Sam stares out the window like he’s never seen such a fascinating view.
“Come on, boss, I need to work. Please.” Her begging melts me. “I prefer catnaps to a solid eight hours anyway. ”
I flip the french toast, delirious with the need to know if that’s true. I want to know every single detail about this woman. Need to.
I pull out my cell phone and hand it to her. “Give me your number.” She scrolls to my contacts and adds herself with remarkable speed as I plate the french toast and pull the maple syrup from the refrigerator.
I see she’s entered herself as “Catgirl,” and it makes me smile. “What’s your real name, kitten?”
She tenses, and her hesitation wounds me more than I care to admit.
“Why is it a secret?” I ask softly. “Because of the murder you saw?”
She pales, and I immediately regret pushing her, but, if she’s in danger, I have to know. The need to protect her from any and all her enemies is a tearing, consuming beast in me.
“Yeah.” She picks up a plate of french toast and butters them.
Sam must finally realize he’s a third wheel, because he stands from his perch at the breakfast bar. “Holler if you need me. I’ll be around the house, Catgirl.”
“I don’t think he likes me, either,” Kylie says after he leaves. She doesn’t know Sam can still hear every word.
“He’s just protective. What do you mean, either?”
“Like Wolf. Your monster-sized dog.” She forks a piece of french toast, and a low rumble, almost like a purr, rises in my chest. I like feeding her. Too damn much. “Where is he, by the way?”
“He’s probably out. He needs a lot of space to roam.” Not a lie.
“Okay, so I’m your prisoner, and Sam’s my keeper.” She takes another bite, her tongue flicking out to catch a bit of powdered sugar, and I almost groan. “I’m to update you every hour. Any other orders?”
Jesus, I get so hard when she plays submissive with me. And, believe me, I know it’s play-a choice, not her personality. The girl is all alpha if I’ve ever met one. An alpha female who only submits to her male.
A tug of longing pulls at my chest. I finally meet a female who interests me-both sides of me-human and wolf-and she’s human. Fragile. Unable to withstand a marking.
How will I keep her? I have to.
~.~
Kylie
The food and the coffee help. I spend the morning breaking into the FBI’s system to get all their files on known hackers. The malware used to infect SeCure wasn’t the most sophisticated thing I’ve ever seen. Which is good-it enabled Jackson to contain the threat. The downside is I have to look for the suspects in a much larger pool.
Jackson messages me to say that he hasn’t hired a private investigator because he doesn’t trust anyone not to fuck with me, but he’s working on a plan.
By noon, I’m nauseous from lack of sleep, but now I’m so wound up from the coffee and adrenaline, I doubt I’ll be able to rest. I get up to stretch my legs and wander through the upstairs rooms. I haven’t heard Sam-my guess is that his room is somewhere downstairs.
I’m drawn to search Jackson’s room. Hackers are by nature stalkers, and I’m dying to know more about my crush.
I tap lightly at a closed door and push it open. Bingo.
The large master suite must belong to Jackson. I pick up his scent, and it calms my over-wired system immediately. I’ve always had an overdeveloped sense of smell. My dad used to tease me about it.
Like the rest of the house, the room is elegant but simple. There isn’t much to look at, but I wander around, peering on the dresser top at his loose change, checking the wastepaper basket for anything interesting, but there’s nothing.
“What are you doing?”
I gasp and jump, my overtaxed system nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. “Jesus, Sam. You scared me.”
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy to tangle with. He may be lean and wiry, but the tattoos decorate hard muscles, and the piercings give him a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe. I remember Jackson had to give him the directive, don’t hurt her. Kinda like his wolf-dog, the violence is there, right below the surface.
I go for the truth. “I’m snooping. Trying to understand Jackson better.”
Sam gives a quick shake of his head. “His secrets aren’t for you to unwrap, Catgirl.”
I like that he calls me Catgirl. The name still has a power to it, evokes the invincible teen I once was. Before.
I lean a hip against the dresser, holding my ground. “So there are secrets?”
Sam folds his arms across his chest and leans against the doorframe. “Everyone has secrets.”
I try a different tack. “I never wanted to hurt him. I’m here to fix things, not make them worse.”
“Your being here definitely makes things worse.”
Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “What’s your problem with me?”
“Look, I can tell there’s something special about you. Jackson wouldn’t be interested, otherwise. But he can’t be with you-it’s not going to work. And your being in this house is going to be a problem for him.”
I turn his words over in my head, but they don’t make sense. The only thing I can come up with is that he and Jackson are a couple and he’s warning me off.
“Is he gay?”
Sam’s brows twist in puzzlement. “No. What makes you think that?”
“I was just trying to figure out if you and he-”
Sam laughs. “No. I told you, he’s my brother.”
Relief floods me. Down, girl. He’s still not yours. “How did you meet?”