SmokingHot by Anne Marsh Page B

plan.
    Nor was falling over.
    No, the only danger he was in here was of falling for her.
    “Why are you here?”
    “Hear, hear,” Laura chimed in.
    He shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”
    “Do you want me to?”
    Maybe. He ignored her. “We had a deal,” he said. “I’ll help you with your bucket list project. You’ll give me art lessons.”
    “You spurned my art lessons,” Katie pointed out.
    Jesus. He shrugged. “I’m free this afternoon. In fact, I’m free right now. We could get started right away. You told me you like to pay your debts. Get square.”
    “Even-Steven is the best way,” Laura chimed in.
     
    ***
     
    The high-pitched, woe-is-me chirp of her Siamese butted into the conversation. Or negotiations. Katie wasn’t sure which. Tye flashed her an inquiring look as the chirp got closer. And louder.
    She shrugged. “My cat gets lonely.”
    “And?” The idea of a lonely cat was clearly a foreign concept in Tye’s world.
    “He brings her presents.” Laura laughed, standing up. “He’s really partial to socks. You kids be good. I’m going to go check on the Pillsbury special.”
    Tye waved a hand in Laura’s direction, but he didn’t take his eyes off Katie’s face. She had no idea what was going on in his head, other than this sudden and inexplicable desire on his part for art lessons. She opened her mouth to prod further, but just then Angus waddled through the door, twelve pounds of brown and white angst. Something pink dangled from his mouth.
    “Most guys settle for flowers.” There was no missing the laughter in Tye’s voice.
    She squinted at the cat and Angus dropped his present at her feet. Merde. That was her laundry day thong. A kind of pink that didn’t exist in nature, with little bows marching down the mesh front . She’d left the laundry basket on the bed and Angus had helped himself like he always did. At least it was clean. Probably.
    Before she could react, however, Tye scooped the thong up in one big hand and eyed it. “Nice.”
     

     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Tye had never been a cat person, but he could definitely like Katie’s Siamese. Or, more accurately, he could get used to a cat that brought him thongs. Jesus. He wanted to do more than imagine Katie wearing that scrap of pink and lace. Maybe she had leather. Or some of those little lace-up bustiers.
    Maybe the cat took orders.
    Although Tye doubted he’d be that lucky. The cat had the same indignant look on his face as his owner. Order-taking was probably out.
    So instead of hot lingerie, he got... art lessons. Definitely not his first choice—or even his second, third, or fourth. Still, he also got to spend time with Katie and that was no hardship, even if he wasn’t looking forward to getting in touch with his inner feelings —her words, not his—and slopping some representative paint onto a canvas while he discussed said feelings.
    Katie grabbed her key to the V.A. center and they headed over to get started. Since Katie was busy pretending Tye hadn’t picked up her thong and returned the scrap to her, things were awkward at first. He glanced over to where she was bent over rummaging in the supply closet. She drove him crazy in all the best ways.
    She mumbled something half-muffled by the closet—he was almost certain it was her umpteen hundredth merde of the day but he was no saint in the cussing department himself—and then she backed out.
    “So,” she said and slapped a fistful brushes into his hand. “Your weapons of choice, sir.”
    Her cheeks were still pink, though, so he was fairly certain she hadn’t forgotten about the thong. That was okay by him, because he had no intention of forgetting either. In fact, he was betting Katie’s thong-bearing Siamese would be one of his favorite memories for the next forty or fifty years.
    “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” she snapped and thumped a canvas down in front of him.
    “You can’t read my mind.” He dragged the canvas