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

“Yep.”

Guiding her floppy head, I kissed her.

She sighed into my mouth, her body lethargic as I held up her skull and kissed her deep. Heat siphoned in my veins and my thoughts switched to a well-played and single-track song of ‘sleep with her, sleep with her.’

However, I wanted to show her a piece of my life before we got to the good stuff. She’d shared a little of herself tonight.

It’s my turn.

Breaking the kiss, I stood and pulled her from the floor. “Come on, woman who is mine. I want to show you this house you don’t appreciate.”

Her gaze widened. “I do appreciate it. I’m just in awe of how much work you’re doing to fix it.”

“It’s worth it. Simple. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t enjoy it.”

She smiled. “In that case, I would love a tour.”

The house was a neutral topic and for the next hour Vesper and I made small talk about window glazing, floor coverings, and interior decorating, slowly moving around the bottom level as I showed her nooks and crannies and painted the vision of what I held for this grand lady and her new future.

By the time we made it back to the lounge, I’d had three beers and Vesper three vodkas. We were lethargic and happy. The fact we hadn’t eaten before our shopping trip meant a slight buzz affected both of us. Nothing crazy—we were still in full control of decisions—but it had taken the edge off being awkward.

For some reason, the ease we normally had around each other had vanished ever since I’d hugged her in the pet superstore. The knowledge that something had happened between us on a deeper level than what we were ready for hung around like a cloud. And the fact we both skirted heavier issues wasn’t unnoticed by either of us.

Vesper yawned as we reached the kitchen. Scar had retired after a dose of painkillers and his dinner and Hippo had waddled off in her tinkling bell to bunker down for the night—most likely pressed against a heater. She gave me a damn heart attack every night that she’d somehow slow cook herself and I’d wake up to a roast pork dinner.

The nightmare was surprisingly realistic.

“Wow, is it really past midnight?” Vesper blinked hazily at the glowing oven clock.

I yawned too, unable to stop the universal desire when another did. “Guess so.”

“I better go.”

“Why?”

“Well…it’s late. And I have work tomorrow.”

“What time do you have to be in?”

“It’s Sunday so we open at ten instead of eight. And so far, touch wood—” She pressed her fingertips to the scuffed countertop. “—we have no scheduled surgeries. Most likely it will be admin day and pop ins from animals either eating something they shouldn’t or owners catching up on check-ups.”

“So what you’re saying is tomorrow isn’t too crazy.”

“I guess…” She cocked her chin. “Why?”

“Just checking.” I gave her a secretive smile and headed into the lounge. “I agree that it’s late and we should head to bed but I thought we agreed when you first got here that you were spending the night.”

She laughed quietly. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten that stipulation.”

“I never forget.” I tapped my temple. “Elephant.”

Shit, really shouldn’t have said that.

Elephants were my deflating tool not to be used to get me in the sexy mood.

Shaking the image away, I fisted the plastic bag hiding the pet store goodies and took her hand. “Bedtime?”

Her eyes zeroed in on the purchases. “Eh, why are you bringing that with us to bed?”