Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

LAINEY

If you pretend you have a pet, people are more likely to trust you. Pretend you're looking for that pet, and they'll probably offer to help you.

Yes, I know that sounds horrible. It is horrible.

It's a ruse my parents have used to introduce themselves to important people, and they formed a friendship with a couple who brought us to the Hamptons one summer.

I decided to pretend I'm Jake's neighbor for a couple of reasons.

Reason One: Cleo told me Jake has only lived in this place for a few weeks, so logic suggests he hasn't had a chance to meet all of his neighbors.

Reason Two: People are more likely to invite a neighbor into their apartment, and I need to get in there if I'm going to retrieve her necklace. It's not exactly safe to go inside a strange man's apartment, but I have mace and a Bowie knife and years of self-defense training. Besides, Nicole is my getaway driver and knows where I am. If he tries to cross me, he'll regret it.

Jake's certainly an attractive, charming devil, not that I'd expected anything different. Cleo had texted me a photo of him—slightly curly brown hair, light hazel eyes with long black lashes, and a tattoo of a fox made of fire on his forearm. He's drunk in the photo, judging by his bleary expression. I've looked at it a lot over the last few days, preparing for this moment.

He looks exactly like he did in the photo, and yet he doesn't…

He's got more…vitality, I guess. Everything about him seems alive, from the dancing flames on his intricately designed tattoo to his fit, muscular body and the mischief dancing in his eyes. It lights him up from within, making it hard to look away.

Or maybe it's the fires of hell that light him up.

Men like him have a seductive power, and after being in Jake's presence for twenty minutes, I'm positive he knows it and twists it to his advantage.

The only surprise so far was his rapport with his elderly neighbor, a grizzled man with wispy white hair and pitch-dark eyes who introduced himself as Mr. Tim. Jake clapped the old guy on the back, and they told each other terrible dad jokes. It was, I regret to admit, adorable. But for all I know, he's been stealing the guy's social security checks on the sly.

Jake sneaks another glance at me as we leave Mr. Tim's closed door and enter the stairwell. "Interesting name for a cat. Are you an X-Men fan?" he asks as I pretend to glance around for the fictional cat.

"I liked the comics when I was a kid," I tell him as we descend the stairs. When we reach the bottom, I peer around the small, decidedly empty space before reaching for the door handle. "I enjoyed imagining I was a mutant," I say as I open the door and step into the alley beside the building, Jake following me.

I'm not lying. I did like it. I normally felt like a cog in my parents' plans, but Lainey with X powers was in control.

"Me too," he says with a grin as the door clicks into place behind us. "My favorite character was Gambit."

I contain a snort. Of course he prefers the character who was a notorious thief. Not that I can talk…Gambit is my favorite too. I liked the thought that someone who was a villain could also be a bit of a hero—that we're not destined to only be the worst parts of ourselves.

"Let me guess," I say, clearing my throat. "Do you like playing cards?"

"Sure," he says, his grin spreading wider. "I like it a lot when I'm winning. The secret is knowing when to stop playing. My brother's never figured that out."

"You have a brother?"

He nods, glancing around, and I remember I'm supposed to be looking for my fictional cat. "Let's check out the area near the trash bin," I say, gesturing to the huge black dumpster in the alley. "Professor X has a thing for rotting garbage. It's the feline in him."

If he's disgusted by the thought of hanging out by a pile of trash on a hotter-than-usual October day, he doesn't let on. He strolls by my side, his pace easy and his stride confident, then says, "You got any siblings?"

"No, it was just me," I say, realizing belatedly that I could have made up a passel of brothers and sisters for "Elaine." Then again, it's always easier to stick to the truth so long as you don't dole out identifying details. There's also something surprisingly freeing about talking to a stranger, someone you're never going to see again. "But I have a close childhood friend. I used to pretend she was my sister." And also that her sweet-as-pie father was my father, but I don't add that. I haven't even told Claire. Jealousy isn't the kind of feeling you should ever admit to, according to my mother. It's something to act on, not get lost in.

He gives me another sidelong look, pausing, which prompts me to stop moving and turn toward him. His gaze moves slowly over my face, sending awareness in its path. Then he surprises me by slowly reaching up. I'm not sure what he intends at first, but he tucks my hair behind my ear, curling his fingers briefly around my ear. My breath catches, and an almost painful zing of awareness shoots through me. It's…disarming, but it's been a long time since a man's touched me; that's all.

"I get it," he says softly. "My brother's a bit of an idiot, but I don't know who I'd be without him. He keeps me grounded."

My mouth drops open, because I'm taken aback. I didn't expect him to have a sensitive side, but maybe he's just throwing out a lure to pull me in for that drink he requested.

Then something furry brushes against my legs. The only furry things to have ever unexpectedly brushed against my legs in New York City were rodents the size of domesticated pets, so I scream. And practically leap at Jake, who reflexively wraps his arm around me, pinning me to his hard, hot chest.

"What is it?" he asks, his tone urgent, his breath at my ear, and even though my nerves are still as raw as if someone took a cheese grater to them, I feel a hot shiver run through my body. I lean in closer—for protection, obviously, and also so we present a larger target.

"A rat," I say, my voice breathy. "It brushed against my leg."

Even as I report this gruesome fact, there's another brush of fur against my bare leg. I yelp again, but this time I look down—and see a black cat rubbing against my leg.

Huh.

My brain takes two seconds to absorb a few facts. Fact One: the cat's wearing a filthy red collar with no tag. Fact Two: the cat looks like he hasn't had a good meal in at least two weeks. He's either a stray or on one hell of a walkabout. Fact Three: the cat meets the description I gave earlier, and he's acting like I'm made of catnip. If I claim he's not mine, Jake will be suspicious. But if I claim he is, he might assume I'm a jerk who doesn't feed her cat…or suggest that I bring him home before coming over for that drink he promised me. I'd have nowhere to bring him but back out here, and if he's really a stray, he might need some help, and—

Jake has released me and is looking down at the cat expectantly, and I know I need to do something…

"Professor X," I croon, getting down on my haunches to pet the cat. "Mommy didn't realize it was you." In my peripheral vision, I can see Jake making a face, and I almost laugh. I've been overdoing it, but I feel the perverse urge to dial it up rather than down—to toy with Jake to see how he reacts. "Oh thank goodness, my widdle mister, Mommy was so worried this time, but you always come back to me, my baby boy, don't you, my darling?"

The look on Jake's face…

He's not even bothering to hide his reaction now. He's watching me and the cat with horrified fascination.

I try to hold it together, but I can't help it, I burst out laughing, and the cat leaps up onto my bent legs. He's small, but the maneuver catches me off-guard, so I land on my ass on the smelly pavement near the trash dumpster, laughing, the cat clutched in my arms. The absurdity only makes me laugh harder.

I used to be good at this kind of stuff, but I'm not anymore. I'm glad I'm not. But it's inconvenient at this particular moment.

Jake looks surprised, understandably, then he reaches for the cat and says, "Let me help you up, Catwoman," followed by a smirky smile that's hard to look away from, damn him.

I hand him the black cat presently known as Professor X, and he cradles him to his hard chest, holding out his other hand to me. I let him pull me up, trying not to feel too grateful for the assist—or to notice that he has nice, strong hands. Capable hands.

He's an asshole. A liar and a thief. He's only helping you because he wants something.

The something he wants is me—and I can't deny that thought is a little…exciting, even if I have no intention of giving myself to him.

I bolster myself against his smile, against the moment of shared humor. You can get along with anyone for twenty seconds. It doesn't mean they're a person worth knowing.

"You had me going for a minute, you know," he says, handing Professor X back to me gently, his hand brushing my arm. Another hot shiver has the nerve to work its way through me, especially when Jake meets my gaze, his eyes still full of mirth. I pointedly look away.

The cat surprises me by nuzzling his furry little head under my chin. I'm surprised by the heat building behind my eyes, the warm emotion drowning my chest. It's just…

I never had any pets growing up, but I'd always wanted one. Someone to take care of. Someone who'd love me no matter what and demand nothing in return. That was the precise reason my parents had said pets were a waste—you give and give and give and they couldn't ever return on the investment.

Because love didn't have any value on its own.

Coughing the emotion out of my throat, I say, "I'm very fond of my cat."

"Clearly."

"I color coordinate my outfits to his collars."

For a second, he looks uncertain again, like he can't tell whether he's in the presence of a psychopath or a person with a twisted sense of humor, and then a sparkle lights up his pretty eyes. "No, you don't. You're fucking with me."

"So why's he wearing a red collar?" I ask.

"Coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

That's true, mostly. Except…

The cat in my arms seems like a coincidence.

At the same time, there are any number of stray cats in Asheville. There's even a Facebook group called Asheville Cat Weirdos. I know this because I infiltrated it to get the goods on a woman who'd stolen her girlfriend's cat.

"But do you believe in keeping your promises?" Jake asks.

I can tell where this is going. He's going to ask me upstairs for a drink. While that's exactly what needs to happen, I can't deny there's a stubborn part of me that wants to laugh in his face again. He may seem funny and charming, and there's no denying he's very attractive, but he's wearing a mask as surely as I am. I know what he did to Cleo. I know who he is at his core—rotten. Wrong.

A little bit like you , a voice in my head whispers.

But I straighten my spine and tell that voice to keep its unsolicited opinions to itself.

"It just so happens that I do," I tell him brightly. But the little cat rubs his head against my chin again, and I register that the hand holding him to my chest can feel his ribs.

Nicole would tell me not to be an idiot, but I can't let this cat starve. He may not be my "Widdle Mister," but he deserves more.

"I need to feed my cat first."

I don't have a plan for that, but I'm a reasonably intelligent woman. Surely, I can figure something out.

He rubs his chin, then says, "There are a few cans of cat food under my sink. You're welcome to them."

"You have a cat too?"

He shakes his head. "It's a short-term rental. My best guess is that some rulebreaker left them in there, and the cleaning service didn't find them. There's also enough single-serving condiments to either make a person really sad or stock a Wendy's." He inclines his head. "I guess they could do both at the same time."

This is good. This lets me stick to the plan. But I have a strange feeling of misgiving. My gut tells me something is off, but I can't decide what unless it's the unexpected presence of this cat.

As we get close to the door leading into the building, I fuss over Professor X so Jake will know it's on him to take out his key card. But I make sure to reach the door first, because I don't want him to think I'm hesitating for any reason other than that I don't want to let go of the cat.

Jake doesn't seem to notice, easily slipping ahead and using his key card. We walk upstairs companionably, but I notice the way he's eying the cat. Professor X has one ragged ear, and he's skinny and gangly. My mark is probably wondering why someone who makes such a show of caring for her cat is neglectful, which makes me feel like a jerk even though Professor X isn't my cat—or wasn't until today. After I leave, I'm going to make sure to look for his people, and if I can't find them, I'll be his person.

The thought fills me with a warm glow, even if I'm not sure how I'll make my getaway with an unexpected sidekick.

"He been gone for a while?" Jake finally says as we reach his door.

I look down at his matted little head. "No." I adopt a grave tone. "He's just sick."

I feel like I'm cursing poor Professor X by implying he has a serious illness, but surely Jake will stop asking questions if he thinks my friend is on death's doorstep.

"What kind of sickness?" he asks, proving that an asshole will do whatever it is he wants. He unlocks the door and waits for me to step inside. I do and glance back as he follows me in and shuts the door behind him.

Frowning at him from over the cat's head, I say in an undertone, "I don't like discussing it in front of him."

Two minutes too late, it occurs to me that I should have told him that I'd only adopted Professor X a couple of weeks ago, which would have been a much more convincing story.

Jake lifts his eyebrows, probably teetering back toward his "she's crazy" estimation, then says, "You can take a look at the containers of food under the sink. See if there's something you think he'll eat."

Probably every last can Jake has, and the sink too, but I just set the little cat down, and he follows me into the kitchen.

"Would you like a beer?" Jake asks as he enters the kitchen behind us—it's open concept, so I guess we were technically in the kitchen as soon as we entered the apartment. That makes things easier, because I won't have to struggle to pretend I'm familiar with the layout of the apartments in this building.

Cleo told me she thinks he'd keep the necklace in his bedroom, and I have to agree. It's the only really private place in here, other than the bathroom, and most people wouldn't keep valuable belongings next to the toilet.

Which means I have to think of some excuse to go in the bedroom. By myself.

I glance down at my red sweater, covered in cat hair, and think, You were a good sweater, and you didn't deserve this. But we all have a part to play.

"I'd love a beer," I say brightly. "Thank you so much."

In truth, I don't love beer, other than some of the fruity flavors a few of the breweries around here have gotten creative with, but I won't be drinking much of it anyway.

I pull out the cans of food, and Professor X gives an excited yowl and scratches at them. So I open three and set them out in a row, and he's finished the third one before Jake can even pop the tops on the bottles of beer.

He takes in the scene without comment, but I see the questions forming behind his eyes. Not good. I have to speed this mess up. Still, the cat's mewing, so I open a fourth container, then grab a bowl from the drying rack next to the sink and fill it with water, setting that out too.

Jake hands me one of the beers, his gaze a little shuttered. I can't imagine what he suspects, but I have a feeling he hasn't caught on that his ex-girlfriend hired me to steal back the necklace he took from her, so at least I have that going for me.

"Shall we sit on the couch?" I suggest.

"Sure," he says, leading the way—and my traitorous eyes dip from his broad shoulders down to his ass. He's several inches taller than me but not huge, like Declan and Damien, and he fills his clothes out well. So what? The same could be said for bodybuilders with protein powder for brains. He certainly doesn't deserve any props for being good-looking and making the most of what genetics gave him.

We settle onto the couch, Jake a few inches away from me, and it's only then I realize I forgot to take the beer. I'm off-kilter. Unbalanced. Maybe that's because of the way he's sitting—so damn close, his thighs angled toward me, his knee almost touching mine. One arm is stretched over the back of the sofa, his fingers close enough to burrow into my hair.

I take a deep breath to settle myself, ignoring the prickling sensation across my exposed skin and the warmth that seems to radiate from him.

My gaze lands on the coffee table. There's a sketchbook on it, a pencil layered across the top.

"Oh, do you draw?"

"It's nothing," he says. Setting down his beer, he moves his other arm—the one that was nearly wrapped around me—and reaches for the book. He goes to stuff it into the drawer of the plain but serviceable end table next to the couch. But Professor X appears from nowhere like an avenging angel and takes a swat at it.

Jake swears and fumbles the sketchpad, and it falls open on the floor, revealing a hand drawn comic that makes me gasp. I see two little boys with curly hair in one panel, and a pair of foxes covered with fire in the next.

"That's really good," I say, surprised.

I've never seen such detailed pencil drawings in person before. I want a better look at it, but judging by the way he's already slapping it shut, he's not up for sharing. I study him with interest as he tucks the pad away. He's upset and showing it. For only the second time since I knocked on his door, I feel like I'm seeing something real from him. The first was just before I ended up on my ass next to the dumpster.

"They're only doodles," he lies.

And there the moment ends. Rest in peace, moment of truth, you were good while you lasted.

"Cool," I say, raising my eyebrows. "I like putting dumb little doodles together too when I'm on the phone."

Get it together, Lainey. Stop antagonizing the man.

But I can't seem to help myself. I take a minute to consider why, and come to an unwelcome conclusion. I'm doing it because I find Jake attractive, and just now, I found him a little interesting too.

I tell myself it's no big deal, because I'd probably find a mop attractive right now—if it had a vibrator attached. It's been a long time since I had sex, and much, much longer since it made me come. A good session with my vibrator is all it takes to send me over the edge. But Todd never did. He was a rich, attractive, white man, he was used to pleasing people simply by existing. So even though he had a big dick, he absolutely did not know how to use it.

I was also hyper-aware of everything I did when I was with him. Which angles were best for my face, my breasts. Which sounds he found the most appealing. I could never lose myself in the moment. The stakes felt too high. I'd decided to marry him, and I'd gotten lost in that goal, to the point where everything I did was about placating or impressing him.

So here I am, sexually starved, sitting next to a very attractive man whose opinion I couldn't care less about. It's natural I feel a little drawn in by him.

But I can't forget why I'm here. So I offer him a big smile. "What do you do for a living, handsome?"

He's watching me a little warily, which isn't great, but I still can turn this around.

"I'm a therapist."

I nearly snort on the sip of beer I just took, but I clap myself on the chest and say, "Sorry, went down the wrong way."

He angles his head. "I haven't seen you around the building before."

"I like to keep to myself, usually. I'm reserved."

The doubtful look on his face says it all.

"Around most people," I add flirtatiously, batting my lashes at him. "I feel very comfortable around you."

Something flickers in his gaze. He's not buying it.

Professor X strolls back into view with a tuft of feathers he got from who knows where—possibly a pillow he decimated within the last five minutes—and then rolls onto his back right in front of us, giving us a good view of his—erm—her privates.

Jake frowns. "Is that cat…female?"

I don't think, I just lean over and kiss him.