Page 18 of Entangled
Rowan stands over me with an empty pitcher. “Are you OK?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking OK?”
“No.” She touches my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. My cat—”
“Cat?” Rolling over, I rise onto my knees. Ice cubes hit the floor. My skin burns and tingles beneath the tea-saturated clothes. I fling my arm toward the sopping wet animal, still hissing and snarling from its position in the corner. “Thatwas not a cat. Unless you have a pet lion.”
I make deliveries for a living. I’ve encountered plenty of vicious dogs. I’ve dealt with hundreds of cats. The thing that attacked me was no feline. The fucker is bigger than my sister’s beagle.
“Eugene is a Maine Coon. He usually doesn’t—”
“Rip people to shreds?” Shoving the wet hair out of my face, I meet the animal’s yellow glare with a scowl of my own. Now that I’m finally getting a good look at him, there’s no denying he’s magnificent.
No joke, he’s got to be over thirty pounds and close to four feet long.
“I’m sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He was protecting me.” She points to where Eugene is busy licking his paws. “He’s not used to seeing anyone other than my dad, his aide, and Tony.”
“That’s funny. Tony never mentioned an attack cat.”
“Eugene has never attacked anyone else,” she says sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, Henry.”
“It’s fine.” I climb to my feet and survey the damage. Blood seeps through my white thermal from the wounds on my forearms. Rivulets of sticky sweet tea slide down my neck beneath my collar.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding.”
“No shit,” I grumble, giving the tufted-eared assholebothof my middle fingers, like the bastard cares that I hate him. “Courtesy of Knife Feet over there.”
“We need to clean you up. Cat scratches are not something to mess with—you can get an infection in your bloodstream and die.”
“Perfect. I had sepsis on my bingo card for this year.”
“I’m serious, Henry,” she says with a sternness that’s too cute to be intimidating.
“So am I.” Tapping my chin, I add, “As you so eloquently described earlier, I’m as serious as a heart attack.”
Rowan gives me an eye roll. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Not possible. It’s beyond my control.”
She pokes me in the center of my chest. “Shut up and take off your clothes.”
6
ROWAN
Mood Music: “Favorite Kind of High” by Kelly Clarkson
Are all men this stubborn?
“C’mon. Chop-chop. We don’t have all night.” I snap my fingers in front of Henry’s face. His dark gaze burns into me, but he doesn’t budge. “Are you dense? Isaidtake off your clothes.”
“I heard you, Princess.”
“Excuse me?” I prop my hands on my hips. “I’m trying to help you—because I’d prefer you not die—and you’re insulting me?”
“Wasn’t an insult.”
“Really? Then what would you call it?”
