Savas's Wildcat

On the spot, Cat knew she couldn’t back down. It mattered too much. “I want love. I want marriage. I want a family,” she said—and watched the color drain from his face.

She didn’t need any more answer than that. As far as she was concerned, Misty could have him. She’d said so.

“I didn’t sleep with Misty,” he told her. “She came by to pick up her sunglasses. She left them here yesterday and she wanted them before she went to work.”

Cat had absorbed that, had allowed a flicker of hope to remain in her heart—until he said, “And I sure don’t want to marry Misty.” He grimaced at the thought. “I don’t want to marry anyone. I don’t want to get married.” He’d shaken his head. “Not on your life.” The slow shake of his head and the clear honest look in his eyes told her as much as his words did.

She didn’t need it spelled out any more clearly than that.

She felt a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach, but she’d managed very politely to say, “Thank you.” Then she turned and walked away.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Yiannis had called after her.

She didn’t turn. “Of course not.” Mortified. Humiliated. Devastated. She kept walking.

“Good. Want to get a pizza later?”

No, she had not.

Even now she could still remember the hot and cold of impotent fury and humiliation that had swept over her in successive waves even after she’d left her grandmother’s and driven back to her own place. She’d named their children and he thought she was someone to share a pizza with!

So much for enchanted evenings. So much for true love and all the rest of her song lyric pipe dreams.

So much for Yiannis Savas.

Less than three months later Cat took a job at a library in San Francisco.

Gran hadn’t been pleased, but Cat had been adamant. Putting four hundred miles between herself and the man who had no interest in being her one true love seemed only sensible. Not that she’d said anything about that to Gran.

Her stupidity was her secret, and hers alone.

And she’d been careful to avoid him ever since because he unfortunately hadn’t grown any less gorgeous or any more resistible. And even though she was an engaged woman now—with a man who wanted exactly the same things she did—as soon as she saw Yiannis the stupid song lyric feelings were still there.

That one single glimpse of him tonight, asleep on Gran’s bed with Harry on his chest was like a kick in the gut. Those perverse misbegotten childish fantasies were not dead yet.

Furiously Cat flung herself over again with such force that she slipped right off the narrow sofa and landed on the floor.

“Oh, hell!” Wincing at the thud, she scrambled up onto the sofa and lay perfectly still, holding her breath, terrified that Harry would start crying or—worse—that Yiannis would appear in the doorway to demand what the devil she was doing.

A minute passed, then two. She didn’t move. On the other side of the wall she heard a whimper, but no footsteps. She breathed again. Shallowly. Rolled carefully onto her side.

The whimpers were coming more emphatically now. Harry seemed to be working up a head of steam now, starting to cry.

The door to the bedroom opened. Yiannis stepped quickly out and shut the door behind him. The crying in the bedroom continued unabated.