Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

Giving a hand to a dog to sniff, acceptable. Doing the same to a cat, unworthy.

As I expected, Visa swiped with perfectly aimed claws, drawing a lashing of blood.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” Pushing the nasty cat away, I grabbed Ryder’s wrist and dragged him into the kitchen. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s never been good with strangers, but she’s never been violent.”

Ryder chuckled. “She’s sensing some competition.”

Running the tap, I opened the cupboard to the side and pulled out the small medical kit. Ryder allowed me to wash the shallow scratch with tepid water but pulled away as I opened a tub of antiseptic. “Woman, it’s just a claw mark. It’s fine.”

“But it might get infected. Cats have a lot of bacteria in their claws.”

He shrugged. “Not any worse than the cut on my arm from the barbwire when I rescued Scar. And that’s fine.”

For the first time, fear about rust and tetanus gripped my heart. “Crap, I totally forgot about cleaning that.”

“Well we were rather occupied once Scar was tucked up in bed.”

My cheeks heated remembering our first time. Glancing at the long scab on his forearm, I noticed he wore an abnormally paint-free black t-shirt, making him look undeniably handsome. “You are up to date with your jabs, right?”

“Yes, Mum, all sorted.” He smirked. “I’m fine, Ves.”

Turning off the tap, I scowled as Visa jumped onto the kitchen bench and sauntered over to me. Her tail stuck straight in the air like a loaded rifle while her snub nose huffed in Ryder’s direction.

A sucker for punishment, Ryder reached out to scratch her back. “Be nice to me, kitty. I bought you catnip, remember?”

I groaned. “Yes, and if you ever do that again, you’re fired.”

“Fired? I didn’t know I’d applied for a job.”

“Oh?” My eyebrow rose. “I thought we were discussing the position of girlfriend and boyfriend the other day. That’s a very important position in any hierarchy.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. Okay, I’ll behave. Wouldn’t want to get fired from the best relationship I’ve ever had.”

Our easy banter dissolved into heart-fluttery awkwardness.

I darted around him to grab my handbag and keys and slip into a soft grey jumper over a black blouse and slacks I’d changed into after work. Ryder followed me into the lounge, rubbing the back of his neck.

Goosebumps sprang over my arms.

Don’t bring up the marriage comment.

Do. Not. Do. It.

After sex by the river, we’d both moved on and hadn’t mentioned the slip. It had sat there, however, like a lumbering troll breathing down our necks but we had no way of bringing it up or any desire to.

“Ready to go?” I asked far too brightly with a stupid clown grin.

He half-smiled, shaking his head—fully understanding what made me nervous and allowing the anxious moment to pass. “I have no idea where we’re going but yes. Lead on.”

“Great!”

Striding to the door, I looked over my shoulder at Visa. She sat primly, washing her paw that probably still held Ryder’s blood. She looked up with an evil glint in her eyes.

“You behave, you naughty titty tat. Eat your dinner and I’ll give you cuddles when we get back.”

Ryder blinked. “Titty tat?”

I slapped my forehead. “Sorry, childhood thing. When I was young, I couldn’t say kitty cat. My mum had a puss who used to let me dress it in doll clothes and push it in my old pram. She became known as Titty Tat.” I sighed, doing my best to stop telling such embarrassing tales of myself. “Anyway, not important.”