Purring so loudly the sound vibrated in Jala’s ears, the cat surrendered to Mohab’s pampering as he cooed to her. “Who’s awake? Who’s had a good nap?”
She gaped at the incongruent scene. Mohab, that lethal juggernaut, all but melting over a cat.
Mohab had a cat.
As the knowledge hit bottom in her mind, another movement made her snap her gaze to the same direction where Whitey had come from, only to find more felines advancing.
He had cats. Four of them.
Or maybe there were more still napping in there. At this point, she would believe just about anything.
One of the cats, a miniature glossy-black panther, broke into a lope and threw himself at Mohab’s feet. Then, butting his head against Mohab’s legs, he made him widen his stance so he could weave between them in excited figure eights. The other two cats, a tabby Scottish Fold and a Russian Blue, soon joined in, purring the place down.
Mohab looked over at her when he had two cats in his arms, his expression that of a proud dad.
The tightness in her throat grew thorns. “Is this your...pride?”
“They are my pride and joy. They’re my family.”
The word family penetrated her heart, a shard that had never stopped driving deep.
He’d once told her his life story. He was an only child and, like her, both his parents were dead. But he hadn’t lost them to illness or to heartbreak. He’d lost them—twelve years ago, now—in a terrorist attack. One meant for him.
Whenever she remembered that she’d used that knowledge to take a stab at him, she still choked with shame. It hadn’t mattered that she’d been mad with agony—it had still been unforgivable. Some things should never be used as a weapon, no matter what. Should never be used at all. It had been dishonorable of her to use such an intimate and painful injury against him.
It never ceased to torment her that she owed him that much. Her life, and an apology for that cruel transgression. But since she’d thought she’d never settle those debts with him, she’d added them to her forward payment to the world.
But he’d invoked her debt last night. Then there’d been everything else. And just when she thought she was confused enough about him, she discovered he had cats!
She found herself asking, “You travel with them?”
He bent down, gently letting both cats jump lithely from his embrace. “People travel with their kids, don’t they?”
The way he said that tightened her throat more. “You never told me you liked cats. Or that you had any.”
Straightening, he approached her with a stealthy grace, like a huge version of the felines, his eyes radiating this new warmth that seeped to her core. “I didn’t then. I’ve always loved cats, all animals for that matter, but my lifestyle made me unable to adopt any. In my previous post, I had no control over my schedule. After I resigned—and after I settled a...personal project that took me all over the world five years ago—I set up my own business. Then I got my beauties, here—all rescue kitties, each with a story of her or his own.” Suddenly his expression changed, as if something disturbing had just occurred to him. “You don’t like cats?”
Her heart thudded at the alarm in his eyes. “I’m crazy about them. I had three cats when I lived in Judar, but I lost them all before I left. I fostered only in the States, since my globe-trotting lifestyle wouldn’t accommodate a cat. Unlike you, I don’t have my own private jet to haul them along with me.”
His smile broke out again. “Let’s test this claim, shall we? My darlings are cat-lover detectors. We’ll let them scan you, but be advised...their verdict is final and incontestable.”
He might be joking, but she was anxious they might snub her. Why, she didn’t know. She was doing her best to alienate him, so why did she wish to appeal to his “kids”?
She swallowed the contrary lump of nervousness. “How will you know they approve of me?”
“How do cats show approval?”
“Each cat has his or her own way of showing it.”
“Exactly.” He flashed her a sizzling smile as he prowled to the sitting area, took off his jacket, dropped it to the ground and let his cats walk over it. “I should have changed into something light colored as soon as I let them out of the carriers. Only Rigel goes with this outfit.”
His shoulders seemed to widen as he slowly started to unbutton his black shirt. Her heart stuttered. He was stripping.
She could swear the silk slithered off his skin with an aching sigh, as if it hated to separate from his flesh. She knew just how it felt, remembered how her hands used to ache for the time when they could glide all over him.
As his formidable back was exposed, symmetry and perfection made into a symphony of muscle and sinew, her salivary glands gushed. She was literally drooling over him.
At the damask burgundy couch in the center of the sitting area he turned to her, giving her a full frontal assault.
He was even more magnificent than she remembered. His chest had broadened, his abdomen had become more defined, every bulge and slope harder, packing more power, every line chiseled by endless stamina and determination. Her breasts swelled, reliving nights of abandon writhing beneath that chest, her stomach clenched with the memory of that ridged abdomen bearing down on her, working her into a frenzy. Her core throbbed with the moist heat that had been simmering since he’d walked into that stateroom.
Then in one of those movements that made her want to devour every glorious inch of him, he sank down on the couch.
Spreading his bulk over the cushions, he braced his legs wide apart and caressed the couch on both sides. The invitation was for his cats this time, who zoomed to obey, climbing all over him, butting their heads against every part of him, jumping on the back of the couch so they could reach his face and rub and kiss and lick him all over it. He surrendered to their love with a look of bliss, his eyes fixing her in a steady barrage of seduction.
Before this, he was the most overwhelming man to her, just by existing. Now this was...cruel. This had to be the most mind-bending thing he’d ever exposed her to. The sight of him, surrounded by cats, letting them plumb the depths of his love, roaming all over him in total trust and affection.
Did that man want to blow her ovaries?
He caught the ginger Scottish Fold who was crossing his lap and deposited a kiss on his head. “This is Mizar...as you can see why.” She certainly could. The tomcat was a magnificent tabby with the cutest white apron in history. Mohab put him down to answer the impatience of the Russian Blue as she asked for her turn. “And this is Nihal. She is addicted to water taps, so I have to leave her a trickle on all the time. Always a challenge on flights.” Nihal meant thirst quenching, so very appropriate, too. After she took her turn in her “daddy’s” embrace she moved on and Mohab turned to the little panther. “And this is Rigel. I bet you know why I called him that.”