Kissed by Cat

That someone could very well be Garrett McAllister, whether he liked it or not.

She heard his voice before she reached the room. The same soft reassuring tones he’d used on her last night. With animals, he was clearly at ease. With people—

Well, he had the personality of a grumpy grizzly.

Catherine could understand. She’d never been much of a people person herself, even less so in the two hundred years since she’d been cursed to spend her days as a drifter and her nights as a cat.

That kind of life gave a woman a whole new appreciation for other species, particularly the kind with fur. And a new vision of the humans who too often saw animals as disposable. Catherine had long ago realized the way a man treated his pets was often a good indication of how he’d treat other people.

Garrett, however, didn’t fit that theory. He was caring and tender with animals; prickly and annoyed with people. Last night, though, he’d been kind and gentle. He’d treated her well, as if he cared about what happened to her. No one had acted like that with her before, especially not when she’d been in feline form.

Perhaps he understood what it was like to be a stray, on the fringes of the ordinary, pretty, “groomed” world. He always kept his face turned slightly away from her whenever they talked, as if he didn’t want her to look at him.

In his office, he’d stayed in the shadows of the hall, and then here, in the shelter, the lights had been dimmed and Garrett had kept his back to her most of the time.

Keeping the scars from view, she suspected. He was an outsider, just like she was. Maybe…

No, that was a crazy thought.

On Saturday, none of this would matter anymore either way. The curse would end and she’d be left forever as a cat. She had five more sunsets, six more sunrises and then…it would be over.

Before that happened, she had one last hurrah to live. She’d already traveled the world. Seen the sights, met the kings. All she wanted now was a taste of the ordinary. Of waking up in one place day after day. Feeding the birds in the morning and watching the sun set on a back porch. Such simple things, but for a woman who had spent her life going from place to place, century to century, it was the only thing she craved.

And she had to find those kittens. To give one more happy ending to a set of young strays.

Catherine sighed. She had a lot to accomplish by Saturday. Changing Garrett McAllister’s life was not on that list.

Then why did she suddenly find herself at the door to the kennels? It wasn’t just because she wanted to work as a vet’s assistant. There was more.

She’d known since the first moment he’d caught her and held her close with kindness and trust. There’d been something in his eyes, something indefinable.

A connection.

Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore that invisible tether.

She found him working with an older golden retriever. He had already folded up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt and flipped his navy and red striped tie over his shoulder to keep it out of the way. He looked so at ease, so comfortable, with his dark wavy hair slightly messy and his hands capably handling the dog. This was clearly where Garrett was most at home.

“There’s a pile of bandages over there if you want to help,” he said without turning around.

She grabbed the bandages and crossed to him. White cotton strips ran across the opposite flank of the dog. The dog’s fur had faded and paled in some spots and she limped a little as she sidled up to Garrett. “Is she hurt?”

“Nah, just thinks she’s still a puppy.” He gave the dog a tender caress. She nuzzled him back. “She raced a squirrel and lost. Hit a tree with her hip and scraped it up pretty bad.”

When he reached to take the bandages, his hand brushed hers. A jolt rushed through her and Catherine drew back. Garrett turned away, busied with applying the new bandage.

Had he been as affected as she? Had he felt that…that electrical shock?

It was her feet against the carpet. Static electricity. Yeah, except her feet were bare and they were standing on vinyl flooring.

The light was streaming through the windows now, exposing his face clearly. She saw the jagged lines that ran down his face, disappearing under his neckline, almost like pale pink zippers running along his cheeks and neck. The backs of his hands were scarred as well, dark red in some places, soft cherry in others.

Something terrible had happened to Garrett McAllister. Something he seemed to want to hide, judging by the way he kept his face averted and avoided looking directly at her.

Garrett led the retriever back to her kennel, giving her another gentle pat and a few kind words before closing the door and moving on to a small multicolored Pekingese. His hand hovered over the latch, his back to her. “This isn’t going to work, Miss Wyndham. Maybe you should find other employment.”

She crossed the room in three strides, coming to a stop beside him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t work well with others.”

She softened her tone. “Because of your scars?”

He wheeled around, a volcano erupting in his eyes. “Who do you think you are? How dare you come in here and start intruding on my life?”

She took a step back, speechless.

“I didn’t ask you for a commentary on my appearance. I asked you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah, and the sooner the better.” He turned back to the kennel, but didn’t unlatch the door. The Pekingese yipped impatiently.

Bloody hell. Catherine stood there, facing his back for several seconds, chewing on her lip. She needed his help, but there was no way she was asking for it now. She’d never before needed a man to help her do anything.

She wasn’t about to start now.

“Your wish is my command.” She stripped off the lab coat, then reached over his head and dangled it in front of his face. The muscles in his neck flexed and tensed when he swallowed. Twice. He stared at the coat as if he’d never seen it before. She dropped it on the top of the kennel. The Pekingese barked at the pile of fabric. “I’m gone.”

Then she turned on her naked heel and left the room, certain Garrett would be spending the next few minutes picking his jaw up off the floor.

Chapter Three

Garrett remained rooted to the spot until he heard the soft whoosh of the door. Then, when he could function enough to move, he took a seat on the rolling stool in the corner. He left the lab coat on the kennel, an empty reminder of the woman who’d just been wearing it.

His mind conjured up several pictures of the retreating and naked Catherine but he dismissed them all, trying his damnedest not to think about what she looked like without his jacket.

It worked, for about one second, and then the pictures came anyway. Luscious, creamy skin. Firm thighs and breasts. And above it all, those steady gray-green eyes, watching him.

Garrett closed his eyes, leaned against the wall. He’d done the right thing by getting rid of Catherine Wyndham.

Then he thought of Queenie, and how she’d responded to the woman’s touch. How the dogs seemed to calm when she walked by. How every animal in the place appeared to watch her, as if they knew her somehow.

He’d never met anyone who had such a connection with animals. She would have made the perfect assistant. An even better vet.

For someone else, he amended. Not for him.

And yet, he couldn’t rejoice at driving her away, as he had all the other times he’d made someone leave him alone. By asking about his scars, she’d opened the door most polite people left shut. Everyone else was smart enough to leave it at staring and whispering about him behind his back, wondering what tragedy had left him with that tortured appearance.

There were rumors, Garrett knew. A vengeful woman who’d set his house on fire. A drunken night of partying ending in a fiery car wreck. A fight with another man over a girlfriend. The whispers were constant. Garrett didn’t bother to correct anyone. His scars were his own mark of stupidity and he saw no reason to tell anyone about how he’d earned them.

Still, he’d been mean to her—too mean. He’d lashed out like a dog that had been beaten and didn’t know a gentle hand from a cruel one. Somewhere in the last three years, he’d lost the bridge to people and replaced it with one to animals. Clearly, he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t even behave like a civilized person anymore.

At the very least, he owed Catherine Wyndham an apology.

He heard another door open and close, somewhere in the back. She must have gone in search of Tiffany’s clothes. Despite his best intentions, he pictured her slipping into a dress, the silky fabric gliding over her breasts, sliding past her waist, snuggling along her hips. Touching where his hands dared not go.

He’d been alone for so long. Three long years spent in an empty, cold bed. Three long years without the voice of another. With only his own company, which admittedly, wasn’t all that pleasant.

Garrett stood and went down the hall, toward the storeroom. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but she opened it before his knuckles met the wood. “I’m leaving now. You don’t have to escort me out the door.”

Tiffany apparently hadn’t left many clothing choices behind. Nor had she been as tall as Catherine. The skirt Catherine wore only reached her mid-thigh, the black suede against the pale expanse of her skin. She wore a fuzzy pink sweater that rode up a little on her stomach, exposing a flat, pretty abdomen. And on her feet, red high heels that did nothing to calm the fantasies rolling through his mind.

“I’m not here to throw you out. I just came to—” His words drained away when she shifted and the sweater strained against her rib cage.

Tiffany had definitely been smaller than Catherine. In every way.

The slide show of her in the nude and in his bed played again in his mind, a lusty tape stuck on repeat. If he’d had a mental Pause button, he wasn’t so sure he’d have the strength to punch it.

Silence ticked between them. “Came to…what?”

He cleared his throat, reminded himself of his real reason for coming down this hall. “Apologize,” he muttered.

“Did I hear you say apologize or antagonize?”

“Hey, I came to say I was sorry, not start a fight.”

She put her hands on her hips and the sweater jumped up another inch. Oh Lord, she had an innie. A petite, perfect belly button.

He needed a drink.

“Then say it,” she said.

He let out a gust that mixed a hundred different types of frustration into one. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a curt nod. “Have a nice life.”

Catherine brushed past him to leave and he caught her arm. The move sent her off-kilter and she stumbled back, against his chest. The link he’d felt earlier with her multiplied tenfold, launching within him like a burst of color in a black and white world.

So many years. So lonely.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and kissed her.

So many years. So lonely.

The words echoed in Catherine’s head. Had she thought them? Or had he?

When Garrett touched her, a searing heat exploded within her veins. Instead of pulling away, Catherine drew closer, seeking, needing…

What, she didn’t know.

And then…and then, his lips met hers and she knew what she needed. This—this touch, this tender, reverent touch, drifting over her mouth with the care of a jeweler handling a rare diamond.

She opened her mouth to his, ignoring the warning bells going off in her head, heeding only the strange desire for more of whatever was between them. She twisted against him, pressing herself to his torso, her hands reaching for his back. He cupped her face, rough skin against smooth, so full of sensation it seemed like a thousand nerve endings were awakening for the first time.

So many years, with no physical contact from others. She’d done her best to stay distant, to keep her heart intact, knowing she’d just be moving on again. But here, with Garrett’s mouth on hers, his hand against her cheeks, her chest pressed to his, she felt…

She felt as if she’d come home.

From the other room, a cat let out a meow. The sound jerked Catherine back to reality. To her damned half existence.

The curse can only be broken if you can find a man who can love you both as a woman and as a cat, the witch had said. That evil twist on the fairy tale—the witch knew what she’d been doing. No one could love her knowing she was half human and half house pet.

Even this man, with his clear love for animals, would recoil if he knew what she really was. What she became when the sun went down.

She stumbled back, breaking the connection. Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed a hand to her heart, willing it to slow. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I was completely at fault. I—” He swallowed hard and took two steps back, once again hiding his face from her in the shadow of the corner, as if the intimacy of their kiss had opened another wound. “It’s best if you leave.”

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