inside scoop or something.” That was totally lame so I change the subject. “So, about that secret?” Might as well get to the reason I’m here, which isn’t drinking scotch or planning a trip to Scotland with a man I barely know.

“Yes, that.” He hesitates, and he’s looking away when I finally bring my gaze up to his. I stare into the side of his face, until he finally plunges in. “My family has a, uh, unique background.” He pauses again.

After a good ten seconds that feels like
forever,
I can’t contain myself. “Oh, just blurt it out already. It’s easier to just rip the Band-Aid off.”

He looks at me finally, a faint smile playing about his lips.

I hold his gaze. No chickening out now. And I need to know this for my own sanity if nothing else
.
Something about this encounter needs to lead to sanity.

“Yes, I suppose it is. But you must understand; this isn’t something I share lightly with people.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally go around telling people I talk to animals.” I roll my eyes.

“Well, there are some pretty famous pet psychics. It’s not all
that
weird.” Jorge grins at me.

“Yes, I’m sure everyone at my office would totally still want to work with me if I told them I’m a pet psychic.”

He shrugs. “Hey, it probably pays well.”

“Yes, I’m sure it does, but my ability isn’t for sale. Are you trying to distract me?” I narrow my eyes, anger making the color rise in my cheeks again. Hot and bothered, indeed.

“Hey, don’t get defensive. I understand the fear of being judged.” He reaches out and pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “And, yes, I suppose I am stalling. But for some reason I want to trust you.” His fingers dance along my jaw as he pulls away, and I meet his heated gaze, willing myself not to grab his hand and pull it back to my face for a nuzzle.

My lips part, my gaze locked with Jorge’s. I lean forward slightly, my pulse racing. I think, “Kiss me. Fucking kiss me now.
”

Suddenly there is a flash of light and sitting before me is a giant black jaguar. I scream, leaping up. Thankfully I have the presence of mind to at least hold on to the Dalwhinnie.

As quick as that, there is another flash of light, and Jorge again sits on the couch.

“What the fuck was that?” I exclaim, because really the point of trying to keep my potty mouth to myself has passed.

“OK, well, maybe showing you wasn’t easier than just telling you.” He gives me a wary look.

I’m not sure what my face looks like, but I’m pretty sure it’s something between I-need-to-run-now and complete and utter shock.

I try to catch my breath. People do not turn into
jaguars
.

Or do they? I think about mythology and legends of people who shape-shift and a plethora of movies and fiction novels. I sit back down. “Holy fuck, you’re a shape-shifter.” I look at him, and I’m sure he can see my tonsils, my mouth is so agape.

Jorge seems remarkably calm about this. I realize he’s probably known he’s a shape-shifter his whole life, but I just screamed! At least I held on to my scotch. Oh, scotch, I definitely need a swig of that…

I down the rest of my glass. It burns, and the sensation brings me back a bit.

His face relaxes as he watches me calm, and I realize he wasn’t remarkably calm before. He was remarkably stoic. “Yes, shape-shifter is one of the common names given to my people.” He shoots me a cautious glance, trying to catch my eye. I let him.

“So there are more of you? Your whole family? Other families?”

“Yes, there are more like me in my family and in others, but not all my family are shape-shifters. Only some of us are born with the, uh, talent.” He is now studying my face, which I imagine is even more pale than usual, despite taking a whisky shot, but at least my mouth is no longer hanging open. “More Dalwhinnie?”

I nod, and he takes the glass, walking to the kitchen.

My mind reels. A shape-shifter? A jaguar? A cat? Oh, that is why I could hear him. He’s literally an animal, not merely human.

Or maybe not human at all. I start to feel a little panicky again. Am I in danger? But I think of his face, the future I irrationally have already planned for us, how safe I felt in his arms even when I didn’t know who he was back at the other farmhouse.

Yes, I feel safe with him. In a way I never have with anyone I so recently met. Maybe with no one ever. Naomi is right. I have the hots for a guy who can hear my thoughts.

No, not a guy, a jaguar guy. My jaguar guy?

I find myself suddenly smiling goofily up at Jorge when he returns with more Dalwhinnie. The flirt is taking back over.

“Is something funny?” He suspiciously eyes my grinning face.

I probably do look like I’ve gone off the deep end, which I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job of hiding up until now. Suddenly my daydreams seem like they could actually come true and I am utterly twitterpated. Especially if I’m actually letting myself believe in the fairy tale ending my heart has always wanted but my head dismissed as impossible. So much for my jaded façade. I picture Naomi with a smug look on her face, telling me she told me there was a romantic deep down inside and then grinning and hugging me.

I finally find my voice. “No, I’m just happy.” And then I sip my Dalwhinnie and snuggle back into the couch.

“You are a confusing woman, Chloe.” Jorge shoots me a perplexed, yet slightly amused look as he settles next to me.

Oh, if only he knew. Thank God I know how to protect my mind when necessary.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s gazing intently at the floor, and I really want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t feel right spying on him with my ability. And I suppose he’d know now anyway.

His profile is so beautiful, his straight black hair falling into his face. I tentatively reach out my hand and lift his chin so our eyes are locked again. Then I brush the stray lock of his hair off his forehead. His skin is soft and warm. “You realize that I can talk with animals. Not like I just hear their thoughts. We converse if the animal is open to it. So I bet we could converse in our minds, too.” My voice is uncharacteristically husky and, suddenly feeling self-conscious, I begin to withdraw my hand, but Jorge reaches and stops me, holding my hand against his cheek with his own. I could melt into him, and even my rational side has stopped swearing at me and admonishing me to run.

He looks at me with some trepidation but also curiosity. I imagine he is worrying about having me tumble around in his head—or maybe he’s afraid to tumble around in mine. I can admit it could be a scary place. I can also admit that the thought of speaking mind to mind with Jorge is both exhilarating and terrifying, but I bet it would lead to really great sex. Imagine just being able to think what you want—no annoying talking and explaining.
Delicious
.

“You’re blushing and grinning wickedly.” A slow, sexy smile crosses his face. “I don’t think I need to hear your thoughts to know what you are thinking.”

I’m a little shocked by his boldness and wonder if the whisky is doing some magic to loosen his tongue. But not for me. I’m speechless at my own lack of control and more than a little aroused. And more than a little panicked again at being caught in my lascivious thoughts, but I swallow it down. Arousal and scotch can go a long way to quell panic.

And then suddenly his face is mere inches in front me, and he is studying me with an intensity I recognize as catlike. He still holds my hand to his cheek. I wonder if he will kiss me finally, and I lick my lips. Just as quickly, he is standing by the fireplace, my abandoned hand feeling cold at the loss of his warmth. “I apologize.” He avoids my eyes. “We have shared each other’s secrets, so now I assume we will keep them. I believe I have detained you long enough.”

“Seriously?” I must be turning thirteen shades of embarrassed and angry red as my hand tightens on my glass and my entire body stiffens. Now he’s going to go all aloof on me? And after I took his whole “I’m a jaguar” thing so well?

Horny, frustrated, and mortified, I find myself glaring at the side of his face. My emotions have been so fraught all night I can’t seem to get a handle on my sudden anger, and I’m not sure I even want to. I realize I’m shaking, and I let the ire carry me away, powerless to stop the tide.