Page 104 of Desert Rain
I followed her up the stairs. Her keys rattled loud in the quiet hallway. The second the door shut behind us her anger filled the whole damn room like smoke. She paced three steps, spun, paced again. Low angry hums kept slipping out of her throat—half growl, half mutter—like she was trying to curse me in a language her brain hadn’t invented yet.
I leaned back against the closed door, arms crossed, and watched her.
“You sound just like that damn cat of yours,” I said. “Spitting and meowling in pure rage.”
Her head snapped toward me. Eyes narrowed. “You have some nerve?—”
She didn’t finish. Instead she marched straight across the living room, flung open the guest room door, and pointed inside like she was releasing the hounds.
“Bandit! Attack!”
For half a second nothing happened.
Then the cat exploded out of the room like he’d been waiting his whole miserable life for this moment.
He screeched—high, pissed, ears flat—and shot across the floor in a gray blur. Claws skittered. Tail puffed to twice its size. He hit the side table first and sent a stack of mail flying. Then he launched at the kitchen counter, knocked over a glass of water, and kept going. In under three minutes the place looked like a small tornado had moved in.
Dolores—the tiny barrel cactus she’d bought for the windowsill—went over next. Pot cracked. Dirt scattered across the floor like brown confetti. Bandit didn’t even slow down. He ricocheted off the couch, hit the coffee table, and finally skidded to a stop in the middle of the rug, chest heaving, eyes wild.
Sienna’s face changed. “Oh no. Bandit?—”
Too late.
The cat’s eyes narrowed to razor slits. He looked straight at the brand-new couch she’d clearly just bought, crouched low, and started sharpening his claws on the armrest like it owed him money. Rrrrip. Rrrrip.Long, deliberate strokes.
I didn’t move.
Just stood in the doorway, arms still crossed, and took it all in. The scattered dirt. The spilled water. The very angry scientist. The very satisfied cat turning her new furniture into ribbons.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it.
Sienna whirled on me, hair wild, cheeks flushed, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to kill the cat, kill me, or both.
I just lifted one shoulder.
“Guess he missed you too.”
Sienna whirled on me, hair wild, cheeks flushed, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to kill the cat, kill me, or both.
I just lifted one shoulder.
“Guess he missed you too.”
She glared at the fresh claw marks on her brand-new couch, then glared harder at me. The air between us went thick enough to chew. I could still taste lime and chocolate on my tongue from the sidewalk kiss, and the way she was breathing—fast, shallow—told me she hadn’t forgotten it either.
I glanced down at the dried blood on my shirt, then quirked an eyebrow at her. “You gonna help me get this blood out of my new shirt?”
Her middle finger shot up before I finished the sentence.
I grinned slow. “Spicy scientist. I can work with that.”
I reached back, grabbed the collar of my Henley, and pulled it off in one move. The cool apartment air hit my skin, but the heat rolling off her more than made up for it. I crossed the small living room, stopping right in front of her. She was still breathing like she wanted to argue, but her eyes dropped to my chest and stayed there.
“Your mouth was hanging open, darlin’,” I said, lifting her chin with two fingers so she had to look at me.
She slapped my hand away. Hard.
That was all the invitation I needed.
