Borrowing Alex by Cindy Procter-King

Author:Cindy Procter-King [Procter-King, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Where There’s a Willie...

“RUSTY? RUSTY! WHERE are you, fella? Come out, baby. Rusty?”

Alex paused in his shaving, the razor Nikki had given him resting on his jaw. The bathroom door sat open an inch. Over the last two days, he’d mastered the technique for allowing shower steam to dissipate without arousing the dogs’ curiosity enough to pester him. Shifting his gaze in the chipped mirror, he spied the reflection of Nikki’s sexy rear bobbing as she searched beneath her bed for her cat. Faded jeans hugged her hips, and a scooped-neck T-shirt the cheerful blue of robin’s eggs skimmed her torso.

Grinning, he adjusted the mirror for a better look. Her ass bounced again, and his hand jerked, the blade nicking his skin. He dragged in air through his teeth. Shit.

He pressed a finger to the wound. That would teach him for ogling her. Saturday night, when she’d pulled away from their kiss, she’d made it clear she didn’t want an encore. Alex wasn’t certain she’d meant it—she’d responded to him as naturally as if they’d been together for years—but when a woman said no, he listened.

And when that woman was Nikki St. James, confused and hurt and pining for Royce, he listened triple-hard.

So hands off. And thoughts off. Her vulnerability might lead her to do something she’d regret, and he wouldn’t take advantage of Nikki.

Not now.

Not ever.

He finished shaving. After dabbing the bleeding spot with tissue, he readjusted her grandfather’s suspenders to prevent them from cutting into his shoulders. As he entered the main room, she got up.

“Alex, have you seen Rusty?” Beside her, Santos barked, and Bernie whipped in circles on Alex’s bed, snapping at the dust motes floating in the mid-morning sun.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him.” His head ached from the memory. He’d woken to the fantasy-inspiring sounds of Nikki in the shower to discover the cat curled atop his skull like a Davy Crockett raccoon cap with claws. When he’d moved, the claws had imbedded in his hair and skin. Knowing when he was beat, he’d scanned the rafters for cobwebs until Rusty had loosened his grip. Then he’d bent his neck, and the cat had tumbled off, racing away for an unknown destination. At that point, Alex hadn’t cared. “You were in the shower. Then I walked the dogs, and, nope, I haven’t seen him since.”

“You took out the dogs?” Nikki picked a thumbnail.

“I had to. Bernie was going haywire, and Santos was pawing the doors. It was either take them out or risk them whizzing on the floor.”

“Did you leave the door open?”

“The back one. But only long enough to consider returning for some, um, reading material.” For the outhouse. “It was open thirty seconds, maybe a minute at most.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh no! Alex, Rusty’s disappeared. He does this whenever we’re someplace new. He knows I like him to stay indoors for a few days unless I’m with him, so he runs away the first chance he gets.” She sat on the bed and yanked on tennis shoes.

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