Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

He lifts another piece to my mouth, and suddenly grunts and flinches, rocking me, the morsel falling to the table. “What the hell?”

A meow sounds from under the chair.

“Oh my God.” I’m laughing again. “Merc, meet Kitty. Kitty, meet Merc.”

I laugh so much when Merc is around. Did I forget how to laugh when he’s not there? Or didn’t I laugh much before?

Lin makes me laugh, too. I kinda miss her.

He closes his eyes and snorts. “Almost gave me a heart attack.” He drops the arm from around me to dangle his fingers. “Hey, cat. What’s up?”

“She won’t go for it,” I inform him. “She’s shy.”

“Is she now?”

Twisting around to see, I find that the kitty is smelling his fingertips.

Then she starts licking them.

“What? She’s licking… I can’t believe it.” I glare at the kitten. “It took her forever to approach me. Traitor-kitty.”

The kitty pushes her head under his hand for a caress, purring like a car engine.

“She’s a spy from the other side,” Merc intones. “The Dark Kitty Side.”

Maybe she is.

He washes our mugs and the few other dishes left from yesterday in the sink. I dry them, placing them carefully in the cupboard—I’m a little clumsy in the best of times, and with the hottie right beside me, the level of my coordination skills automatically drops to zero.

He passes me the last dish to dry, and after I have put it away, I realize he’s looking at me.

“What?” I pat my face, then the front of my blouse. “Do I have something? Did I drip water all over myself?”

“You’re so damn pretty,” he whispers.

Oh. My cheeks heat up. “Um. Thanks?” My voice comes out as a squeak. So sexy. “I, uh, am a bit of a mess, this morning, I—”

“You couldn’t be prettier than you are now,” he says, and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Except of course when you’re naked, lying on my bed.”

My face flames.

Then my phone dings, and I dive for it, my heart in my throat.

He stays by the sink, observing me. “Everything okay?” he asks after a few seconds.

“Yeah. I mean, no. No news. She’s staying there until they tell her more.”

He shoves blond hair out of his eyes, seems to be thinking about something, gaze turned inward.

Or maybe he’s checking the time on the kitchen clock.

Then he surprises me by saying, “Tell me about your sister. About why you pretended to be her.”

I am not sure I should. It’s my sister’s story, not mine to tell, and despite everything, I still know Merc very little.

But then I find myself talking. “I didn’t pretend to be her. Well, okay, I took her place at college and work for a while. I do that occasionally.”

“Why?”